by Tony Criddle
“What should we do about this Mullah?”
“I must talk to others Mohammed, This was not thought out fully so give them a long rope for now. They can do little other than shop in Qom or visit their embassy, and we don’t want any more international incidents for the time being. If America and the West put an embargo on food and we can’t sell our oil, we will be in real trouble. As long as they submit their reports keep out of their way.”
“It will be as you wish, Mullah.”
The Pakistanis stayed next door playing cards but Nick, Sinclair and Amini shared a pot of thick lamb stew over bottles of light beer. The Iranian was effervescent, stumbling through his story while they ate, but he knew he had to be careful. He’d already done some thinking about that one.
Sure they’d gone out on a limb for him, but how well did he know them really. And they were Westerners and British at that. They might not think the same way as he did, might have scruples about getting one in first. It might not go with their national ethic of fair play.
The uncertainty, tension and unpleasantness at Abadan was like ‘Boys Own’ stuff and easy to accept, so they got that. He skirted around Achmed’s visit avoiding his death altogether, only alluding to him having something to do with the disappearances. That was reason enough to get out right there, but also controversial enough for now. He’d see where they went with that first.
Nick absorbed what Amini said over another sip before detailing what had filled their television screen and what the British Embassy had come up with. Amini hadn’t seen or heard all that much in Abadan and knew about the student’s revolt only vaguely, but Nick had learned how to read people. He suspected that Amini was holding back.
“Do you know what you’ll do next Fred?”
“I haven’t got a bloody clue Nick. Getting out of Abadan before it was too late was all I could think about. Would it be okay if I stay here until I’ve sorted something out?”
“That’s okay mate, but we’ll keep an eye on what develops.” Nick didn’t hesitate and didn’t look at Sinclair, whose craggy face crinkled.
“How about relatives. Are there any around?”
“My father worked directly for the shah’s internal office and got exiled along with the entourage, but he was quite elderly and already sick, so he may not even be alive. I certainly haven’t been able to track him down, and my mother died years ago from some kind of fever. I’ve only got a younger sister besides that, and I believe she’s still in Tehran. She was when I met you at your embassy anyway. Apart from that there are a couple of aunts somewhere, but I haven’t seen them in years”
“Can you get in touch with her?”
“I’d better put you in the picture Nick, because Laleh is fairly liberated even by our standards. She got a degree in Sociology and Human Studies at the University of Tehran on Kargar Street then completed her masters at Cambridge. She’s only been back in Iran for two years. Compared to now the shah’s regime was pretty progressive but some of our ideas are still like the rest of the middle east. Her years in Britain have changed what she considers acceptable about a lot of things. Mine too I suppose, but I’m a male so it’s easier for me.”
“You aren’t in touch then? That’s a bit odd if there’s only the two of you left.”
Sinclair broke in before Amini could answer.
“Easy Nick I don’t think either of us is qualified to suggest how families should behave. Keep going Fred.”
“Our father didn’t object to Laleh getting a degree, but he did arrange for her to marry a fairly powerful man in his office after she’d finished, and from what we could see it would have been a good marriage for all concerned. She refused to do it.”
“Arranged marriages are a bit archaic in this day and age though Fred. It was bound to piss her off.”
“She was pretty direct about it Nick. She told my father she’d never marry the fat old pig, even if he was the last man on Earth. He was about twice her age. They argued some more, other things were said in the heat of the moment, and my father knew she meant it. We’d both been left some money by our mother, so Laleh took off to England and they never spoke again.”
Amini obviously took it seriously, but Nick’s eyes sparkled and the Scotsman had a job not to chuckle too. “So why aren’t you two closer? It must have been a few years ago now.”
I’ll admit our society is patriarchal Nick, so with our father out of it I did the male thing when she got back from the UK. I tried to talk her into mending bridges with him, to let him fix something up if we could get in touch. He was old school and she’d disgraced him, so he would need that.”
“And she wouldn’t do it?”
“She actually told me to fuck off, Jock. She said that she’d had a couple of affairs in England and was no longer a virgin, so it didn’t matter anymore. The way she put it shocked me and I sort of blew up too. We haven’t spoken since then either.”
“So you’ve no idea where she is really?” Nick was pensive.
“She was flatting with friends of my father in Tehran when I last saw her. He’s a Professor of Surgery and also heads up a small teaching facility at Shahid Beheshti University. Their kids had already left home so there was plenty of room.”
“Is she still there?”
“She may be Nick, but that’s not the real problem. She was working for the American Embassy when it was taken over. I don’t even know if she’s still alive.”
Both Europeans sat up as if they’d been stung. “Do you have his phone number? Can we get in touch with them?”
“I haven’t got his home number Jock and I’d be careful about dropping him in it right now. He’s in a very high profile position and even this regime needs top class surgeons. I’m pretty sure he won’t have any problems as long as he keeps his nose clean. He’ll be watched though, and if he’s caught mixed up helping people like us anything could happen.”
“Shit, this all seems like a bloody great mess to me Farhad. It’s not just about religion or even money, is it?”
Amini paused to collect his thoughts. Persians had always been proud of their history, particularly prior to the Arab invasion. It had even been a compulsory subject in schools until recently. Amini enjoyed the subject.
He’d learned that Iran sat strategically across the ancient silk route and that had lead to many relentless conflicts over the centuries. Different blood lines with diverse attitudes melded into what was now modern Iran, but unresolved differences still bubbled just under the surface, and resentment and jealousy between the blood lines were still active. This was something else he had to be careful about.
“More about religion than money for sure Nick. It started with Aryan Russians about 4000 years ago, and then a guy called Cyrus united the country about 1500 years after that. You could say he was the original shah really. His people were the first Persians, but then Alexander the Great had a go in 335 bc, and nearly a thousand years later the Arab legions invaded in 620 ad. My genes go back to long before the Arabs got here, and that’s part of the problem. We feel different, no, to be honest we are different. We resent the Arabs being here.” He paused to drink before he continued.
“Since then, the Turks, British and Russians have had a go, and the Christians and Jews have rioted once or twice as well. It wasn’t about oil either. Nobody knew about it until a bloke called D’Arcy discovered it here in 1908.” Amini paused again while he sipped.
“A lot of people have wanted their go at the top Nick. This time it was the Pahlavi’s turn, and my family are distantly related to the shah through my father. I didn’t really notice that the rest of the country wasn’t doing as well as we were. I was pretty young though and I went overseas for a fair while anyway. The religious leaders exiled the shah later, the United Nations wouldn’t let them get away with anything really nasty, but those of us left won’t be anywhere near as lucky. Most of us are for the chop if they catch us, mate.”
“Jesus, that’s pretty heavy Fred. Why can’
t they let people they don’t want just take off?”
“Outsiders don’t understand Nick, but a lot of Iranians aren’t Arabic, and Sharia laws are harsher than any other form of Islam. Even my own religion is different, with some Judaism and Christianity thrown in with some Islamic and Zoroastrian stuff. It’s all about history and power mate, and whose turn it is next.” Amini drew a ragged breath and lifted his glass.
“It’s not a criticism mate, but a few hundred years ago the Scots, Irish and English were all at each other’s throats in your country too.”
Nick took his time answering. “Well, quite honestly I’m glad that I was born when it was all over then Fred.”
“It’s all about fate not democracy here Nick. Whoever is strongest at the time rules, and that’s in the lap of the gods.”
Chapter Nineteen
The stress had been flicking on and off as if it was connected to a faulty light switch and Fred’s revelations hadn’t helped. They were drained and out of their depth. It was deep and murky already, and quickly getting beyond their collective experiences. Neither Nick Evans nor Sinclair knew where to go with it. Jock yawned.
“Well guys, I’m totally knackered and I need to sleep on this. What say we continue this after breakfast tomorrow?”
Dark rings circled Amini’s eyes, his shoulders slumped even though he was sitting, and Nick felt pretty ordinary himself. It didn’t take a lot to agree.
Nick showed Amini the bed in what had been Webster’s room, then the bathroom. There was a blue towel thrown on the bed and Nick tossed him a spare toothbrush and disposable razor. The commander had little except some underwear to unpack. Shopping for Amini would be a major priority.
“Jot down a few things you need with your sizes and I’ll nip into Qom tomorrow. All the shops will be open on a Sunday, but I think you should keep out of there for a while, Fred.”
Amini nodded, his eyelids already drooping. “Thanks again Nick. I’ll get out of your hair as soon as I can mate.”
“Don’t worry about that now Farhad, just get some sleep.”
Tired or not, and safe or not, the commander took a long time to settle. Adrenaline had been washing through his system for a long time. He was coming down but he wasn’t there yet. Nick was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.
It was already late when Nick emerged, but Amini was stilled asleep when Sinclair rocked up for a morning coffee. They stuffed meat slices into pocket bread and sipped from steaming coffee mugs in silence. The Scot was taciturn in the mornings anyway, but Nick was mulling over what to say. It was some time since he’d taken charge of his fellow man, years since he’d juggled with life and death decisions, but he realised that the basics were still there. In the end it was about priorities. Amini finally stumbled in, yawning sleepily, and it was the motivation that Nick needed.
“We’ll try to be logical about this Fred. The first thing we’ve got to do is get your sister out of Tehran. For her sake, but also for your friend’s from the way I see it.”
Amini still looked tired but already more relaxed and confident. His ready grin was wide and infectious. “Laleh Nick, Laleh. It means tulip in Farsi. When she was in the UK everybody called her Lily. I think you British need to reduce foreign names to something you can recognise and handle easily. At least that was another flower. She was happy with that one, so call her Lily.”
Both Nick and Sinclair grinned. “Lily it is for now then, but from what you said last night I might wait until I know her better before calling her that to her face.”
“She’s been called worse Nick. Rottweiler was a word I used, I think.”
Nick smiled again. “Whatever. But the thing is, will she come with us or want to stay in Tehran?”
“Maybe I gave you the wrong impression last night. Laleh’s head-strong but she’s pretty smart. She’d know that she’s at risk up there now, and know she’s putting others in danger too. I’m just not sure if she’d trust two Western strangers.”
“Have you been to the house she’s staying at?”
“Yes I have. I went around there a couple of times when she returned but I don’t remember the phone number. I buzzed Abdul at the university when I was dropping around.”
Nick absorbed that first. “Okay Fred, this is what we’ll do. The British Embassy is having a lunchtime Christmas thing next Thursday. I’ll phone and let them know that Jock and I will be coming and we can top up with a few things while we’re up there. They’re both good reasons to travel and we’ve done it heaps of times before. It’s only about an hour and three quarters drive to northern Tehran, so we’ll drop you at your friend’s house first and pick you up a few hours later. The embassy is on Ferdousi Avenue, in the city centre. I don’t want you in there if we can help it.”
“It’s okay if I come then?”
“We don’t have much choice Fred. Directory enquiries are probably already monitored, so it could be a dead giveaway if we phoned. She’ll be okay about coming if you’re there.”
Sinclair was thinking too. “Get Sarah to buy one of those old fashioned chador things for Laleh when she’ goes shopping next, one with just a slot for the eyes. It’s called a Niquab I think. With Fred in his Pakistan gear and Laleh in that, they could be a man and wife on the way back home.”
“Good idea. We’ll top up with fuel in Tehran as well. It’s best not to take Fred through the centre of Qom for the time being.”
In the end Nick Evans saved the shopping trip until early on Monday morning because Sinclair’s comments about a chador had opened up another, different box. Laleh would only have time to pack a bag or case because she wouldn’t know they were coming, and her needs had to be part of the equation too. The men went into a huddle using the spare time to beef up their list.
When they got to cosmetics and the more delicate stuff the girl might think essential, they hit a blank wall. Only the obvious sprang to mind. Sarah let them flounder at first, muttering uneasily amongst themselves before she drew up a chair. She rattled off a list of basics, then let them know she would attend to it herself. All the men knew to keep out of that one, and when Nick sighed audibly and the other two looked guilty she realised it had been a set-up.
That morning Nick drove them all to the dusty airfield, leaving Amini and the engineer out there while he drove on to Qom. Farhad would be okay, he was a commander for god’s sake, he didn’t have to spend the day alone. He could trail around after Sinclair, fetching and carrying and chatting.
Nick knew they’d be in Qom longer than usual this time so he let Sarah finish with the markets and dump her purchases at the vehicle first. A regiment hadn’t arrived, only Amini, but the housekeeper had filled two baskets as if she was feeding the whole of Shahabad. Even then she wasn’t finished. Next she dragged Nick to a nearby neighbourhood that sold Bakhtaran fashions.
Nick and Sarah squeezed passed the tiny shops and jostling crowds that cluttered the dark, twisting alleyways, made narrower still by a line of temporary, crude stalls. Brass work glittered brightly, precarious stacks of earthenware looked close to toppling and the booths were all aflutter with bright, fabric knick-knacks, but Sarah ignored them all. She steered Nick towards the airy arcades off the back lanes instead. That’s where the serious clothing shops were, and that’s where she was in her element. Even better, Nick was doing the paying.
Any flamboyant, warm colours or anything that approached the exotic seemed largely absent even in the bigger shops, but Sarah wasn’t deterred by what showed in windows, nor what didn’t show either. There was some older, more colourful stock still around and Sarah had a nose for it. Most of what was on offer approached the underwhelming at first, but not for long.
Letting Sarah have her head was the right thing to do. After just two sorties into department stores Nick was glad she was there. Sure he’d shopped for himself clutching a grubby, well-worked list before, but nothing like this. He’d heard somewhere that protracted shopping was a gender thing and that confirmed
it.
Two hours later Sarah had stuffed skirts, soft patterned blouses that matched them, and a couple of coloured head scarves into plastic bags, but still wasn’t finished. She went trawling for underwear and cosmetics next, but wasn’t so successful there. Any lines she did find were hardly exotic, and certainly unlikely to inflame a rampant desire. Amen. Amini got a few changes and a night-shirt or two, but his were almost an afterthought.
Sarah was smiling contentedly when Nick dropped her and her shopping off before returning to the airfield for the others. He phoned the embassy before returning them home.
Tehran was still a few days off but the hype climbed steadily as it got closer. Nick ambled through long walks and impromptu fishing trips with Amini, but nothing seemed to settle them down, nor tire them out either. He, Amini and Sinclair even tried sight-seeing and a hunting trip in the chopper. Nick was almost screaming by then.
But that Thursday did finally arrive with a brilliant blue sky and the promise of another warm, arid day. About par for the course out there. Webster’s skin had been too delicate to get tanned in the normal way so there was a tube of tanning cream in the bathroom cabinet. Nick tossed it to Amini and it darkened him up nicely. With a shemagh covering most of his face, and loose clothing hanging to his feet, there was little of him visible, and a loan of Imran’s passport was the final touch. With darker skin the resemblance was fairly close. Amini looked more a wandering Tuareg than a resident of Iran.
The function they were headed for was semi-formal so Nick and Sinclair pulled on smart casual cloths and real shoes. The Scot even scrapped off three days growth. They were ready to go.
They headed through the western suburbs with Nick at the wheel, deliberately avoiding the busy centre of Qom. A ticket was about the last thing he wanted right then, so he kept his speed down while he headed for the four-lane highway north to Tehran. Only a few vehicles travelled fast enough to throw off-white nomadic sand from the bitumen, and Nick wasn’t one of them.
