The Book of Fate

by Parinoush Saniee

  ‘Come on… what vote? They took the votes from uninformed, revolution-crazy people who didn’t know what trap they were falling into.’

  ‘Whether they knew or not, they elected this government and they have not withdrawn their vote or their support. You are neither their advocate nor their representative and you must respect their choice even if it is contrary to your beliefs.’

  ‘Meaning I should sit idly by and wait for everything to be destroyed?’ he said. ‘I am a political thinker, I know the correct way to govern, and now that the foundation is ready, we must finish what we started. And to this end, I will not turn away from any fight or struggle.’

  ‘Fight? Fight with whom? There is no Shah. You want to fight against the republican government? Fine, do it. Announce your plans and four years from now put them to the vote. If your way is the right way, the people will certainly vote for you.’

  ‘Come on, don’t fool yourself. It’s not as if the Islamists would allow it. And exactly what people are you referring to? The people who are predominantly illiterate and in fear of God and the Prophet offer everything they own to the religious fanatics?’

  ‘Literate or illiterate, these are the people and this is what they have voted for,’ I repeated. ‘But you want to impose your own style of government on them.’

  ‘Yes! If necessary, I will do that, too. And when the people realise what is to their benefit and who is working for their greater good, they will side with us.’

  ‘And what about those who don’t side with you, those who have different beliefs?’ I asked. ‘Right now, there are hundreds of political groups and factions in this country and they all believe they are right and they are not likely to accept your style of government. What will you do with them?’

  ‘It is only the malevolent and the traitors who do not think about the good of the people and oppose it. They must be removed.’

  ‘Meaning, you would execute them?’

  ‘Yes, if necessary.’

  ‘Well, the Shah did that. Why did you all shout that it was tyranny? What a fool I was to think so highly of you and to have such high hopes for you! Little did I know that after all that fighting for the people and love of the nation and preaching about human rights, the gentleman wants to become an executioner! You are so mired in your own fantasies that you actually believe the religious fanatics will sit quietly by and wait for you to take up arms, start another revolution and mass-murder all of them. Of all empty dreams! They will kill you! They will not repeat the Shah’s mistake. And with what you have in mind, they would actually be in the right.’

  ‘This itself exemplifies their fascist tendencies,’ Hamid argued. ‘And that is why we must be armed and strong.’

  ‘You are not short of fascist tendencies yourself,’ I snapped. ‘Even if the impossible happens and your organisation takes over the government, if you don’t massacre more people than them, you certainly won’t massacre any fewer.’

  ‘That’s enough!’ he shouted. ‘You never had the brains for revolution.’

  ‘No, I didn’t and I don’t. All I want is to protect my family.’

  ‘You are utterly self-absorbed and egotistical.’

  Arguing with Hamid was useless. We had come full circle and returned to where we were years earlier. Everything was starting all over again, but this time I was tired and fed up, and he was more brash and fearless. I struggled with myself for several days. When I thought about my life and my future, I concluded that pinning my hopes on him was stupid and futile. I had to count only on myself; otherwise, I would not be able to manage our lives.

  I decided to forgo the remainder of my leave from work and Mrs Parvin agreed to come to the house every day and take care of Shirin.

  Mr Zargar was surprised to see me back at work.

  ‘Would it not have been better if you had stayed with your daughter until the end of your leave and until things calmed down a little?’ he asked.

  ‘Don’t you need me any more? Or has something happened that I am not aware of?’ I said.

  ‘No, nothing special has happened and we always need you. It’s just that the issue of women having to wear headscarves and the purges have created some unrest.’

  ‘That is not important for me. I have lived most of my life wearing headscarves and chadors.’

  The day had not yet ended when I fully grasped the meaning of Mr Zargar’s words. The free and open atmosphere of the early days of the revolution had disappeared. Like everywhere else, the employees had formed different groups and every group was in conflict with another one. Some of my co-workers tried to distance themselves from me. Every time I entered a room, conversations would abruptly end or for no apparent reason someone would make a snide remark. In contrast, others would try to secretly engage me in conversation and, as if I were the leader of all leftist factions, requested all sorts of information. The Revolution Committee of which I was the first elected member had been dismantled and other committees had formed. The most important of these was the Eradication Committee, which apparently held everyone’s destiny in its hands.

  ‘Didn’t they identify and dismiss the SAVAK agents last year?’ I asked Mr Zargar. ‘Then why are they holding so many meetings and spreading so many rumours?’

  Mr Zargar laughed bitterly and said, ‘After you have been here a few days, you will understand. People we have known for years have overnight become ardent Muslims. They have grown beards, carry their prayer beads all day, constantly recite prayers and are out to settle a few scores, dismiss a few people and profit from what they can take. You can no longer tell apart these opportunists from the revolutionaries. I think they are far more dangerous for the revolution than people who openly object and stand in opposition. By the way, make sure to go to the noon prayers, otherwise you’ll be done for.’

  ‘You know I am a religious person and I have never stopped praying,’ I said. ‘But praying in this agency, where even its premises have been unlawfully expropriated, and praying in front of these people just to prove that I am pious is something I won’t do. I have never been able to worship in a crowd and in front of others.’

  ‘Put all this talk aside,’ Mr Zargar warned. ‘You must go to noon prayers. A whole lot of people are waiting to see you pray.’

  Every day the list of people who were to be purged from the agency was posted on the bulletin board. And daily, with dread in our hearts, we stared at that board that would determine our destinies and sighed with relief when we didn’t see our name on it, considering that to be a good day.

  The day war broke out between Iran and Iraq, we heard the noise of the bombing and ran to the rooftop. No one knew what had happened. Some said it was an attack by the anti-revolutionaries, others believed it was a coup d’état. I was worried about the children and hurried home.

  From that day on, the conflict became yet another complication of life. The nightly blackouts, the various shortages, the scarcity of oil and other fuels just as the weather was turning cold and when I had an infant at home, and, worse yet, the nightmarish images of war I had in my head, all weakened my morale.

  I covered the window in the children’s room with black fabric and at night, when the electricity was cut and there were sporadic air raids, we sat by candlelight and listened with horror to the sounds coming from outside. Hamid’s presence would have been a great comfort, but just as he had never been with us at critical times, this time too he was absent. I didn’t know where he was, but I no longer had the energy to fear for him.

  The shortage and rationing of petrol completely disrupted public transportation. Oftentimes, Mrs Parvin had difficulty finding a taxi or a bus to come to our house in the morning and had to walk part of the way.

  One day she was late and I arrived at work later than usual. As soon as I walked into the building, I realised something unusual had happened. The guard at the door turned away from me. He not only didn’t greet me, he didn’t answer when I said hello to him. A few of the agency’s d
rivers who were sitting in the guardroom peeked out and stared at me. As I walked down the hallway, everyone who passed by me quickly looked away and pretended they hadn’t seen me. I walked into my office and froze. The room had been ransacked. The contents of all the drawers had been emptied out on my desk and there was paper scattered everywhere. My knees started to shake. Fear, anger and humiliation were burning my insides.

  Mr Zargar’s voice brought me back to reality. ‘Excuse me, Mrs Sadeghi,’ he said. ‘Would you please come to my office?’

  Silent and stunned, I followed him like a robot. He invited me to sit. I fell into a chair. He spoke for a while, but I didn’t hear a word he said. Then he handed me a letter. I took it from him and asked what it was.

  ‘It is from the central office’s Eradication Committee,’ he said. ‘I thought… it says you have been dismissed…’

  I stared at him. Unshed tears were burning my eyes and a thousand thoughts were rushing through my mind.

  ‘Why?’ I asked in a choked voice.

  ‘You have been accused of having communist leanings and of promoting and being affiliated with anti-revolution groups.’

  ‘But I have no political leanings and I have not promoted any group! I was on leave for almost a year.’

  ‘Well, because of your husband…’

  ‘But what do his actions have to do with me? I have said a thousand times that I don’t share his beliefs. I should not be blamed for his offences.’

  ‘That is true,’ Mr Zargar said. ‘Of course, you can always dispute the charges. But they claim to have proof and several people have testified.’

  ‘What proof? What have people testified to? What have I done?’

  ‘They say in February 1979 you brought your husband to the office to publicise his communist ideology, that you organised a question and answer session, and distributed anti-revolution newspapers.’

  ‘But he had only come to pick me up. The guys dragged him in by force!’

  ‘I know, I know. I remember. I am just informing you of their claims and you can officially challenge their decision. But to be honest, I think both you and your husband are in danger. Where is he anyway?’

  ‘I don’t know. He has been gone for a week and I have not heard from him.’

  Tired and weak, I went back to my office to gather my belongings. Tears were welling up in my eyes, but I would not allow them to flow. I didn’t want my adversaries to witness my desolation. Abbas-Ali, the janitor on our floor, slid into my office with a tea tray. He acted as if he had stepped into forbidden territory. He gazed sadly at me and at the room for a few seconds and then whispered, ‘Mrs Sadeghi, you don’t know how upset I am. I swear on my children’s lives, I said nothing against you. I never saw anything other than goodness and kindness from you. Everyone is so upset.’

  I laughed bitterly and said, ‘Yes, I can tell from their behaviour and from their false testimonies. People with whom I have spent seven years have conspired against me so expertly that now no one will even look at me.’

  ‘No, Mrs Sadeghi, that’s not how it is. They are all terrified. You won’t believe the trumped-up charges they have come up with against your friends Mrs Sadati and Mrs Kanani. There is talk that they will be dismissed, too.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s as bad as that,’ I said. ‘You are exaggerating. And even if they are dismissed, it won’t be because of their friendship with me. This is all about old grudges and jealousies.’

  I picked up my handbag, which was bulging with my things, took the folder that contained my personal papers and made to leave.

  ‘Missus, for the love of God, don’t blame me,’ Abbas-Ali pleaded. ‘Absolve me.’

  I wandered around the streets until noon. Gradually, anxiety replaced my humiliation and anger: anxiety about the future, anxiety for Hamid and the children, and anxiety over money. With inflation continuing to rise alarmingly, what was I going to do without a salary? For the past two months the printing house had made no money and Hamid’s father had not been able to scrape together an income for Hamid.

  I had a splitting headache and struggled to make my way home.

  ‘What are you doing home so early?’ Mrs Parvin asked with surprise. ‘And you went to work late this morning. If you continue like this, they will fire you.’

  ‘They just did!’

  ‘What? Are you serious? May God take my life! It is my fault for having been late this morning.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘They don’t fire people for showing up late, for not working, for harassing others, for being incompetent, for theft, for lechery, for promiscuity, for dishonesty, or for stupidity. They fire the likes of me; someone who has worked like a mule, someone who knows her job, someone who has to pay for her children’s expenses. I was tainted and they had to fire me so that the agency would be purged and purified.’

  I did not feel well for several days. I had a severe headache and slept only a few hours with the help of the Novalgin Mrs Parvin gave me. Hamid had returned from a trip to Kurdistan, but he stopped by the house only a couple of times. He said they had a lot of work to do and he was spending the nights at the printing house. I didn’t even have the chance to tell him I had been dismissed from work.

  The news I was hearing about Hamid and his organisation was becoming more troubling and my fears were deepening by the day. And then, the nightmare I had experienced once before happened again.

  In the middle of the night, government forces stormed the house. From their exchanges I realised that the printing house had been raided at the same time, and that Hamid and others who were there with him had been arrested.

  The same insults, the same horror, the same hatred; it was as if I was being forced to watch an old, horrible movie for a second time. Those probing hands and eyes, whose memory still made me shudder with disgust, were again going through the most private corners of my life and I was feeling the same chill and nakedness I had experienced years ago. But this time, Siamak’s rage was not just in his eyes. He was now a quick-tempered fifteen-year-old, writhing with anger, and I was terrified that he would suddenly give voice to his loathing, verbally or physically. I was clutching his hand and begging him under my breath to stay calm, to say nothing and to not make the situation any worse than it was. And all the while, with the colour drained from his face, Massoud watched the scene while holding Shirin in his arms and making no effort to keep her quiet.

  Everything started all over again. Early the next morning, I called Mansoureh and asked her to tell her father very calmly what had happened. Did Hamid’s parents have the strength to live through such a bitter ordeal a second time? An hour later, his father called. Hearing his pained voice made my heart ache.

  ‘Father,’ I said. ‘We have to start all over again, but I don’t know from where. Do you know anyone who could find a trace of him?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘Let me see if I can find someone.’

  The house was in complete disarray and we were all overwrought and on edge. Siamak was roaring like a lion, punching and kicking walls and doors, cursing the earth and the sky. Massoud was behind the sofa, pretending to be asleep. I knew he was crying and didn’t want anyone to intrude on his privacy. Shirin, who was generally a pleasant child, had picked up on the tension and would not stop crying. And I, shaken and confused, was fighting away horrifying thoughts.

  On the one hand, I was cursing Hamid and blaming him for having again shattered our lives, and on the other, I was asking myself, Is torturing prisoners still a common practice? I wondered what condition he was in. He used to say that the first forty-eight hours was when they inflict the worst pain on prisoners. Could he survive it? His feet had only recently started to look normal again. What exactly was he accused of? Would he have to stand trial in the Revolutionary Court?

  I wanted to scream. Needing to be alone, I went to my bedroom and closed the door. I put my hands over my ears to not hear the children and I let my tears flow. I saw my reflection in the m
irror. I looked pale, horror-struck, helpless and disoriented. What was I to do? What could I do? I wanted to run away. If it weren’t for the children, I would have headed for the mountains and deserts and I would have disappeared. But what was I going to do with them? I was like a captain whose ship was sinking and whose passengers were looking at him with hope in their eyes. But I was more broken than my ship. I needed a lifeboat to help me escape, to take me some place far away. I no longer had the strength to carry that heavy burden of responsibility.

  The sound of the baby crying had grown louder and it was slowly turning into agonising screams. I instinctively got up and wiped away my tears. I had no choice. The children needed me. That ship caught in a storm had no captain but me.

  I picked up the telephone and called Mrs Parvin. I quickly explained what had happened, asked her to stay home and wait for me to take Shirin there. Mrs Parvin was still screaming desperately when I hung up. Shirin had finally calmed down in Massoud’s arms. I knew he couldn’t bear to see his sister cry and would stop pretending to be asleep. Siamak was sitting at the kitchen table. His face was flushed, he had clenched his jaw and his fists and I could see the swollen veins on his forehead throbbing.