A Bitter Veil (28 page)

The bus had no air conditioning, and even though it was late September, Anna was sweating under her chador in minutes. It would have helped to take it off—she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt underneath—but that was impossible. She opened the window, but the bus was passing through the desert north of Tehran, and a hot breeze scalded her skin. She felt dizzy. She hadn’t totally recovered from the miscarriage. She leaned her head against the wall of the bus and tried to nap.

An hour later, the scent of saffron and lemon drifted over her. She opened her eyes. The women around her were breaking out food. Chattering brightly, they passed around pita sandwiches, vegetables, and fruit. Anna’s stomach growled, and her mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and she had no food of her own. She turned her back on the women and faced the window, but the aromas of the food, the women’s laughter, and her own hunger tormented her.

A tap on her shoulder made her turn around. One of the women seated in front held out a sandwich. “
Ghazâ?
” she asked.

Anna looked at the sandwich, then back at the woman, and nodded. The woman smiled.

“
Mamnoon
.” Anna took the sandwich and wolfed it down. “
Che khoob
. It’s good.” The woman smiled again. It was just a simple kindness, but Anna was so grateful that tears stung her eyes.

By mid-afternoon the bus slowed and came to a fitful stop. A roadblock loomed ahead. The revolutionary government was flexing its muscle by setting up
checkpoints in cities and highways in order to examine papers—ostensibly checking for rebels and spies.
The door to the bus opened, and
three young men boarded, machine guns at the ready. Anna slumped in her seat and jiggled her foot. What would happen when they got to her? Would they figure out that she was a foreigner? Would her pale complexion give her away? She tucked her hair in and pushed the rusari on her chador low on her forehead.

Suddenly, the woman who’d offered her a sandwich poked her friend beside her and whispered in Farsi. The friend twisted around, stared at Anna, then whispered across the aisle to a young woman holding a baby. The infant was sleeping. The mother looked doubtful, but after a moment, got up and thrust the baby at Anna.

Anna’s heart thudded. She knew what they were doing. She dipped her head at the young mother and cradled the infant. The child, swaddled in a light blanket, wiggled in its sleep. Anna held her breath that the baby wouldn’t wake up and cry.

The officers, or whoever they were, stomped to the back of the bus. They appeared to be young, but youth, with its idealism and self-importance, could be dangerous.
One demanded to see the papers of the woman whose baby Anna was now cradling. The mother handed them over. She refused to make eye contact.

Oh, god, Anna thought. What if the mother’s papers indicated she was traveling with a baby? Would the soldiers figure it out? The soldier inspected the papers. He stared at them, frowned, then studied the mother, who still wouldn’t make eye contact with him. He handed the papers back. Anna sighed in relief. She wondered if the soldier had actually read them. Perhaps he wasn’t even literate. Maybe it was all bluster, like with so many of the revolutionaries. She focused on the baby but, out of the corner of her eye, she could tell the young man was watching her. His eyes flickered over her. The baby was squirming now, opening and closing its mouth. It was waking and wanted milk. Anna nuzzled the infant.

The soldier turned and backtracked to the front of the bus just as the baby opened its eyes. The infant had probably sensed that Anna wasn’t its mother. Its features scrunched into a grimace and it let out a lusty scream. As its wail reverberated through the bus, the woman in the seat in front called out to the soldier.

“Now look what you’ve done. You woke the baby.”

Anna rocked the crying infant.

The soldier shrugged as he disembarked from the bus.
“Bebakhshid
. I’m sorry.”

Anna took a relieved breath and handed the crying baby back to its mother. Once again, she was reminded how kind Iranians could be.

As the late afternoon sun dipped in the western sky, the bus arrived in Bazargan, a suburb of Maku, which occupied a rocky mountain gorge in northwestern Iran. She had imagined an isolated dusty border town and was surprised when they drove through crowded streets lined with sturdy buildings, past a cathedral and even a mosque—although its minarets and dome looked more Russian than Persian. Then again, they were almost as far north as Armenia.

As they approached the customs checkpoint, traffic slowed. Bazargan was a major crossing into Turkey, and cars and trucks were lined up at least half a mile from the border. But the terrain had changed, and once more they were in the high desert with rocky cliffs and mountains. The women nattered on, sharing rumors about suspected border closings and red tape.

Finally, the bus pulled into the terminal, a one-story building with a flat roof. Everyone filed off and was immediately waved inside by uniformed officers. Anna searched for the cleric without success. She was supposed to wait for him outside, but the guards gave her no chance to step out of line. She was forced to follow the others inside. Her stomach pitched.

She walked into a large room with a counter at one end. The counter was divided into five booths, each with a glass window, but only one of the booths was open. If she stayed in line, she would eventually reach the only customs official on duty. Bijan had told her to avoid talking to anyone, but if she broke out of line to go outside, the guards would ask her why, which, for a woman traveling alone in the Islamic Republic, was dangerous. Despite the letter from the Tehran komiteh, her stomach tightened into a hard knot.

Thankfully, the line moved slowly. The man behind the booth screened each passenger, asking questions and scanning documents. He seemed overly thorough. One by one the women who had been so nice to her on the bus passed the official’s scrutiny. The young mother with the baby gave Anna a farewell nod.

Almost an hour passed, but no cleric appeared. Anna was now at the front of the line. She rubbed the back of her neck under her chador. Her insides turned liquid with fear. She couldn’t see a way to avoid talking to the official.

“
Mitoonam komaketoon konam?”

Anna went blank. What was he saying? She turned around. A woman behind her gave her a gentle shove. Anna took a tentative step forward.

“
Ajaleh kon!
” the man gestured with an irritated wave.

She knew what that meant. “Hurry up.” As she approached the counter, he let out a stream of Farsi, so fast she couldn’t understand. She looked at him, still blank. He repeated himself. She pulled out the letter from the komiteh in Tehran and slid it across the counter. He scanned it, frowned, shook his head, and spewed out another stream of Farsi. This time Anna forced herself to concentrate and made out a word here and there. He was asking for her passport. Which, of course, she didn’t have.

She wanted to melt into the floor. Everything was falling apart. She would be sent back to prison. She looked for the women who’d helped her on the bus, but they’d left the building. She turned back to the official who suddenly spoke to her in English.

“Where is your passport?”

Anna couldn’t help register a jolt of recognition. She was about to reply when she realized her mistake. The customs official saw it too.

“Where are you from?” he asked in a curt voice.

She kept her mouth shut.

“Where do you live?”

“
Man dar Iran zendegi mikonam,”
Anna replied in Farsi.

The official took a long look at her, then snorted. He cried out. “Guards. Come! Hurry!”

Almost immediately, two men with machine guns flanked Anna. The customs official explained that she had no passport and that she seemed to understand English.

“America?” one guard asked.

The official nodded.

“
Bâ man biyâ,
” one of them said. “Come with me.” The guards grabbed her and started walking her to the back of the building. Anna panicked. She hadn’t come all this way just to be apprehended again.

Suddenly, a man dressed in a cleric’s garb rushed into the building. He was breathing hard, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He gazed around, saw Anna, and arched his eyebrows. He hurried over and gave her a big hug, all the while talking in a rapid stream of Farsi. Anna managed to catch a few words. “
Khosh âmadid!
Welcome.
Finally. Where have you been?”

“Who are you?” one of the guards barked.

The man relinquished Anna and stepped back. He straightened up, his expression turning serious. “
Salâm, barâdar!
Good evening. I am Amir. This is my niece. I will be taking her on pilgrimage. I’m so sorry.
Bebakhshid!
I was lost.
Man gom shodam
. Trying to find the terminal.”

The guard glanced at his companion, then at the cleric. “Why does your niece not speak Farsi?” His eyes were suspicious.

“Yes, yes.” The cleric bobbed his head, as if he hadn’t quite understood the question. He spoke slowly in Farsi so Anna could understand. “She is French.” He pointed to her. “She speaks French, English, and German. But she is converting to Islam and, Inshallah, soon will speak perfect Farsi.” He smiled beatifically. “I am her uncle, you see. Her mother is French. She is married to my brother. Her mother, that is. They have just returned to Iran. But they visited the Ayatollah when he was in Paris, you know. He is acquainted with our family.”

The official glared at Anna, but the cleric stepped in front of her, using his body as a shield between them. “Where have you been, my dear?” he asked in Farsi. “I expected you so much earlier. Yesterday, in fact.
Dirooz
.”

“The bus.
L’autobus était en retard. Et très lent.”

He nodded approvingly.

“
Mamnoon, mamnoon.
Thank you,” he said, bobbing his head toward the guards, “…for taking care of my niece.”

“She has no papers, Amir. Just this letter. Where is her passport?”

“
Baleh. Baleh.
Yes. Yes. Her mother has it.” He squinted through a window at the setting sun. “But it will soon be time for prayers. Inshallah, we will return tomorrow when we are ready to travel.” He motioned to Anna to follow him out.

But the guards kept a firm grip on her while they conferred, talking over her head.

The cleric intervened. “Brothers, we have snatched her away from the infidels. She will be one of us. A good Muslim woman. She has already started down the path.
Allâho Akbar
. Let me continue her education.”

The guards looked at the official. He scanned the letter again, wrote down the name in the letter, then clipped it to a clipboard. Anna could hardly breathe. She needed the letter. But the cleric seemed unperturbed, and the guards relinquished their grip. The cleric took Anna by the arm, and hustled her out of the building.

A few minutes later, Anna was in a small green car driving away from the border crossing.

“Thank you.
Mamnoon
,” Anna said. “You saved my life.”

“You were smart to pick up on the French,” he said in well-spoken but accented English. Anna was surprised. He grinned and peered in the rear view mirror. “
Khoob
. Good. We are not being followed.”

Anna started to relax, then sat up. “The letter. The one from the komiteh. We’ll need that, won’t we?”

The cleric smiled. “Not anymore.”

Anna was not sure whether to believe him. She was not sure of anything.

As they neared Maku, the landscape slowly changed into an urban setting.

“Where are we going?”

“To my home. You need to eat. And rest. When it is dark, we will cross.”

“Where?”

“That I cannot tell you. But you will soon be on your way to Dogubeyazit.”

She studied the man. Apart from the clerical garb, Anna saw a lined face, a salt-and-pepper beard and dark curly hair graying at the temples. His blue eyes were almost as turquoise as the peacock that had been smashed to bits at the Samedis. His cheeks were ruddy, as though he spent time outdoors. “What is your name? What should I call you?”

He paused, then grinned and brushed his hand down his robe. “You may call me anything you want…but Amir will do.”

They drove to a small stucco house in a residential section of Maku. As they got out and approached the door, Anna saw a tiny strip of wood at eye level on the side of the door. At first she thought it was just a decorative ornament, but when he pressed his fingers to his lips, then touched it, she asked, “What are you doing? What is that?”

“It is a
mezuzah
.”

Anna felt her eyes widen.

Inside he stripped off the clerical robe, balled it up, and tossed it into a corner. “You may take off your chador.” He went into the kitchen.

Anna took off the chador and sat on the couch. Unlike the nondescript exterior, the interior of the house was warm and comfortable. A Persian carpet covered the floor, and the walls were blue and pale yellow, with a crown molding of repeating flourishes. A mirror with a gilt frame hung on one wall, and what looked like a mobile dangled in front of the window. When she got up to inspect it, she discovered it was actually an elaborate votive candle holder, with stained glass, stars, and crescent decorations. A breakfront in one corner contained photos of Amir and a woman, along with a younger woman, and a young man. They were all in Western clothing.

She heard the rattle of dishes and the tinkle of metal coming from the kitchen. A few minutes later, Amir carried out a tray of food and two plates. Anna was ravenous and devoured the hummus, flatbread, chicken kababs, and a rice and vegetable dish. It was the best food she’d ever tasted. “Did you cook this?”

He pointed to the photographs on the breakfront. “My wife. But she is not here. We thought it would be better for her to visit the grandchildren today.”

“Please tell her how delicious it is.”

He smiled.

“How do you and my father know each other?”

He chewed thoughtfully as if considering how much to tell her. “I am a Kurd. Many of us in this part of Iran are.”

Anna nodded.

“And I am a Jew. It is a rare combination. There used to be more of us, but…well…you did not come for a history lesson.”

“But I’m interested.”

His smile turned enigmatic. “You know the expression ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’? Certain circumstances came together some years ago.”

“What would those be?”

“It would be better for your father to tell you. Let me just say that I am in his debt. This is my way to repay it.”

Anna wondered what sort of “friendship” had developed between a former Nazi scientist and a Kurdish Jew. The Kurds had been fighting for independence for centuries. The Nazis had allied themselves with the shah’s father during World War II. She frowned.

Amir changed the subject and told her to rest in the living room while he filled the car with petrol. But Anna couldn’t relax. Her nerves jangled with the anticipation of finally leaving Iran. At the same time she was still wary. So much had gone wrong. For so long.

He returned just as darkness was falling. “It is almost time,” he said. “Put on your chador.”

She picked it up. “What about my passport?”

“I will give it to you.”

Once again they set out in Amir’s car. The dark night was sliced with bars of moonlight; still, Anna had no idea where they were headed. Traffic had eased and soon they were climbing into the mountains. The higher they rose, the chillier it grew. Anna was glad for the chador. As he swung around a narrow road pitted with rocks, Anna gripped the edge of her seat. The farther they went, the more the road deteriorated, and eventually, it narrowed to nothing more than a wavy mountain path that looked like it was made for goats.

“Do not be alarmed.”

But Anna was tense, and soon the path tapered to a trail so narrow Amir was forced to stop the car. Amir gestured for Anna to get out. “Be careful.”

As she climbed out of the car, she saw why. The mountain crowded in on one side, but what passed for the road was barely six feet across, and if she stepped too far, she would fall over the edge of a steep cliff. Even worse, the path was so narrow there didn’t appear to be enough room for the car to get through. He fingered his beard. Fear twisted Anna’s gut. Despite his protestations, was Amir lost? Would they be forced to backtrack? She didn’t see how. The path was too narrow to turn the car around, and she couldn’t imagine driving down an entire mountain in reverse. The old familiar desperation picked at her.

Meanwhile, he spread his arms, as if measuring the width of the path. Then he did the same to the car. He turned around.

“I must drive through alone. Once the path widens, I will come back for you.”

“No!” she cried out. “You can’t leave me! What if…I mean, what if…”

“Do not worry. I will return.”

She tightened the chador around her. What if this was a trick? What if Amir was using this opportunity to abandon her? It was cold. And dark. She had no idea where she was. How was she going to survive? All she had was a little money and a chador. No passport, no identification. She no longer even had the letter—the customs official had kept it. She shivered, feeling the tension in her neck. “How do I know you’ll come back?”

He laid his hands on her shoulders. “You have my word.”

But Anna was not convinced. She had heard too many words. Empty words. Cruel words. Words with no pearls of truth between the shell of lies.

“What if you don’t make it?”

“I will.”

She watched Amir get back in the car and flick on the headlamps. He started the engine, and slowly inched forward. She heard the quiet crunch of wheels on rocks. The grumble of the engine. She was afraid for him, for her, for everyone. The car rolled forward. So far, so good. Then he started to round a curve. He couldn’t be more than an inch from the edge of the cliff. She held her breath. Slowly the car disappeared from sight.

She didn’t know what to do. Pace? Stand still? She hugged her arms. She was still standing in the middle of the path when she heard a whine far off in the distance. She craned her neck. The air was clear, but she couldn’t see anything. The whine became a drone, and she realized it was coming from overhead. She looked up and staggered back just as several jets, their lights winking in the night sky, roared past in formation. For a brief moment, she panicked, thinking the planes were coming for her. Then she realized that she was being paranoid. But they
were
going somewhere.

She was so absorbed by the planes that she didn’t hear Amir return, and when he tapped her on the shoulder, she jumped. The roar still reverberated in the air. She pointed to the jets, no more than tiny lights in the sky. “What are they? Where are they going?”

He looked up and squinted. “It is difficult to tell in the dark, but I would guess they are bombers. Warplanes.”

“Bombers?”

“From Iraq. They look like they’re headed toward Urmia. It is near the border. Maybe Tabriz.”

“War?”

“Between Iran and Iraq. It has been coming for months.”

Anna watched the jets streak across the sky and eventually disappear. Another war. What would become of Bijan and Parvin? Would they survive? What about Hassan and Roya? And Charlie? Would war free Charlie and the other hostages? She hoped so.

“But this is no business of ours,” he said briskly. “Come. The car is safely through the pass.”

Anna brought her focus back, and they walked around the bend. The car was waiting. They got in and slowly descended the other side of the mountain. After an hour of more hairpin turns and narrow passes, the ground gradually leveled. The clear moonlit night revealed the dusty desert terrain with which Anna was so familiar. She rolled down the window. She tasted grit in her throat.

Five minutes later, Amir said, “We are in Turkey.”

Anna gazed through the windshield, then the side windows. Relief flooded through her, and her grin was so broad the muscles around her mouth felt stiff. “How long until we get to Dogubeyazit?”

“Not long.”

The road flattened out. It was well-paved and straight, with white lane markers down the center. If Anna didn’t know better, it might be any two-lane highway in America. She wanted to sing and dance and laugh. To celebrate.

He kept driving for another ten miles or so, then slowed just before a dirt road intersected the highway. He turned onto the dirt road and stopped the car.

“Why are we stopping?”

“You will see. It is a surprise.”

Anna’s high spirits abruptly flagged, and her dread returned. Amir never had any intention of letting her go. She got out of the car, her face set in a grimace. Should she run? How far could she get? Or should she just stay and make a stand? She might be able to scratch his face, maybe even seriously, before…before what?

She was still debating what to do when another car glided toward them from the opposite direction. Cool silver gleamed in the moonlight. She took a sharp breath, fearing the worst. The car made the turn onto the dirt road and came to a stop. A uniformed chauffeur got out and opened the rear door. An elderly man climbed out. He was wearing a dark suit, tie, and his shirt was so white the moonlight bounced off the collar. He was carrying a briefcase. Anna blinked. The man looked familiar. She blinked again.

“Papa?”

“Anna.”

Her father was here. In Turkey. He had come halfway around the world to get her.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. He went to Amir and shook his hand. Amir handed him something. Her father dug into the briefcase and gave him something in return.

Amir looked at Anna’s father. “I have repaid my debt.” He faced Anna. “Farewell, my dear niece.”

Anna grabbed his arms, hugged him, and kissed him on both cheeks.

Amir slipped into his car. He started the engine, gave them a wave, and drove away. She turned to her father.

He cleared his throat. “I am to tell you that Hassan will recover. The girl, Roya—I believe that is her name—is tending to him.”

Anna grinned. Roya was a real nurse now.

Her father’s expression darkened. “The Samedis’ daughter has been taken to Evin Prison. Your mother-in-law has collapsed. She has been taken to an institution.”

“And Bijan?”

“He will stay in Iran.”

Tears poured down Anna’s cheeks. Tears she hadn’t been able to shed for months. Tears for Bijan, for Parvin, for Laleh, and most of all, for Nouri. Her father stayed quiet, as if he understood. Anna wasn’t sure how long she cried, but eventually, the tears stopped. Once she was able to talk, she said softly, “I think I know now why you wanted me to get married in Virginia. You wanted to protect me. You knew that—if everything fell apart—it would easier for me to get divorced in the States.”

Her father gave her a curt nod, as if he was embarrassed that she felt compelled to raise the subject at all.

“But Nouri…you have to know…” Anna swallowed. “Nouri wasn’t…evil…when we met. None of them were. It’s as if an entire country—an entire culture—slipped off its axis. Black became white. White became black. Kind people were unkind. Good people were bad. Do you understand, Papa?”

Her father cleared his throat again. “I…I have an idea.”

Of course he did. Anna suddenly had the sense that her father had endured much more than he’d ever revealed. And that it had cost him more than she knew. She tightened her lips. She wanted to know it all: his life in Germany, his relationship with her mother, and, especially his dealings with a Kurdish Jew from northwestern Iran. But they would have time to talk. Days and weeks and months and years. She slipped her arm around his waist.

“I’m ready to go home, Papa.”

THE END