A TIME TO BETRAY (10 page)

I later learned from one of my relatives in the air force that intelligence provided by the Soviets to Iran’s Foreign Ministry had alerted Imam Khomeini to the coup attempt. Davood was right. Nothing happens in an oil-rich nation without the superpowers meddling.

When Agha Joon read in the newspaper of the execution by firing squad of every air force officer, he got up from his seat and walked in his garden, muttering, “Today the best of Iran has been executed by the worst.” He then bent over, caressing one of his roses, and whispered, “How history hinges on the smallest details.”

MY GRANDFATHER’S HEARTBREAK
grew deeper when Khanoom Bozorg passed away in the summer of 1980. My grandmother was the foundation of our family, and in that time of restless uncertainty, she was the one who held us all together. I knew I was going to miss her horribly and that many things would never be the same with her gone.

More than a hundred people attended her memorial service, including many I’d never met before. This shouldn’t have surprised me. My grandmother loved people and she was always making new friends. She was also very proud of her home, so she was constantly having new people over. I tried to greet everyone who came to the service and to interact with them, sharing our memories of this vibrant woman. Ultimately, though, I chose to sit alone by the fishpond, grieving and thinking about everything she’d meant to me. Khanoom Bozorg didn’t allow me to get away with much, but she made me a much better person than I ever would have been otherwise, and I knew I needed to consider the impact she had on my life and how I would carry her example with me for the rest of my years.

While I sat in silence, a young woman caught my eye. She was sitting next to my mother, engaged in conversation. And she was beautiful. So beautiful that I couldn’t stop looking at her, even through the haze of my grief. Every time she smiled while talking with my mother, my pulse quickened. As the memorial continued, guests
came toward me to offer their condolences, but I couldn’t keep my eyes on those people; I was too busy searching for her.

Agha Joon, who was also in the yard welcoming and thanking guests, came over and sat next to me. He was an observant man and I was afraid that he saw me staring at the woman. This shamed me, because I didn’t want him to think that I’d stopped thinking of my grandmother because of a pretty face.

“Khanoom Bozorg had a dream for you, Reza
jon,
” he said, putting his arm around my shoulder. “She loved you even more than her own children. Do you see that nice girl next to your mom? Her name is Somaya.” He smiled. “Her grandma and Khanoom Bozorg were close friends. Khanoom Bozorg had her in mind for you. She even talked to Somaya’s grandma about you. You know how women are. All they want to do is to hook young people up with each other. That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

I didn’t know what to say to this. Fortunately, my grandfather wasn’t looking for a response. He kissed my head, gave me a nudge, and said we should have a chat about Somaya when the moment was right.

Somaya!

On the way home, I asked Mom to tell me more about her. My mother said that Somaya’s Lebanese father was a British citizen and that he and her Iranian mother split their time between London and Tehran, where her grandmother and most of their Iranian relatives lived.

As clichéd as it might sound, I fell in love with Somaya the instant I saw her. Thoughts of her filled my head. Over the next few days, I would call her name in my daydreams. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw her smile. My stomach felt delightfully uneasy. I knew I needed to have her in my life.

I wasn’t surprised when Agha Joon dropped by for a visit a few days later and announced that he would arrange a meeting with Somaya’s parents while they were still in the country. He wanted to make Khanoom Bozorg’s wish come true by asking Somaya’s parents
for their daughter’s hand for me. I realized with horror that he planned to go
khastegari
for me. Going
khastegari
was like arranging a marriage. It was an old-fashioned thing to do and I did not want Somaya to think of me as an old-fashioned suitor. I told Agha Joon I was uncomfortable with this.

“Can’t I just ask for her number?” I pleaded.

“We have to go
khastegari
first,” he said, adopting the tone of the grand patriarch of our family. “I know Somaya’s grandmother and her parents. They are very traditional, and to respect their customs we should tell them that your intentions are pure and moral. I know you’ve grown used to American ways, but this is the way it is done in this country. At least
some
families still do it this way. If her parents agree, then you can go out on dates, get to know her, and do it your
American
way.” He patted my back, lifted his prominent eyebrows, and, with a big smile, made it clear that I had no other option.

Moheb Khan, Somaya’s dad, agreed to the meeting and told Agha Joon they looked forward to getting to know me. On the day of
khastegari,
Agha Joon and Mom accompanied me to Somaya’s grandmother’s house. As part of the
khastegari
tradition, the intended bride did not attend the initial phase of the gathering. While we waited, Agha Joon regaled Somaya’s family with stories about my limitless abilities and glorious plans for the future. This made me squirm.

“Reza
jon
is a family man, just like his dad. A good son to his father, he will be a good father to his son. As you know, he is a graduate from a fine university in California. USS, isn’t that right, Reza
jon
?”

“USC, Grandpa,” I said, embarrassed.

“Of course, USC. Reza has never wasted his life and he is destined to make a good living for his future wife, providing whatever she wishes.”

I tuned out Agha Joon’s ceaseless praise. All I wanted at that moment was to see Somaya. I’d heard that women liked their men to pass some kind of test to prove their affections. Certainly my bearing
up to the embarrassment of my grandfather’s bragging had to show the depth of my commitment to her.

When Somaya finally entered the living room carrying a tray of tea, the room went quiet. Gently and elegantly, she offered tea to each guest, from the oldest to the youngest. I could not stop looking at her, but she didn’t look directly at me. She was wearing a green satin blouse that enhanced the dark green color of her eyes. Her long black hair shone like smooth silk around her neck, and her shy and innocent smile made my heart beat faster.

She came toward me with the tray and the last cup of tea, offering it without looking at me. Her smile was even more magical up close. I found her so captivating that I was afraid I would drop the tea and make a fool of myself. When I hesitated, she glanced up. I knew at that moment that the clever girl had noticed me admiring her at the memorial, somehow without ever looking back at me. The gleam in her eyes made me realize that I would be the luckiest man on the planet if I could convince her to be next to me for the rest of my life.

Our families met one more time and then, trusting that I was a responsible young man, Somaya’s parents agreed that we could go out on dates. At first the dates took place in her grandmother’s living room, but at least her grandmother allowed us to be alone. Somaya talked about her life and friends in England, saying that she mostly socialized with her father’s side of the family. She visited Lebanon occasionally and finished school in London. But she adored her grandmother and longed to spend more time in Iran, as the rich culture and hospitality of the Iranian people fascinated her. I told her that I loved people who were multicultural. She smiled and said that she was glad we went
khastegari
first, as she also believed in the traditional ways. My grandfather found it especially satisfying when I told him about that last part later.

As I began to spend time with Somaya, I fell in love with her beyond my control. Eventually, her family allowed us to go out together, and I took her to parks, restaurants, and the movies. At some point, I realized that she had fallen in love with me as well
and I knew that our marriage would be everything I could have dreamed.

To respect Grandma’s passing and Agha Joon’s grief, Somaya and I agreed to wait a year to get married. But Agha Joon insisted that because Somaya and I seemed so happy together, it would have been my grandmother’s wish to see us marry sooner. I knew he wished the same. I also knew that since my grandmother’s passing, my grandfather had been thinking more about his own mortality. While he didn’t specifically say this, I believe he was worried that he wouldn’t be at the wedding if we waited an entire year. That would have devastated me, so following his prompting, Somaya and I married only a few months after we first met.

Agha Joon insisted that the wedding take place at his house. This delighted both Somaya and me. We held a big ceremony in Grandpa’s beloved garden and it felt as though new life were blooming in that spot where so many plants had flourished. I found this deeply encouraging. Despite the end of the ancient Persian monarchy, and despite the crisis after the revolution, the Iranian people could still fall in love and celebrate.

Everybody was there, just as when we were kids. Naser and Kazem attended, careful to avoid each other. That they declared a truce to be with me on this blissful occasion touched me. Although Kazem came alone, Naser came with his parents and siblings. He was also holding hands with a woman I’d never seen before. Though he hadn’t said a word to me about her, they had to be serious if she was coming to an event like this with his family.

Naser and the woman approached us. He had a huge smile on his face. “So you finally tied the knot,” he said, hugging me and kissing Somaya’s hand. “Congratulations to both of you. Especially you, Reza. You are a very lucky man.”

Somaya blushed. “We are both lucky.”

Naser put his arm around his guest’s shoulder. “This is Azadeh.”

I shook her hand and said hello. Then I turned toward Naser. “And …?”

“And we are dating.” He glanced over at Azadeh with deep affection in his eyes, and this warmed me. When Azadeh complimented Somaya and her gown and started asking about wedding details, I pulled him aside.

“What’s going on? Is it serious? I saw your mom and dad all over her. This looks like more than
dating
to me.”

Naser laughed broadly. “I guess that makes two of us with a leash around our necks! She is such a great girl, Reza. I think I am in love.”

Azadeh reminded me of my cousin Haleh, whom Naser had a crush on when we were kids. She had the same hairstyle and a similar smile. Naser had always been so casual about romance; it was amazing to see him looking at this woman with such devotion. I felt so happy that Naser was with someone who made him feel this way. I allowed myself to believe that maybe love could conquer ideology after all, and I wished at that moment for Kazem to find romance, too.

The party was joyous. Naser’s father, Davood, as he had on so many occasions, sang for us and led us in dance. Naser and Azadeh danced together the entire night. For those hours, life was as simple and untroubled as it had been when we were children.

But the outside world would never allow this peaceful satisfaction to continue. The last hopes of shah loyalists had already been extinguished when Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi died of cancer in Egypt in July 1980. An imperial tradition that had begun in 500 BC with Cyrus the Great was now fully at its end.

“Allaho Akbar!”
some people cried in the streets. “God is great!”

Agha Joon denounced this celebration of Khomeini followers. “Shame on this nation,” he said, “to have the last king of kings die in exile like a gypsy.”

And then on September 22, 1980, just two weeks after my wedding to Somaya, Iraq attacked Iran, raining bombs on several targets, including our city. I was at work with Kazem when several explosions shook the walls. Concerned that the ceiling would fall on us,
we ran into the courtyard, confused. Soon, our commanders told us that Iraqi planes had attacked several Iranian airports to disable the air force’s ability to launch. The bombs did minimal damage, however.

Soon after the invasion, Imam Khomeini appeared on television to announce,
“Etefaghi nayoftadah, dozdi amadah va sangi andakhte”:
“Nothing important has happened.” It was just a thief throwing stones. The country breathed a communal sigh of relief. However, the next day Kazem informed me that Saddam had attacked with six army divisions on three fronts. These divisions were, at that very moment, moving quickly into Iranian territory.

This news chilled me, though I could not have realized at the time that this would mark the beginning of an eight-year-long war. Or that half a million Iranians would die in the conflict before it was over.

The violent rivalry between Arabs and Persians was centuries old, stemming from the Muslim conquest of Persia, where Arabs defeated the Sassanid Empire, ending the dynasty of Sassanid and the practice of the Zoroastrian religion in Persia. Saddam seized upon our moment of vulnerability to launch his attack. Our government, having just executed all of the leading military commanders who served under the shah, had no trained generals, and it was using revolutionaries instead. In addition, we ousted not only the shah but his superpower ally with him. The American hostage crisis isolated Iran from the rest of the civilized world and the Mujahedin seemed determined to hurl our country into a guerrilla war. In the uproar and chaos, Saddam saw his chance to become the dominant oil power in the Middle East and to seize the oil fields near his border with our country.

Like all aggressors, Saddam claimed he was preemptively attacking in defense. His Sunni regime worried that the Islamic Revolution was spreading like an infection to the oppressed Shiite majority in his own country. In fact, an Iraqi version of Khomeini had emerged among the emboldened Shiites, a mullah named Muhammad Baqir
al-Sadr, who preached the Islamic religion in a style similar to Khomeini’s. Saddam executed him as soon as al-Sadr’s voice rose above the crowd. When the U.S. passed satellite intelligence to Saddam that suggested that Iranian forces would collapse quickly if attacked, Saddam launched his offensive.