"i was... i was wearing chador but 1... i took it off while i was eat "
"you took off your chador in a hut with the door closed eating with a stranger? what else had you taken off?"
"nothing, nothing," she said in more panic, pulling her unzipped parka closer about her, "i was just eating and he's not a stranger but an old friend of mi... old friend of my husband," she corrected herself hastily but the slip had not gone unnoticed. "abdollah khan is my father and you have no r "
"old friend? if you're not guilty you've nothing to fear! before god, have you lain with him? swear it!"
"kalandar, send for my father, send for him!" the kalandar did not move. all eyes were grinding into her. helplessly she saw the blood on the snow, her johnny groaning, coming around. "i swear by god i'm faithful to my husband!" she screamed. the cry went over them all and into ross's mind and seared him awake.
"answer the question, woman! is it yes or no? in the name of god, have you lain with him?" the mullah was standing over her like a diseased crow, the villagers waiting, everyone waiting, the trees and the wind waiting even god.
insha'allah!
her fear left her. in its place was hate. she stared back at this man mahmud as she got up. "in the name of god, i am and have always been faithful to my husband," she pronounced. "in the name of god, yes, i loved this man, years upon years ago."
her words made many that were there shudder and ross was appalled that she had admitted it.
"harlot! loose woman! you openly admit yourself guilty. you will be punished accord "
"no," ross shouted over him. he dragged himself onto his knees and though the two mujhadin had guns at his head, he ignored them. "it was not the fault of her highness. i i'm to blame, only me, only me!"
"you'll be punished, infidel, never fear," mahmud said, then turned to the villagers. "you all heard the harlot admit fornication, you all heard the infidel admit fornication. for her there is but one punishment for the infidel... what should happen to the infidel?"
the villagers waited. the mullah was not their mullah, nor of their village, nor a real mullah but an islamic-marxist. he had come uninvited. no one knew why he had come here, only that he had appeared suddenly like the wrath of
god with leftists also not of their village. not true shi'as, only madmen. hadn't the imam said fifty times all such men were madmen who only paid lip service to god, secretly worshiping the satan marx-lenin.
"well? should he share her punishment?"
no one answered him. the mullah and his men were armed.
azadeh felt all eyes boring into her but she could no longer move or say anything. she stood there, knees trembling, the voices distant, even ross's shouting, "you've no jurisdiction over me or her. you defile god's name..." as one of the men standing over him gave him a brutal shove to send him sprawling then put a booted foot on his neck pinioning him. "castrate him and be done with it," the man said and another said, "no, it was the woman who tempted him didn't i see her lift her chador to him last night in the hut. look at her now, tempting us all. isn't the punishment for him a hundred lashes?"
another said, "he put his hands on her, take off his hands."
"good," mahmud said. "first his hands, then the lash. tie him up!"
azadeh tried to cry out against this evil but no sound came out, the blood roaring in her ears now, her stomach heaving, her mind unhinged as they dragged her johnny to his feet, fighting, kicking, to tie him spread-eagled between rafters that jutted from the hut remembering the time she and hakim were children and he, filled with bravado, had picked up a stone and thrown it at the cat, and the cat squealed as it rolled over and got up, now injured, and tried to crawl away, squealing all the time until a guard shot it, but now... now she knew no one would shoot her. she lurched at mahmud with a scream, her nails out, but her strength failed her and she fainted.
mahmud looked down at her. "put her against that wall," he said to some of his men, "then bring her her chador." he turned and looked at the villagers. "who is the butcher here? who is the butcher of the village?" no one replied. his voice roughened. "kalandar, who is your butcher?"
quickly the headman pointed to a man in the crowd, a small man with rough clothes. "abrim, abrim is our butcher."
"go and get your sharpest knife," mahmud told him. "the rest of you collect stones."
abrim went to do his bidding. as god wants, the others muttered to each other. "have you ever seen a stoning?" someone asked. a very old woman said, "i saw one once. it was in tabriz when i was a little girl." her voice quavered. "the adulteress was the wife of a bazaar), yes, i remember she was the wife of a bazaar). her lover was a bazaar) too and they hacked off his head in front of the mosque, then the men stoned her. women could throw stones too if they wanted but they didn't, i didn't see any woman do it. it took a long time, the stoning, and for years i heard the screams."
"adultery is a great evil and must be punished, whoever the sinner, even her. the koran says a hundred lashes for the man... the mullah is the lawgiver, not us," the kalandar said.
"but he's not a true mullah and the imam has warned against their evil!"
"the mullah is the mullah, the law, the law," the kalandar said darkly, secretly wanting the khan humbled and this woman who had taught new disturbing thoughts to their children destroyed. "collect the stones."
mahmud stood in the snow, ignoring the cold and the villagers and the saboteur who cursed and moaned and, frenzied, tried to fight out of his bonds, and the woman inert at the wall.
this morning, before dawn, coming to take over the base, he had heard about the saboteur and her being in the village. she of the sauna, he had thought, his anger gathering, she who had flaunted herself, the highborn whelp of the cursed khan who pretends to be our patron but who has betrayed us and betrayed me, already engineering an assassination attempt on me last night, a burst of machine-gun fire outside the mosque after last prayer that killed many but not me. the khan tried to have me murdered, me who am protected by the sacred word that islam together with marx-lenin is the only way to help the world rise up.
he looked at her, seeing the long legs encased in blue ski pants, hair uncovered and flowing, breasts bulging against the blue and white ski jacket. harlot, he thought, loathing her for tempting him. one of his men threw the chador over her. she moaned a little but did not come out of her stupor.
"i'm ready," the butcher said, fingering his knife.
"first the right hand," mahmud said to his men. "bind him above the wrists."
they bound strips of sacking ripped from the window tightly, villagers pressing forward to see better, and ross used all his energy to stop his terror from bursting the dam, saw only the pockmarked face above the carving knife, the bedraggled mustache and beard, the eyes blank, the man's thumb testing the blade absently. then his eyes focused. he saw azadeh come out of her spell and he remembered.
"the grenade!" he shrieked. "azadeh, the grenade!"
she heard him clearly and fumbled for it in her side pocket as he shrieked again and again, further startling the butcher, dragging everyone's attention to himself. the butcher came forward cursing him, took hold of his right hand firmly, fascinated by it, moved it a little this way and that, the knife poised, deciding where to slice through the sinews of the joint, giving azadeh just enough time to pick herself up and hurtle across the small space to shove him in the back, sending him flying and the knife into the snow, then to turn on mahmud, pull the pin out, and stand there trembling, the lever held in her small hand.
"get away from him," she screamed. "get away!"
mahmud did not move. everyone else scattered, trampling some, rushing for safety across the square, cursing and shouting.
"quick, over here, azadeh," ross called out. "azadeh!" she heard him through her mist and obeyed, backing toward him, watching mahmud, flecks of foam at the corner of her mouth. then ross saw mahmud turn and stalk off toward one of his men out of range and he groaned, knowing what would happen now. "quick, pick up the knife and cut me loose," he said to distract her. "don't let go of the lever i'll watch them for you." behind her he saw the mullah take the rifle from one of his men, cock it, and turn toward them. now she had the butcher's knife and she reached for the bonds on his right hand and he knew the bullet would kill or wound her, the lever would fly off, four seconds of waiting, and then oblivion for both of them but quick and clean and no obscenity. "i've always loved you, azadeh," he whispered and smiled and she looked up, startled, and smiled back.
the rifle shot rang out, his heart stopped, then another and another, but they did not come from mahmud but from the forest and now mahmud was screaming and twisting on the snow. then a voice followed the shots: "allah-u akbar! death to all enemies of god! death to all leftists, death to all enemies of the imam!"
with a bellow of rage one of the mujhadin charged the forest and died. at once the rest fled, falling over themselves in their panic-stricken rush to hide. within seconds the village square was empty but for the babbling howls of mahmud, his turban no longer on his head. in the forest the leader of the fourman tudeh assassination team who had tracked him since dawn silenced him with a burst of machine-gun fire, then the four of them retreated as silently as they had arrived.
blankly ross and azadeh looked at the emptiness of the village. "it can't be... can't be..." she muttered, still deranged.
"don't let go of the lever," he said hoarsely. "don't let go of the lever. quick, cut me loose... quick!"
the knife was very sharp. her hands were trembling and slow and she cut him once but not badly. the moment he was free he grabbed the grenade, his hands tingling and hurting, but held the lever, began to breathe again. he staggered into the hut, found his kookri that had been mixed up in the blanket in the initial struggle, stuck it in its scabbard and picked up his carbine. at the doorway he stopped. "azadeh, quick, get your chador and the pack and follow me." she stared at him. "quick!"
she obeyed like an automaton, and he led her out of the village into the forest, grenade in his right hand, gun in the left. after a faltering run of a quarter of an hour, he stopped and listened. no one was following them. azadeh
was panting behind him. he saw she had the pack but had forgotten the chador. her pale blue ski clothes showed clearly against the snow and trees. he hurried on again. she stumbled after him, beyond talking. another hundred yards and still no trouble.
no place to stop yet. he went on, slower now, a violent ache in his side, near vomiting, grenade still ready, azadeh flagging even more. he found the path that led to the back of the base. still no pursuit. near the rise, at the back of erikki's cabin, he stopped, waiting for azadeh, then his stomach heaved, he staggered and went down on his knees and vomited. weakly, he got up and went up the rise to better cover. when azadeh joined him she was laboring badly, her breath coming in great gulping pants. she slumped into the snow beside him, retching.
down by the hangar he could see the 206, one of the mechanics washing it down. good, he thought, perhaps it's being readied for a flight. three armed revolutionaries were huddled on a nearby veranda under the overhang of a trailer in the lee of the small wind, smoking. no sign of life over the rest of the base, though chimney smoke came from erikki's cabin and the one shared by the mechanics, and the cookhouse. he could see as far as the road. the roadblock was still there, men guarding it, some trucks and cars held up.
his eyes went back to the men on the veranda and he thought of gueng and how his body had been tossed like a sack of old bones into the filth of the semi under their feet, perhaps these men, perhaps not. for a moment his head ached with the strength of his rage. he glanced back at azadeh. she was over her spasm, still more or less in shock, not really seeing him, a dribble of saliva on her chin and a streak of vomit. with his sleeve he wiped her face. "we're fine now, rest awhile then we'll go on." she nodded and sank back on her arms, once more in her own private world. he returned his concentration to the base.
ten minutes passed. little change. above, the cloud cover was a dirty blanket, snow heavy. two of the armed men went into the office and he could see them from time to time through the windows. the third man paid little attention to the 206. no other movement. then a cook came out of the cookhouse, urinated on the snow, and went back inside again. more time. now one of the guards walked out of the office and trudged across the snow to the mechanics' trailer, an m16 slung over his shoulder. he opened the door and went inside. in a moment he came out again. with him was a tall european in flight gear and another man. ross recognized the pilot nogger lane and the other mechanic. the mechanic said something to lane, then waved and went back inside his trailer again. the guard and the pilot walked off toward the 206.
everyone pegged, ross thought, his heart fluttering. awkwardly he checked
his carbine, the grenade in his right hand inhibiting him, then put the last two spare magazines and the last grenade from his haversack into his side pocket. suddenly fear swept into him and he wanted to run, oh, god help me, to run away, to hide, to weep, to be safe at home, away anywhere...
