A Bitter Veil by Libby Fischer Hellmann

Nouri about his history, she was surprised. She wondered if—along with their wedding in Virginia—Nouri had forgotten to mention it.
     

Thirteen
     
    One afternoon, two weeks later, Anna was reading in the living room with Maman-joon, when Nouri returned from a trip downtown. “You are looking at the newest engineer for the Metro project!” he announced proudly.
    Anna looked up. “You got the job?”
    “I start next week.”
    Anna cried out, jumped up, and wrapped him in a big hug. Nouri picked her up and twirled her around. It had been a long, arduous process—three interviews, intense briefings, as well as studying for the exam that would make him a member of the Iran Society of Engineers.
    “So,” she cried breathlessly, once he set her down, “now you can finish your thesis and get your master’s degree.”
    Nouri had been given an extension of six months, but still hadn’t completed his thesis. Now, though, he shrugged. “They’re a French company, and they don’t care about a thesis from an American school. Only that I pass the exam, which they’re helping me study for. One of the other recent hires just took it. He said it’s easy.”
    Anna bent her head as if she wanted to say something, but Nouri turned to his mother and repeated what he’d told Anna in Farsi. His mother flashed a broad smile and hugged him as well. “We must celebrate,” she said.
    “I’d like that, Maman. Oh, and Hassan will be joining us for dinner.”
    “Wonderful.” His mother headed into the kitchen.
    Nouri twisted back to Anna. “We are on our way, Anna!”
    “Congratulations, again.” She started up the stairs. “I should change for dinner.”
    Nouri stretched his arms contentedly. His life in Iran was turning out just the way he’d hoped. His beautiful American fiancée was settling in well with his family, his career was beginning to take off, and he would be moving into a new home in Shemiran. It was a good life.
    He followed Anna up to the guest room. Anna was taking off her t-shirt. At the sound of the door closing, she spun around, automatically covering her breasts with the shirt. When she saw that it was him, she let the shirt fall to the floor. He gazed at her bare breasts, her tousled blonde hair. He wanted her. He went to her and cupped her breasts in his hands.
    She giggled. “Nouri, it’s the middle of the afternoon.”
    He pulled her close and buried his face in her neck. Her arms encircled him. He unsnapped her jeans. He breathed in her smell—sweat, mingled with the essential essence of Anna. She had become part of him now. He was no longer sure where his body ended and hers began. Together they moved to the bed.
     
    *****
     
    By the time they pulled themselves together, it was evening. They intended to make a casual entrance, although Nouri suspected his family would know exactly what they had been doing. He’d prepared an excuse, but when they snuck down, his mother and sister ignored them. They were staring at the television. His father, who had just come home, watched with a worried expression.
    “What is it?” Nouri asked, as he glanced at the TV.
    Laleh answered. “There’s been a horrible fire. At the Cinema Rex, in Abadan. Over four hundred people were inside. They all died.”
    Anna gasped. Nouri reared back. Abadan was in the south of Iran, hundreds of miles from Tehran. Still.
    “They are saying Islamic terrorists set the fire, but the police were the ones who locked the gate so no one could get out.”
    “That makes no sense.” Nouri frowned. “Why?”
    “Some are saying the shah and SAVAK are behind it,” Baba said.
    “No!” Anna cried softly.
    “The film that was playing was Gavaznha , ‘The Deer,’” Baba explained. “It is critical of the shah. Some people claim the firemen—intentionally—waited too long before going to the theater because they knew the audience would be anti-shah.”
    They peered at scenes of fire trucks, crowds gathered outside the