A Bitter Veil by Libby Fischer Hellmann Page B

neighborhood in Abadan where the fire occurred was working class. The film was anti-shah. The fire trucks didn’t arrive until the building was engulfed in flames. And the police barred the door. I call that a clear case of mass murder. The shah is putting his own citizens’ lives on the line to protect his regime.”
    “Hassan, be honest,” Nouri said, “there are Shi’ite Muslims who think every film is an affront to Allah. They abhor Western decadence. Their militants could have set the fire.”
    Hassan shot Nouri a curious look. “You wouldn’t have said that a year ago. You have changed, Nouri.” He turned to Anna. “And what do you think, Anna?” There was an implicit challenge in his tone.
    She dipped her fingers in the pool. “I think any kind of oppression, whether initiated by a government or a religion, is wrong.” It was a prudent answer, Nouri thought. “But I also think true revolutionaries don’t have room for religion.”
    “What about your Martin Luther King? Or Martin Luther? Or Jesus?” Hassan fired back.
    “They were reformers, not revolutionaries,” she said. “The state must be separate from religion. When it isn’t, it ends badly. Even your Persian culture believes that. Look at Rumi and Hafiz. Their Islam has no tolerance for orthodoxy. It is spiritual, not dogmatic. It would be…unfortunate…if that wasn’t the guiding principle going forward.”
    Nouri smiled inwardly. Anna might be more intelligent than Hassan. She was certainly more eloquent.
    Hassan lifted his chin. “Rumi and Hafiz never had to see the country overrun by the British. Or watch the CIA depose the only democratic leader Iran has ever had.”
    Anna and Nouri exchanged glances. Nouri knew she would like to continue the argument but wasn’t sure it was a good idea. Nouri changed the subject. “My father has offered Anna a job at the oil company.”
    “Really? And will you take it?” Hassan asked.
    “I don’t know.”
    “If you don’t what will you do?”
    “I was thinking of teaching English. There must be many people here who want to learn.”
    Hassan sat up straighter. “There is the Iran-American Society.”
    Laleh chimed in. “That’s a wonderful idea, Hassan. I was going to suggest Abbott Labs. The have just opened up an office here. Shaheen’s sister will be working there. But the Society is better.”
    “Who is Shaheen?” Hassan asked.
    Laleh explained that Shaheen was her boyfriend.
    “Really? Where’s he from?” Hassan asked.
    “He used to live in Shiraz. But he lives here now.”
    “What is the Iran-American Society?” Anna asked.
    Laleh twisted around to Anna and explained that the IAS was a center where Iranian and American citizens taught students about the US—its history, customs, and above all, its language. “It’s the perfect place for you, Anna.”
    “It does sound interesting. Thank you, Hassan. I will look into it.”
    Hassan left a few minutes later, and Nouri was relieved. He felt as though he had been walking a tightrope. He glanced at Anna. He suspected she felt the same. As they went back inside, he asked, “What do you think?”
    “Hassan has strong opinions.”
    “But is he right? Do you think I’ve changed?”
    Anna peered at him. “Do you?”
    “Perhaps. I still think the shah is wrong in many ways. But…”
    “It’s easy to be a critic when you’re not in the middle of things, isn’t it? When you are far away in America. But now that you’re home, you have a stake.” She brushed her hand across his cheek. “Not so easy.”
    He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingers. “You have changed too, you know. You are getting accustomed to our ways. And becoming quite the diplomat.”
    She smiled. “Tell me something—at dinner, Baba-joon asked after Hassan’s mother and sisters. But he never mentioned his father. Why not?”
    “Hassan’s father was imprisoned and tortured by SAVAK. They let him go after a few months, but he was never the same. He