anymore. I close the book and set it aside. Loving is a laborious and complex business.
There are only two weeks left before school starts, and Doctor should be coming back any day now. Despite being madly in love with Zari, I still deeply respect and admire Doctor. I think it ironic that he would be the person with the most constructive insight and advice about my ordeal, if I ever had the courage to tell him about Zari.
The Masked Angel leaves for Qum, and Ahmed and his father take their annual trip to Ghamsar, the town where Ahmed’s relatives live. I have never been to Ghamsar, but Ahmed says it’s so small he runs out of people to tease in less than twenty-four hours.
Late that afternoon, I begin to notice strange activities around Zari’s house. Doctor’s parents come and go, hurriedly and quietly. Zari hasn’t been to the yard for hours. I think I hear Doctor’s mother crying for a few seconds, but then total silence fills the house again. I wish I knew what was going on.
Thoughts of the mysterious activities at Zari’s house keep me awake. The night is hot and close, and I’m in my bed on the roof when my solitude is suddenly interrupted by the heavy footfalls of a man running down the alley. I look down, and instantly recognize Doctor. He’s running fast, breathing hard, moaning in fear, as if a hungry tiger is chasing him.
He stops at Zari’s door, rings the bell, and looks back down the alley as if expecting to see his pursuers close behind him. Doctor doesn’t wait for anyone to open the door. He climbs over the wall and drops softly inside the front yard. He sits with his back pressed to the wall and waits. Three men turn the corner and enter the alley. One of them looks toward me up on the roof. He is vile and wretched, I can tell even from this distance. He’s tall and dark, about thirty-five or forty years old. He has long wavy hair that is pulled back tight. I can see his eyes searching, absorbing every detail of everything that goes on around him.
A paralyzing numbness rushes through my joints and muscles. I want to lower my body behind the short wall that edges the roof, but I can’t move. The man curses into a two-way radio that the hunt has gone cold.
I don’t understand the muffled reply, but the three men begin to run again. They run right past Zari’s house, and relief calms my horror-stricken heart.
This must be the SAVAK. “They’re nasty,” I remember my father saying after they raided our house in search of his books. “They look like normal people. They live among us, work with us, come to our homes for dinner, participate in our happiness, mourn our losses, and then someday you find out that they have a second job working for the most loathed agency ever created in this country, thanks to the Americans and their CIA.”
Doctor is sitting down, his head between his knees, shaking with fear and occasionally jerking and twitching like a man gripped by an unstoppable, uncontrollable fit of emotions. I see Zari run out of the house into the yard, followed by her parents. Doctor springs up quickly and puts his finger on his lips to let them know that they should be quiet. He doesn’t need to. They are as silent as ghosts when they come out of the house. They know exactly what’s happening to Doctor. People from the SAVAK must have been calling all day. I wonder what Doctor was doing all summer long. This explains the strange afternoon activities. The neighbors know, too, at least the ones who have heard the commotion and are watching this drama unfold from behind their pulled curtains. Their silhouettes are a stark reminder of how real the fear of the SAVAK is.
Zari puts her arms around Doctor and begins to weep, quietly. Her mother is praying, moving her lips rapidly without uttering a single audible sound as Zari’s father, Mr. Naderi, an ex-Olympic wrestling champion, circles around his family like an old, wounded lion. Nobody says a word. Nobody needs to.
I know
There are only two weeks left before school starts, and Doctor should be coming back any day now. Despite being madly in love with Zari, I still deeply respect and admire Doctor. I think it ironic that he would be the person with the most constructive insight and advice about my ordeal, if I ever had the courage to tell him about Zari.
The Masked Angel leaves for Qum, and Ahmed and his father take their annual trip to Ghamsar, the town where Ahmed’s relatives live. I have never been to Ghamsar, but Ahmed says it’s so small he runs out of people to tease in less than twenty-four hours.
Late that afternoon, I begin to notice strange activities around Zari’s house. Doctor’s parents come and go, hurriedly and quietly. Zari hasn’t been to the yard for hours. I think I hear Doctor’s mother crying for a few seconds, but then total silence fills the house again. I wish I knew what was going on.
Thoughts of the mysterious activities at Zari’s house keep me awake. The night is hot and close, and I’m in my bed on the roof when my solitude is suddenly interrupted by the heavy footfalls of a man running down the alley. I look down, and instantly recognize Doctor. He’s running fast, breathing hard, moaning in fear, as if a hungry tiger is chasing him.
He stops at Zari’s door, rings the bell, and looks back down the alley as if expecting to see his pursuers close behind him. Doctor doesn’t wait for anyone to open the door. He climbs over the wall and drops softly inside the front yard. He sits with his back pressed to the wall and waits. Three men turn the corner and enter the alley. One of them looks toward me up on the roof. He is vile and wretched, I can tell even from this distance. He’s tall and dark, about thirty-five or forty years old. He has long wavy hair that is pulled back tight. I can see his eyes searching, absorbing every detail of everything that goes on around him.
A paralyzing numbness rushes through my joints and muscles. I want to lower my body behind the short wall that edges the roof, but I can’t move. The man curses into a two-way radio that the hunt has gone cold.
I don’t understand the muffled reply, but the three men begin to run again. They run right past Zari’s house, and relief calms my horror-stricken heart.
This must be the SAVAK. “They’re nasty,” I remember my father saying after they raided our house in search of his books. “They look like normal people. They live among us, work with us, come to our homes for dinner, participate in our happiness, mourn our losses, and then someday you find out that they have a second job working for the most loathed agency ever created in this country, thanks to the Americans and their CIA.”
Doctor is sitting down, his head between his knees, shaking with fear and occasionally jerking and twitching like a man gripped by an unstoppable, uncontrollable fit of emotions. I see Zari run out of the house into the yard, followed by her parents. Doctor springs up quickly and puts his finger on his lips to let them know that they should be quiet. He doesn’t need to. They are as silent as ghosts when they come out of the house. They know exactly what’s happening to Doctor. People from the SAVAK must have been calling all day. I wonder what Doctor was doing all summer long. This explains the strange afternoon activities. The neighbors know, too, at least the ones who have heard the commotion and are watching this drama unfold from behind their pulled curtains. Their silhouettes are a stark reminder of how real the fear of the SAVAK is.
Zari puts her arms around Doctor and begins to weep, quietly. Her mother is praying, moving her lips rapidly without uttering a single audible sound as Zari’s father, Mr. Naderi, an ex-Olympic wrestling champion, circles around his family like an old, wounded lion. Nobody says a word. Nobody needs to.
I know
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