"the spy's still on the second level and you'll have to wait. it's dangerous to remove him an "
"he's no longer your responsibility." the general motioned to one of his men who went out, beckoned to others in the corridor, then walked down the steps and into the chamber below, the doctor, white-faced and very nervous, now with them. when the green bands saw the naked man on the table and the instruments and the way he was wired, their eyes glittered. the doctor began to unwire him.
in the interrogation room above, hashemi looked back at the general. "i formally tell you it's dangerous to move him. you're responsible."
"insha'allah. just give me the tapes."
hashemi shrugged and unlocked the top drawer and gave him the dozen, almost useless tapes from the first and second level.
"and the others! now!"
"there aren't any."
"open the other drawer!"
again hashemi shrugged, selected a key, and used it carefully. if turned correctly, the key set the magnetiser into operation and wiped the tapes. only he and armstrong knew the secret and about the secret installation of duplicate cassette recorders: "you never know, hashemi, when you might be betrayed or by whom," armstrong had told him years ago when, together, they had installed the devices. "you might want to wipe tapes, then use the secret ones to barter for your freedom. you can never be too careful in this game."
hashemi slid the drawer open, praying that both devices were operating. insha'allah, he thought, and gave over the eight cassettes. "they're empty, i tell you."
"if they are, accept my apologies, if they're not... insha'allah!" the general looked at armstrong, his eyes granite. "better you leave iran quickly. i give you a day and a night for past services."
at the bakravan house, near the bazaar: 8:57 p.m. sharazad was lying on her stomach on the bed, being massaged, and she groaned with pleasure as the old woman caressed oil into her bruises and into her skin. "oh, be careful, jari..."
"yes, yes, my princess," jari crooned, her hands softly strong, easing the pain away. she had been nursemaid and servant to sharazad ever since her
birth, and had given her suck when her own baby, born a week earlier, had died. for two years she suckled sharazad and then, because jari was a quiet and gentle woman, now widowed, she had been given full charge of her. when sharazad married emir paknouri she accompanied her into his house and then, the marriage finished, happily they had returned home. stupid to marry such a flower to one who prefers boys, however much money he has, jari had always thought but never said out loud. never never never. dangerous to go against the head of the house any head of a family even more so with a moneygrubbing miser like fared bakravan, she thought, not sorry he was dead.
when sharazad had married the second time, jari had not gone to stay in the apartment. but that did not matter, for sharazad spent the days here when the infidel was away. all the household called him that and tolerated him because of her happiness that only women understood.
"eeeee, what devils men are," she said and hid her smile, understanding very well. they had all heard the screams last night and the sobbing, and though they all knew a husband was entitled to beat his wife and that god had allowed the infidel's blows to shake their mistress out of her fit, she herself had heard the different cries, just before dawn this morning, the cries of her and him in the garden of god.
never had she been there herself. others had told her about being transported, so had sharazad, but the few times her own husband had lain with her had been for his pleasure and not hers. her share had been pain and six children before she was twenty, four dying in infancy. then him dying to release her from the childbirth death that she knew, for her, would otherwise have been inevitable. as god wants! oh, yes, she told herself so contentedly, god rescued me and made him die and now, surely, he burns in hell, for he was a foul blasphemer who barely prayed once a day. god also gave me sharazad!
she looked down on the beautiful, satin body and long, dark-dark hair. eeeee, she told herself, how blessed to be so young, so moist, so resilient, so ready to do god's work at long last.
"turn over, princess, an "
"no, jari, it hurts so."
"yes, but i must knead your stomach muscles and condition them." jari chuckled. "they must be very strong soon."
at once, sharazad turned and looked up at her, pain forgotten "oh, jari, are you sure?"
"only god is sure, princess. but have you ever been late before? isn't your time overdue and a son long overdue?"
the two women laughed together, then sharazad lay back and gave herself to the hands and to the future and to the happy time she would have when she told him: tommy, i'm honored to tell... no, that's no good. tommy, god has
blessed us... no, that's no good either though it's true. if only he was muslim and iranian it'd be so much easier. oh, god, and prophet of god, make tommy muslim and so save him from hell, make my son strong and let him grow up to have sons and daughters and them sons... oh, how blessed we are by god..
she let herself drift. the night was calm, still a little snow falling and not much gunfire. soon they would have their evening meal and then she would play backgammon with her cousin karim or with zarah, her brother meshang's wife, then to sleep contentedly, the day well spent.
the morning when jari had awakened her the sun was up, and though she had wept a little from the pain, oil and massage soon took most of it away. then the ritual washing and first prayer of the day, kneeling in front of the little shrine in a corner of the bedroom and its sojadeh, the small square of lovely wrought tapestry with its bowl of sacred sand from cabella and, beyond that, the string of prayer beads and her copy of the koran, beautifully decorated. a quick breakfast of tea, fresh bread still hot from the kiln oven, butter and honey and milk, a boiled egg as always rarely a shortage even during the bad troubles then quickly to the bazaar, veiled and chadored, to see meshang, her adored brother.
"oh meshang, my darling, you look so tired. did you hear about our apartment?"
"yes, yes, i did," he said heavily, dark shadows around his eyes. the four days since their father had gone to evin jail had aged him. "sons of dogs, all of them! but they're not our people. i heard they're plo acting on instructions of this revolutionary komiteh." he shuddered. "as god wants."
"as god wants, yes. but my husband said a man called teymour, the leader, this man said we had until afternoon prayer today to take our things away."
"yes, i know. your husband left a message for me before he left this morning for zagros. i've sent ali and hassan and some of the other servants, told them to pretend they were movers and to collect everything they could."
"oh, thank you, meshang, how clever you are." she was greatly relieved. it would have been unthinkable for her to have gone herself. her eyes filled with tears. "i know it's the will of god but i feel so empty without father."
"yes, yes, it's the same for me... insha'allah." there was nothing more he could do. he had done everything correctly, overseeing the washing of the body, binding it with the best muslin, and then the burial. now the first part of mourning was over. on the fortieth day would be another ceremony at the cemetery when once more they would weep and rend their clothes and all would be inconsolable. but then, as now, each would once more take up the weight of living, there was the shahada to say five times a day, the five pillars of islam to obey to ensure you went to heaven and not to hell your only important reason for life. i will certainly go to paradise, he thought with total confidence.
they sat silently in the small room over the shop that such a short time ago
was the private domain of jared bakravan. was it only four days since father was negotiating with ali kia for the new loan that we still somehow have to provide and paknouri burst in and all our troubles began? son of a dog! it's all his fault. he led the green bands here. yes, and he's been a curse for years. if it hadn't been for his weakness, sharazad would have had five or six children by now and we wouldn't be saddled with the infidel who makes us the butt of a thousand bazaar) sneers.
he saw the bruise around her left eye and did not comment. this morning he had thanked god and agreed with his wife that the beating had brought her out of her fit. "no harm to a good beating from time to time, zarah," he had said with relish, and thought, all women need a good beating now and then with their constant nagging and pattering and crying and bickering, and jealousies and interference and all this ungodly talk of voting and marches and protests. against what? against the laws of god!
i'll never understand women. still, even the prophet, whose name be praised, he, the most perfect man that ever lived, even he had problems with women and ten more wives after khadija, his first, had died after having given him six children how sad that no sons survived him, only his daughter fatima. even after all this experience with women it's written that even the prophet, even he, would have to take himself aside for peace from time to time.
why can't women be content to stay in the home, be obedient, keep quiet, and not meddle?
so much to do. so many threads to pick up and to find, secrets to unlock, accounts and promissory notes and debts to uncover, and so little time. all our property stolen, villages, the estate on the caspian, houses and apartments and buildings all over tehran all the ones the devils know about! devils! the revolutionary komiteh and mullahs and green bands are devils on earth. how am i going to deal with them all? but i must, somehow. i must, then next year i will make the pilgrimage to mecca.
"as god wants," he said and felt a little better. and it's as god wants that i am put in charge long before i expected it, even though i'm as well trained as any son could be to take over an empire, even the bakravan empire.
it's also as god wants that i already know where most of the secrets are, whispered to me by father over the last few years when he discovered i was to be trusted, cleverer than he had ever expected. didn't i suggest the numbered swiss bank accounts nearly seven years ago, and explain about u.s. treasury bills, real-estate investment in america, and most of all about the seven sisters? we made millions, all of it safe from these sons of dogs, thanks be to god! safe in switzerland in gold, land, blue chips, dollars, deutsche marks, yen, and swiss francs...
he saw sharazad looking at him, waiting. "the servants will do everything
before sunset, sharazad, don't worry," he said, loving her though wanting her to leave so that he could continue his work. but it was time to gather in other strings: "this husband of yours, he agreed to become a muslim, didn't he?"
"how kind of you to remember, dear meshang. my husband agreed to consider it," she said defensively. "i've been teaching him whenever i can."
"good. when he returns please tell him to come to see me."
"yes, of course," she said at once. meshang was head of the family now, and, as such, was to be obeyed without question.
"the year and a day is overdue, is it not?"
sharazad's face lit up. "i'm honored to tell you, darling meshang, that perhaps god has blessed us, i am overdue one or two days."
"god be praised. now that is worth celebrating! father would have been so pleased." he patted her hand. "good. now, what about him your husband? this would be the perfect time to divorce, wouldn't it?"
"no! oh, how could you say such a thing?" she burst out before she could stop herself. "oh, absolutely not, oh, no, that would be terrible, i would die, it would be tell "
"be quiet, sharazad! think!" meshang was astonished by her bad manners. "he's not iranian, not muslim, he has no money, no future, he's hardly worthy to be part of the bakravans, wouldn't you agree?"
"yes, yes, of course i... i agree to everything you say but if i may add..." she said hastily, keeping her eyes lowered to cover her shock, cursing herself for not being aware how much meshang was opposed to her tommy, that therefore he was enemy, to be guarded against. how could i have been so naive and so stupid? "i agree there may be problems, my darling, and agree with everything you say..." she heard herself tell him in her most honeyed voice, her mind working with the speed of light, analyzing, discarding, trying to make a plan for now and for the future for without meshang's benevolence, life would be very difficult. "you're the wisest man i know... but perhaps i may be allowed to say that god put him into my path, father agreed to my marriage, so until god takes him out of my path and guides'm "
"but now i am head of the family and everything's changed the ayatollah's changed everything," he said curtly. he had never liked lochart, resented him as an infidel, the cause of all their present and past troubles, despised him as an interloper and an unwarranted expense, but because he had had no power to interfere and because of their father's tacit agreement he had always kept it hidden. "don't worry your pretty little head, but the revolution's changed everything. we live in a different world, and in the light of this i must consider your future and the future of your son."