"this paknouri, he practiced the five pillars as a true believer?" one of the youths asked.
"i i believe so."
"it's well known he didn't, well known he was a shah supporter. eh?"
"he was a patriot, a patriot who financially supported the revolution and
supported ayatollah khomeini, the blessings of god upon him, financially supported the mullahs over the years an "
"but he spoke american and worked for americans and the shah, helping them exploit and steal our wealth from the soil, didn't he?"
"he, he was a patriot who worked with the foreigners for the good of iran."
"when the satan shah illegally formed a party, paknouri joined it, served the shah in the majlis, didn't he?" the mullah asked.
"he was a deputy, yes," bakravan replied. "but he worked for the rev "
"and he voted for the shah's so-called white revolution that took away land from the mosques, decreed equality of women, implanted civil courts and state education against the dictates of the holy koran..."
of course he voted for it, bakravan wanted to scream, the sweat trickling down his face and back. of course we all voted for it! didn't the people vote for it overwhelmingly and even many ayatollahs and mullahs? didn't the shah control the government, the police, the gendarmerie, savak, the armed forces and own most of the land? the shah was ultimate power! curse the shah, he thought, beside himself with rage, curse him and his white revolution of '63 that started the rot, sent the mullahs mad, and continues to plague us, all his "modern reforms" that were directly responsible for the rise of the then obscure ayatollah khomeini to prominence. didn't we bazaaris warn the shah's advisers a thousand times! as if any of the reforms mattered. as if any of the reforms w
"yes or no?"
he was startled out of his reverie and cursed himself. concentrate! he thought in panic. this vile son of a leprous dog is trying to trap you! what did he ask? be careful for your own life be careful! ah, yes, the white revolution! "emir pak "
"in the name of god, yes or no!" the mullah overrode him harshly.
"he yes yes, he voted for the the white revolution when he was a deputy in the majlis. yes, yes, he did."
the mullah sighed and the youths shifted in their seats. one yawned and scratched his groin, absently playing with himself.
"you are a deputy?"
"no no, i resigned when ayatollah khomeini ordered it. the "
"you mean when imam khomeini, the imam ordered it?"
"yes, yes," bakravan said flustered. "i resigned, the er, the moment the imam ordered it, i i resigned at once," he said, and did not add, we all resigned at paknouri's suggestion when it was safe and certain the shah had decided to leave and to pass over power to the moderate and rational prime minister bakhtiar, but not for power to be usurped by khomeini, he wanted to shriek, that was never the plan! god curse the americans who sold us out,
the generals who sold us out, the shah who's responsible! "everyone knows knows how i supported the imam, may he live forever."
"yes, the blessings of god on him," the mullah echoed with the others. "but you, fared bakravan of the bazaar. have you ever practiced usury?"
"never," bakravan said at once, believing it, though fear racked him. i've loaned money all of my life but the interest's always been fair and reasonable, never usury, he thought, never. and all the times i acted as adviser to various people and ministers, arranging loans, private and public, transferring funds out of iran, private and public, making money, a great deal of money, that was good business and not against the law. "i opposed the i opposed the white revolution and the shah, wherever i could it was well known that i opp "
"the shah committed crimes against god, against islam, against the holy koran, against the imam god protect him against the shita faith. all those who helped him are equally guilty." the mullah's eyes were relentless. "what crimes have you committed against god and the word of god?"
"none," he cried out, almost at the limit. "in god's name i swear, none!"
the door swung open. yusuf came into the room with paknouri. bakravan almost fainted again. paknouri's hands were manacled behind him. muck and urine stained his trousers and vomit was on the front of his coat. his head was twitching uncontrollably, his hair matted and filthy, his mind gone. when he saw bakravan, his face twisted into a grimace. "ah, jared, jared, old friend and colleague, excellency, have you come to join us all in hell?" he shrieked with laughter for a moment. "it's not like i imagined, the devils haven't arrived yet, nor the boiling oil or flames but there's no air and just stink and you press against others and you can't lie down or sit so you stand and and then the screaming begins again and the firing and, all the time you're on an egg, packed like a caviar egg but but but " the half-incoherent raving stopped as he saw the mullah. terror swamped him. "are you... are you god?"
"paknouri," the mullah said gently, "you are charged with crimes against god. this witness against you says y "
"yes, yes, i've crimed against god, i'm guilty," paknouri screamed. "why else am i in hell?" he fell on his knees in a flood of tears, raving. "there is no god but god is no god there is no god and mohammed is his prophet of no god and..." abruptly he stopped. his face was even more twisted when he looked up. "i'm god you're satan!"
one of the youths broke the shocked silence. "he's a blasphemer. he's possessed by satan. he declared himself guilty. as god wants."
all the others nodded agreement. the mullah said, "as god wants." he motioned to a green band who pulled paknouri to his feet and took him out and looked at bakravan who stared after his friend, horrified how fast just
overnight he had been destroyed. "now, bakravan, you w "
"i've got this turlak waiting outside," yusuf said, interrupting him.
"good," the mullah said. then he turned his eyes back onto bakravan and bakravan knew he was as lost as his friend paknouri was lost and that the sentence would be the same. the blood was rushing in his ears. he saw the lips of the mullah moving, then they stopped and everyone was looking at him. "please?" he asked numbly. "i i'm sorry, i didn't hear what you what you said."
"you can leave. for the moment. do god's work." impatiently the mullah glanced at one of the green bands, a tallish, ugly man. "ahmed, take him out!" then to yusuf, "after turlak, police captain mohammed dezi, cell 917..."
bakravan felt a tug on his arm and turned and went out. in the corridor he almost fell, but ahmed caught him and, strangely kind, propped him against the wall.
"catch your breath, excellency," he said.
"i'm i'm free to go?"
"i'm certainly as surprised as you, agha," the man said. "before god and the prophet i'm as surprised as you, you're the first to be let go today, witness or accused."
"i is there is there any water?"
"not here. there's plenty outside. best you leave," ahmed dropped his voice even more. "best to leave, eh? lean on my arm."
thankfully, bakravan held on to him, hardly breathing. slowly they went back the way he had come. he hardly noticed the other guards and prisoners and witnesses. in the corridor that led to the waiting room, ahmed shouldered the way through a side door, out into the western space. the firing squad was there, three men tied to posts in front of them. one post was empty. bakravan's bowels and bladder emptied of their own volition.
"hurry up, ahmed!" the man in charge said irritably.
"as god wants," ahmed said. happily, he half-carried bakravan to the empty post that was next to paknouri who was raving, lost in his own hell. "so you're not to escape after all. that's right, we all heard your lies, lies before god. we all know you, know your ways, know your lack of godliness, how you even tried to buy your way to heaven with gifts to the imam, god protect him. where did you get all that money if not through usury and theft?"
the volley was not accurate. the man in charge leisurely used a revolver to silence one of the condemned, then bakravan. "i wouldn't have recognized him," the man said shortly. "it shows how foul and what liars newspapers are."
"this isn't hassen turlak," ahmed said, "he comes next."
the man stared at him. "then who's this one?"
"a bazaar)," ahmed said. "bazaaris are usurers and godless. i know. for
years i worked there for farazan, collecting night soil like my father before me, until i became a bricklayer with yusuf. but this one..." he belched. "he was the richest usurer. i don't remember much about him except how rich he was, but i remember everything about his women; he never curbed or taught his women who never wore chador, flaunting themselves. i remember everything about his devil daughter who'd visit the street of the moneylenders from time to time, half naked, skin like fresh cream, her hair flowing, breasts moving, buttocks inviting the one called sharazad who looks like the promised houris must look. i remember everything about her and how i cursed her for putting evil in my head, maddening me, how we all did for tempting us." he scratched his scrotum, feeling himself hardening. god curse her and all women who disobey god's law and create evil thoughts in us against the word of god. oh, god, let me penetrate her or make me a martyr and go straight to heaven and do it there. "he was guilty of every crime," he said, turning away.
"but but was he condemned?" the man in charge of the firing squad called out after him.
"god condemned him, of course he did. the post was waiting and you told me to hurry. it was the will of god. god is great, god is great. now i will fetch turlak, the blasphemer." ahmed shrugged. "it was the will of god."
it iraa ~ qa7v'n *tehran ~ baghdad: ~ i r a n ~ ~
zdam ~ 1~ g
shalt- ~abadan ~ ~ lit
near bandar delam: 11:58 a.m. it was the time of noon prayer and the ancient, rickety, overladen bus stopped on the shoulder of the road. obediently, following the lead of a mullah who was also a passenger, all muslims disembarked, spread their prayer mats and now were committing their souls to god. except for the indian hindu family who were afraid of losing their seats, most of the other non-muslim passengers had also disembarked tom lochart among them glad for the opportunity to stretch their legs or to relieve themselves. christian armenians, oriental jews, a nomadic kash'kai couple who, though muslim, were precluded by ancient custom from the need of the noonday prayer, or their women from the veil or chador, two japanese, some christian arabs all of them aware of the lone european.
the day was warm, hazy, and humid from the nearby waters of the gulf. ~.. ~ ~..
1om ocean leaned ilredly against the hood that was steaming, the engine overheated, head aching, joints aching, muscles aching from his forced march out from the dez dam now almost two hundred miles to the north and from the cramped, bone-grinding, noisy discomfort of the bus. all the way from ahwaz where he had managed to talk himself past green bands and onto
the bus, he had been squeezed into a seat with barely enough room for two, let alone three men, one of them a young green band who cradled his m14 along with his child for his pregnant wife who stood in the narrow corridor crammed against thirty others in space for fifteen. every seat was equally packed with men, women, and children of all ages. the air fetid, voices babbling in a multitude of tongues. overhead and underfoot, bags and bundles and cases, crates packed with vegetables or half-dead chickens, a small, undernourished, hobbled goat or two the luggage racks outside on the roof equally laden.
but i'm damned lucky to be here, he thought, his misery returning, half listening to the lilting chant of the shahada.
yesterday, near sunset, when he had heard the 212 take off from dez, he had come out from under the little wharf, blessing god for his escape. the water had been very cold and he was trembling, but he had picked up the automatic, checked the action, and then gone up to the house. it was open. there was food and drink in the refrigerator that still hummed nicely, powered by a generator. it was warm inside the house. he took off his clothes and dried them over a heater, cursing valik and seladi and consigning them to hell. "sonsofbitches! what the hell'd i do to them but save their goddamn necks?"
the warmth and the luxury of the house were tempting. his tiredness ached him. last night at isfahan had been almost sleepless. i could sleep and leave at dawn, he thought. i've a compass and i know the way more or less: skirt the airfield ali abbasi mentioned, then head almost due east to pick up the main kermanshah-ahwaz-abadan road. should be no trouble to get a bus or hitch a ride. or i could go now the moon'll light my way and then i won't be trapped here if the air base has sent a patrol ali was just as nervous about that as seladi and we could easily have been spotted. easily. but either way, when you get stopped, what's your story?
he thought about that while he fixed himself a brandy and soda and some food. valik and the others had opened two half-kilo cans of the best beluga grey caviar and had left them carelessly on the sitting- room table, still partially full. he ate it with relish, then threw the cans into the garbage pail that was outside the back door. then he locked the house and left.
