A Time To Betray Part 5

6.

A FUNERAL AND A WEDDING.

MY GRANDFATHER'S HEARTBREAK grew deeper when Khanoom Bozorg pa.s.sed away in the summer of 1980. My grandmother was the foundation of our family, and in that time of restless uncertainty, she was the one who held us all together. I knew I was going to miss her horribly and that many things would never be the same with her gone. grew deeper when Khanoom Bozorg pa.s.sed away in the summer of 1980. My grandmother was the foundation of our family, and in that time of restless uncertainty, she was the one who held us all together. I knew I was going to miss her horribly and that many things would never be the same with her gone.

More than a hundred people attended her memorial service, including many I'd never met before. This shouldn't have surprised me. My grandmother loved people and she was always making new friends. She was also very proud of her home, so she was constantly having new people over. I tried to greet everyone who came to the service and to interact with them, sharing our memories of this vibrant woman. Ultimately, though, I chose to sit alone by the fishpond, grieving and thinking about everything she'd meant to me. Khanoom Bozorg didn't allow me to get away with much, but she made me a much better person than I ever would have been otherwise, and I knew I needed to consider the impact she had on my life and how I would carry her example with me for the rest of my years.

While I sat in silence, a young woman caught my eye. She was sitting next to my mother, engaged in conversation. And she was beautiful. So beautiful that I couldn't stop looking at her, even through the haze of my grief. Every time she smiled while talking with my mother, my pulse quickened. As the memorial continued, guests came toward me to offer their condolences, but I couldn't keep my eyes on those people; I was too busy searching for her.

Agha Joon, who was also in the yard welcoming and thanking guests, came over and sat next to me. He was an observant man and I was afraid that he saw me staring at the woman. This shamed me, because I didn't want him to think that I'd stopped thinking of my grandmother because of a pretty face.

"Khanoom Bozorg had a dream for you, Reza jon, jon," he said, putting his arm around my shoulder. "She loved you even more than her own children. Do you see that nice girl next to your mom? Her name is Somaya." He smiled. "Her grandma and Khanoom Bozorg were close friends. Khanoom Bozorg had her in mind for you. She even talked to Somaya's grandma about you. You know how women are. All they want to do is to hook young people up with each other. That's a good thing, isn't it?"

I didn't know what to say to this. Fortunately, my grandfather wasn't looking for a response. He kissed my head, gave me a nudge, and said we should have a chat about Somaya when the moment was right.

Somaya!

On the way home, I asked Mom to tell me more about her. My mother said that Somaya's Lebanese father was a British citizen and that he and her Iranian mother split their time between London and Tehran, where her grandmother and most of their Iranian relatives lived.

As cliched as it might sound, I fell in love with Somaya the instant I saw her. Thoughts of her filled my head. Over the next few days, I would call her name in my daydreams. Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw her smile. My stomach felt delightfully uneasy. I knew I needed to have her in my life.

I wasn't surprised when Agha Joon dropped by for a visit a few days later and announced that he would arrange a meeting with Somaya's parents while they were still in the country. He wanted to make Khanoom Bozorg's wish come true by asking Somaya's parents for their daughter's hand for me. I realized with horror that he planned to go khastegari khastegari for me. Going for me. Going khastegari khastegari was like arranging a marriage. It was an old-fashioned thing to do and I did not want Somaya to think of me as an old-fashioned suitor. I told Agha Joon I was uncomfortable with this. was like arranging a marriage. It was an old-fashioned thing to do and I did not want Somaya to think of me as an old-fashioned suitor. I told Agha Joon I was uncomfortable with this.

"Can't I just ask for her number?" I pleaded.

"We have to go khastegari khastegari first," he said, adopting the tone of the grand patriarch of our family. "I know Somaya's grandmother and her parents. They are very traditional, and to respect their customs we should tell them that your intentions are pure and moral. I know you've grown used to American ways, but this is the way it is done in this country. At least first," he said, adopting the tone of the grand patriarch of our family. "I know Somaya's grandmother and her parents. They are very traditional, and to respect their customs we should tell them that your intentions are pure and moral. I know you've grown used to American ways, but this is the way it is done in this country. At least some some families still do it this way. If her parents agree, then you can go out on dates, get to know her, and do it your families still do it this way. If her parents agree, then you can go out on dates, get to know her, and do it your American American way." He patted my back, lifted his prominent eyebrows, and, with a big smile, made it clear that I had no other option. way." He patted my back, lifted his prominent eyebrows, and, with a big smile, made it clear that I had no other option.

Moheb Khan, Somaya's dad, agreed to the meeting and told Agha Joon they looked forward to getting to know me. On the day of khastegari, khastegari, Agha Joon and Mom accompanied me to Somaya's grandmother's house. As part of the Agha Joon and Mom accompanied me to Somaya's grandmother's house. As part of the khastegari khastegari tradition, the intended bride did not attend the initial phase of the gathering. While we waited, Agha Joon regaled Somaya's family with stories about my limitless abilities and glorious plans for the future. This made me squirm. tradition, the intended bride did not attend the initial phase of the gathering. While we waited, Agha Joon regaled Somaya's family with stories about my limitless abilities and glorious plans for the future. This made me squirm.

"Reza jon jon is a family man, just like his dad. A good son to his father, he will be a good father to his son. As you know, he is a graduate from a fine university in California. USS, isn't that right, Reza is a family man, just like his dad. A good son to his father, he will be a good father to his son. As you know, he is a graduate from a fine university in California. USS, isn't that right, Reza jon jon?"

"USC, Grandpa," I said, embarra.s.sed.

"Of course, USC. Reza has never wasted his life and he is destined to make a good living for his future wife, providing whatever she wishes."

I tuned out Agha Joon's ceaseless praise. All I wanted at that moment was to see Somaya. I'd heard that women liked their men to pa.s.s some kind of test to prove their affections. Certainly my bearing up to the embarra.s.sment of my grandfather's bragging had to show the depth of my commitment to her.

When Somaya finally entered the living room carrying a tray of tea, the room went quiet. Gently and elegantly, she offered tea to each guest, from the oldest to the youngest. I could not stop looking at her, but she didn't look directly at me. She was wearing a green satin blouse that enhanced the dark green color of her eyes. Her long black hair shone like smooth silk around her neck, and her shy and innocent smile made my heart beat faster.

She came toward me with the tray and the last cup of tea, offering it without looking at me. Her smile was even more magical up close. I found her so captivating that I was afraid I would drop the tea and make a fool of myself. When I hesitated, she glanced up. I knew at that moment that the clever girl had noticed me admiring her at the memorial, somehow without ever looking back at me. The gleam in her eyes made me realize that I would be the luckiest man on the planet if I could convince her to be next to me for the rest of my life.

Our families met one more time and then, trusting that I was a responsible young man, Somaya's parents agreed that we could go out on dates. At first the dates took place in her grandmother's living room, but at least her grandmother allowed us to be alone. Somaya talked about her life and friends in England, saying that she mostly socialized with her father's side of the family. She visited Lebanon occasionally and finished school in London. But she adored her grandmother and longed to spend more time in Iran, as the rich culture and hospitality of the Iranian people fascinated her. I told her that I loved people who were multicultural. She smiled and said that she was glad we went khastegari khastegari first, as she also believed in the traditional ways. My grandfather found it especially satisfying when I told him about that last part later. first, as she also believed in the traditional ways. My grandfather found it especially satisfying when I told him about that last part later.

As I began to spend time with Somaya, I fell in love with her beyond my control. Eventually, her family allowed us to go out together, and I took her to parks, restaurants, and the movies. At some point, I realized that she had fallen in love with me as well and I knew that our marriage would be everything I could have dreamed.

To respect Grandma's pa.s.sing and Agha Joon's grief, Somaya and I agreed to wait a year to get married. But Agha Joon insisted that because Somaya and I seemed so happy together, it would have been my grandmother's wish to see us marry sooner. I knew he wished the same. I also knew that since my grandmother's pa.s.sing, my grandfather had been thinking more about his own mortality. While he didn't specifically say this, I believe he was worried that he wouldn't be at the wedding if we waited an entire year. That would have devastated me, so following his prompting, Somaya and I married only a few months after we first met.

Agha Joon insisted that the wedding take place at his house. This delighted both Somaya and me. We held a big ceremony in Grandpa's beloved garden and it felt as though new life were blooming in that spot where so many plants had flourished. I found this deeply encouraging. Despite the end of the ancient Persian monarchy, and despite the crisis after the revolution, the Iranian people could still fall in love and celebrate.

Everybody was there, just as when we were kids. Naser and Kazem attended, careful to avoid each other. That they declared a truce to be with me on this blissful occasion touched me. Although Kazem came alone, Naser came with his parents and siblings. He was also holding hands with a woman I'd never seen before. Though he hadn't said a word to me about her, they had to be serious if she was coming to an event like this with his family.

Naser and the woman approached us. He had a huge smile on his face. "So you finally tied the knot," he said, hugging me and kissing Somaya's hand. "Congratulations to both of you. Especially you, Reza. You are a very lucky man."

Somaya blushed. "We are both lucky."

Naser put his arm around his guest's shoulder. "This is Azadeh."

I shook her hand and said h.e.l.lo. Then I turned toward Naser. "And ...?"

"And we are dating." He glanced over at Azadeh with deep affection in his eyes, and this warmed me. When Azadeh complimented Somaya and her gown and started asking about wedding details, I pulled him aside.

"What's going on? Is it serious? I saw your mom and dad all over her. This looks like more than dating dating to me." to me."

Naser laughed broadly. "I guess that makes two of us with a leash around our necks! She is such a great girl, Reza. I think I am in love."

Azadeh reminded me of my cousin Haleh, whom Naser had a crush on when we were kids. She had the same hairstyle and a similar smile. Naser had always been so casual about romance; it was amazing to see him looking at this woman with such devotion. I felt so happy that Naser was with someone who made him feel this way. I allowed myself to believe that maybe love could conquer ideology after all, and I wished at that moment for Kazem to find romance, too.

The party was joyous. Naser's father, Davood, as he had on so many occasions, sang for us and led us in dance. Naser and Azadeh danced together the entire night. For those hours, life was as simple and untroubled as it had been when we were children.

But the outside world would never allow this peaceful satisfaction to continue. The last hopes of shah loyalists had already been extinguished when Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi died of cancer in Egypt in July 1980. An imperial tradition that had begun in 500 BC with Cyrus the Great was now fully at its end.

"Allaho Akbar!" some people cried in the streets. "G.o.d is great!" some people cried in the streets. "G.o.d is great!"

Agha Joon denounced this celebration of Khomeini followers. "Shame on this nation," he said, "to have the last king of kings die in exile like a gypsy."

And then on September 22, 1980, just two weeks after my wedding to Somaya, Iraq attacked Iran, raining bombs on several targets, including our city. I was at work with Kazem when several explosions shook the walls. Concerned that the ceiling would fall on us, we ran into the courtyard, confused. Soon, our commanders told us that Iraqi planes had attacked several Iranian airports to disable the air force's ability to launch. The bombs did minimal damage, however.

Soon after the invasion, Imam Khomeini appeared on television to announce, "Etef.a.ghi nayoftadah, dozdi amadah va sangi andakhte": "Etef.a.ghi nayoftadah, dozdi amadah va sangi andakhte": "Nothing important has happened." It was just a thief throwing stones. The country breathed a communal sigh of relief. However, the next day Kazem informed me that Saddam had attacked with six army divisions on three fronts. These divisions were, at that very moment, moving quickly into Iranian territory. "Nothing important has happened." It was just a thief throwing stones. The country breathed a communal sigh of relief. However, the next day Kazem informed me that Saddam had attacked with six army divisions on three fronts. These divisions were, at that very moment, moving quickly into Iranian territory.

This news chilled me, though I could not have realized at the time that this would mark the beginning of an eight-year-long war. Or that half a million Iranians would die in the conflict before it was over.

The violent rivalry between Arabs and Persians was centuries old, stemming from the Muslim conquest of Persia, where Arabs defeated the Sa.s.sanid Empire, ending the dynasty of Sa.s.sanid and the practice of the Zoroastrian religion in Persia. Saddam seized upon our moment of vulnerability to launch his attack. Our government, having just executed all of the leading military commanders who served under the shah, had no trained generals, and it was using revolutionaries instead. In addition, we ousted not only the shah but his superpower ally with him. The American hostage crisis isolated Iran from the rest of the civilized world and the Mujahedin seemed determined to hurl our country into a guerrilla war. In the uproar and chaos, Saddam saw his chance to become the dominant oil power in the Middle East and to seize the oil fields near his border with our country.

Like all aggressors, Saddam claimed he was preemptively attacking in defense. His Sunni regime worried that the Islamic Revolution was spreading like an infection to the oppressed Shiite majority in his own country. In fact, an Iraqi version of Khomeini had emerged among the emboldened Shiites, a mullah named Muhammad Baqir al-Sadr, who preached the Islamic religion in a style similar to Khomeini's. Saddam executed him as soon as al-Sadr's voice rose above the crowd. When the U.S. pa.s.sed satellite intelligence to Saddam that suggested that Iranian forces would collapse quickly if attacked, Saddam launched his offensive.

The September 22 attack was our Pearl Harbor. Imam Khomeini asked every male Muslim who could walk to volunteer to defend G.o.d's government. Heeding the call were army officers, Guards, normal citizens, and-most fearsome of all-Basij, a paramilitary force with boys as young as thirteen. Two hundred thousand untrained volunteers-a far larger militia than the number of trained servicemen we had-arrived at the front within months and met the Iraqi invaders. Since the Guards and Iran's soldiers operated separately, there was no coordination of movements among our troops. But we soon learned that Basijis-many of whom were adolescents infatuated with martyrdom-could not be defeated by mere tanks and machine guns.

A short time after the first Iraqi attack, the Foreign Ministry announced they were closing the airports and that no one could travel outside the country except foreign nationals, Iranians studying abroad, and Iranians with residential status in a foreign country who had been in Iran less than six months. Those who qualified stood in long lines to secure permission to leave. Somaya's parents were anxious to get out of a country under attack, and I asked Kazem to call his contacts in the Foreign Ministry to facilitate their departure.

My in-laws did not want to leave their only child in Iran during a war that was intensifying every day. I could sympathize with them. I told Somaya that I would feel better if she left with her parents, and I promised that I would visit her in England as often as I could. She refused flatly, telling me that she did not marry me to leave in times of trouble. This made me cherish her even more, despite my fears for her safety and my concerns about whether I could do what was necessary to protect her.

I did not go to work the day Somaya said her tearful farewell to her parents. I knew she needed me to be with her while she dealt with this abrupt change to her world. We were renting a small house that came with a neglected garden, and Somaya had been spending most of her days tending to it and planting flowers. When her parents left, she went there and I joined her, watching her work and thinking of how much she reminded me of my grandfather when she did this. We spent hours in the garden that afternoon. When we were done, Somaya's face glinted with a wide smile. "It's so beautiful, Reza. I especially love the lilies." I was glad they had given her a measure of peace.

After dinner, Somaya sat on the bed quietly. I knew she was missing her parents. I sat next to her and took her hands. It was one of the first times in our marriage that we were alone completely. Her parents were gone, and the constant stream of family and friends visiting us was dissipating. I needed to be there for her. I needed to hold her in my arms and show her how much I loved her. I looked into her eyes, still not believing that someone as remarkable as she had chosen to marry me. I moved her hair away from her neck.

"You are so beautiful," I said, pressing gently on her hands. She smiled at me warmly, defining the dimple on her cheek. I kissed her neck and pulled her close to me. She closed her eyes. I wrapped my arms around her waist and caressed the heat of her skin.

"I love you," I said, kissing her again.

She started to respond when a loud whistle suddenly filled the air. Somaya jumped from the bed as if catapulted.

"Oh my G.o.d! There is an attack! Reza, get the radio!"

Startled, I ran to the kitchen to grab the radio and turn off the lights. On the radio, an announcer instructed everyone to get to a shelter, as Iraqi bomber planes were entering the sky of Tehran. I knew the Iraqi planes were going after military targets. But I also knew they wouldn't worry too much about hitting civilians at the same time.

We had a small cellar in our house but Somaya didn't feel safe there. She worried about being buried in rubble if the house took a direct hit. We rushed outside and leaned against a wall. This made even less sense than going to the cellar, but for some reason Somaya felt better there.

As we stood outside, it was ominously quiet.

I held Somaya's hand, her palm wet and cold. The heat I had felt only moments before was now gone from her body. I brought her close to me and she pressed me tight beneath the night sky, shivering. Then the shrill whistle of Iranian antiaircraft guns screamed only blocks away. That meant the Iraqi fighters were somewhere close by. Just that day, I'd promised Somaya's parents that I would take care of her. But how could I protect her from this madness? I looked at her innocent face illuminated by explosions and antiaircraft fire. She had stayed in this conflagration to be with me. If not for me, she would be safe with her parents in England now. I felt her chest beating hard against mine.

"I am okay, Reza. I am not afraid," she said as her voice broke. She was afraid, of course, but she was not a coward.

"I know," I said, "but I am not not okay. Hold me tighter!" okay. Hold me tighter!"

This got a small reaction from her. She pinched me and told me to stop joking, smiling as she said it. I prayed to G.o.d to let this attack pa.s.s without any harm coming to her.

A loud blast shook the wall against our backs. I knelt down, pulled Somaya with me, and covered her body. We huddled in that position for the longest minutes of my life, as the explosions and missile fire continued.

Finally, the green siren announced the all-clear signal.

The attack was over.

For now.

That night, neither of us could sleep. Instead, we listened to reports on the radio with growing trepidation. The next day, I pleaded with Somaya to leave for London. I told her it wasn't too late, that Kazem would help her get out. She wouldn't hear of it.

In the midst of this, another war continued. The Mujahedin increased their violent fervor, attacking anyone a.s.sociated with the Islamic forces, including the Revolutionary Guards, the Komiteh (the revolutionary police), and the Basij. Officials of the Islamic regime were a.s.sa.s.sinated one after the other, some at the very base where I worked. Now Kazem and I were in no less danger than Naser.

At the same time, Hezbollah (Party of G.o.d) gangs of radical Islamists, sporting uniforms of dirty long beards and b.u.t.toned-up shirts, roamed the streets on motorcycles, brandishing sticks and chains, shouting "Allaho Akbar" "Allaho Akbar" and and "Khomeini Rahbar" "Khomeini Rahbar" ("Khomeini is our leader"), and attacking people who did not adhere strictly to Islamic rules. ("Khomeini is our leader"), and attacking people who did not adhere strictly to Islamic rules.

These rules were extreme, and few among us agreed with all of them. They included a dress code for women that required they wear no makeup and that they appear in public with a proper Islamic hejab hejab covering their hair and body. Men could not wear shorts. Only married couples could be seen together in public places. Alcohol was banned. No parties or music were allowed, even within the walls of homes. Failure to follow these rules led to arrest and lashing in public. covering their hair and body. Men could not wear shorts. Only married couples could be seen together in public places. Alcohol was banned. No parties or music were allowed, even within the walls of homes. Failure to follow these rules led to arrest and lashing in public.

The radicals called people who objected to the mullahs mohareb, mohareb, or "those waging war against G.o.d." Khomeini issued a fatwa on the Mujahedin, calling them hypocrites and ordering their arrests. He asked people to inform authorities of anyone they suspected of belonging to that group. Neighbors began turning one another in, and I shuddered to think of where Naser's inability to censor himself would lead him. or "those waging war against G.o.d." Khomeini issued a fatwa on the Mujahedin, calling them hypocrites and ordering their arrests. He asked people to inform authorities of anyone they suspected of belonging to that group. Neighbors began turning one another in, and I shuddered to think of where Naser's inability to censor himself would lead him.

Mainstream Iranian society cheered for neither the Mujahedin nor the clerical government. We were caught up in three wars: Iraq against Iran, the Mujahedin against the mullahs, and Hezbollah against the people. Our youth were slaughtered on battlefields and our citizens were rounded up, whipped, beaten, and humiliated as punishment for disobeying some arbitrary rule of decorum.

Somaya was constantly worried about me and I was beside myself with worry for her. She always wore a hejab hejab in public and she adhered to the Islamic laws, but I never knew if this would be enough. It seemed that people were being arrested for no apparent reason. in public and she adhered to the Islamic laws, but I never knew if this would be enough. It seemed that people were being arrested for no apparent reason.

The violence kept creeping closer to our home. One day, a cab dropped me off across from our house. I saw a Land Cruiser with the Komiteh logo there and this immediately made me nervous. The coming traffic kept me from crossing the street to the other side, raising my anxiety. Was Somaya in some kind of danger? As I waited, a motorcycle with two riders crept up alongside the Land Cruiser, and I saw the man on the back of the motorcycle throw a grenade through an open window of the car.

I flung myself to the ground as the car exploded thirty feet in front of me, raining debris and gla.s.s on me. I jumped to my feet as the motorcycle sped down a narrow alley. Among the dust and explosions, I ran to the Komiteh car and looked inside. There had been four men in there. Blood was splattered throughout the inside and three men were in pieces. One man, I believe it was the driver, actually managed to get out. He was severely disoriented, but through some odd effect of blast physics, his only injury was a b.l.o.o.d.y hand. In his other hand, he held a machine gun.

Somaya had heard the commotion and rushed outside along with many of our neighbors. She saw me by the destroyed car, my face covered with dust from the blast and with some drops of blood on my shirt. She rushed to me with tears.

"Reza, are you okay? What happened to you?"

I let go of the man I'd helped to the sidewalk, asking a neighbor to call for help. Then I took Somaya into our home. She was terribly frightened and I knew I needed to calm her down and let her know that we were going to be okay.

I just wasn't sure how I was going to manage that.

7.

EVIN PRISON.

ON JANUARY 20, 1981, the day Ronald Reagan became president of the United States, Imam Khomeini ordered the release of the American hostages. Americans celebrated this and saw it as the end of one of the most disturbing chapters in their history. Iranians of all ideologies celebrated as well. Khomeini's followers rejoiced in this final slap in Jimmy Carter's face, knowing that the hostage crisis had a great deal to do with his defeat, and seeing it as retribution for his support of the shah. They believed that sending the Americans home was a way to punctuate Khomeini's triumph over the world's biggest superpower. For other Iranians, including my family, the release of the hostages allowed us to hold out hope for better relations between the U.S. and our country. Perhaps, we thought, Khomeini was now ready to begin dealing diplomatically with the rest of the world and Iran could escape from its self-imposed isolation.

I worked every day at my office training Guards members in the use of computers. This work was challenging and it kept me busy. Although I saw Kazem at work all the time, Naser and I had not been in contact for quite a while. Marriage consumes time, love consumes attention, and war consumes both. Naser had Azadeh, who unfortunately hadn't helped blunt his increasing political activism, I was content to nestle in with Somaya, and Naser and I just never found the opportunity to get together. The three "battlefields" in Iran left a pervasive strain among all of us, but despite this, I reveled in the time I had with my wife. She was so full of energy and so loving that I found it possible to forget everything else when I was with her. For me, Somaya was the antidote to war.

"I want us to have three children," she said one afternoon as we sat in her garden.

"Why three and not two or four?"

"This way I can spoil them all."

I laughed at this. "You can only do this with three?"

"Three is the perfect number, Reza. Let me tell you how it works." She settled back in her seat, drew her legs under her like a little kid, and put her hair back in a ponytail. "You always adore your oldest kid because it is your first one. The third one is your favorite because you know he or she will be the last. So you spoil both of these. And you spoil the middle one because you don't want him to feel neglected."

Her reasoning brought a huge smile to my face. "Then three it is," I said, delighted that this would make her happy.

The phone rang and I got up to answer it. "Three spoiled kids," I said as I rose. "I hope I'll still get a chance to spoil my wife as well."

I winked at her and went into the house.

My mother was on the line. Her voice was frantic, pulling me immediately away from the reverie I'd just shared with Somaya. She was so upset that I couldn't understand her.

"Mom, what's going on?" I said nervously. "Are you okay?"

She sobbed and then gained a modic.u.m of control over her emotions. "Reza, you have to do something. Naser, Soheil, and Parvaneh have been arrested."

I felt a chill to the depths of my soul. "Arrested?"

"Davood has not heard from them for a couple of months. He does not know what to do. They are in Evin Prison, and he can't visit them."

My knees started shaking and my entire body went numb. Fear raced through me. I had heard the stories about Evin Prison. Everyone had. If Naser and his siblings were there, they were in horrible straits.

I grabbed my jacket to go to Davood's house. Somaya came in at that point, saw my panic, and rushed toward me.