Kitabı oku: «Taking Cover: One Girl's Story of Growing Up During the Iranian Revolution»

CHAPTER 1
FURY
1986 (PART 1)
Javabe ablahan khamooshist.
— Persian proverb
Silence is the best answer to fools.

I knew I was in trouble when the white jeep made a U-turn. Driven by the Zeinab Sisters (or the Black Crows, as I called them), it raced toward me and screeched to a stop.

My mother was pushing my little brother in a stroller. She had already crossed the street, but I’d lagged behind. So when the “Moral Police” pulled in front of me, I was all alone. Their job was to ensure that women and girls dressed in the manner dictated by Islam. To set an example, these four were covered head to toe in black chadors, and some of them even wore gloves.

The Black Crow sitting in the back seat jumped out and grabbed my arm without saying a word. I caught my mother’s eye just as I was being pushed inside the jeep. Maman stood helplessly, screaming across the traffic for the Crows to let me go.

Alarmed by her yells and frantic gestures, a few passersby stared at the jeep. Through the window I saw my brother look up at Maman. His lower lip quivered, a sure sign he was about to cry.

The jeep just peeled away. “What is this?” Backseat Crow asked, pointing to my neck.

It was such a hot summer day that I had undone one of the top buttons of my navy robe. Wearing dark colors in the heat didn’t help. A small triangle of neck showed, which of course they considered blasphemous. I automatically buttoned the top button and positioned my scarf to hide my neck.

“That’s better,” she said. “But what’s this?”

My sleeves were rolled up a bit. She jabbed her finger toward the three inches of my arms that were exposed above my wrists. Clearly she believed that much flesh would be too much temptation for a man. I unrolled my sleeves.

“Haven’t you girls learned anything yet?” Backseat Crow yelled. “How many times do we have to arrest you before you understand how to appear in public? What kind of a Muslim woman are you? Have you no modesty?”

The two front seat Crows sniggered. I lowered my eyes and folded my hands in my lap. I knew better than to argue. Getting hauled off in their car was a very bad sign. I wasn’t about to worsen my situation by being the usual smart aleck I had been at school.

“We’re about to teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget,” she continued. “Maybe then you’ll respect the laws of Islam.”

I nervously watched out the window to see where they were taking me. We drove by the man selling watermelons from his green pickup truck near Vanak Square. Baba often bought one from him on his way home from work. Pedestrians weaved through heavy traffic, and Driver Crow lay her hand on the horn like all the other drivers were doing. For me, this din from the street was nothing new, but I’d never heard such a roar in my ears as my blood was pulsing while my heart pounded.

“How old are you anyway?” Frontseat Crow said.

“I’m fifteen.”

“It’s time for you to be married,” she said. “Otherwise, you’ll get yourself in a lot of trouble. An insolent girl like you will soon bring shame to her family.”

“Was that foreign-looking woman across the street your mother?” Driver Crow asked, glaring at me in the rearview mirror. “The one with the little boy in the stroller? Her scarf barely covered her blond hair.”

“Yes. That was my mother.”

The thought of Maman and Nima made me want to cry.

“Where is she from?” Driver Crow asked.

“She is from France.”

“That explains it!” Backseat Crow said. “All Western women are whores. And you are the child of a whore. No wonder you prance around the streets baring your whole body for every man to see.”

All the Crows laughed.

We reached Shahrak, a neighborhood where many houses and buildings were under construction. It couldn’t have taken us more than 10 minutes to get there, but it felt like hours. I knew this area because my father had driven us around here. Baba thought it would be nice for our family to move to this developing part of Tehran.

The jeep turned into a deserted street with several cement trucks and cranes parked along the side. Driver Crow slowed down.

“Which one was it again?” she squawked.

“The brick one on the right, with the brown garage door.”

We pulled into an apartment building garage. There were no other cars.

Backseat Crow pushed me out of the jeep and led me up one flight of stairs. The smell of fresh paint made me light-headed. The hallway windows still had adhesive tape to prevent the glass from shattering. It dawned on me that nobody was around, neither in this building nor in neighboring ones. Being midday, the construction workers must have been either napping at home or having lunch breaks off-site.

One of the Crows knocked on a door and a new Black Crow opened it.

“We have another one,” Backseat Crow said. “Is the room free?”

“Yes.”

Backseat Crow pulled me inside. The apartment was empty except for some white metal garden furniture in the center of the living room. The large window to the right of the doorway was covered with thick black curtains, slightly open at the center. It was so bright outside that the whole room was illuminated by that narrow slit.

My eyes scanned the room for any signs of torture devices. Nothing. I could smell tea from a samovar in the kitchen to the left. From behind, someone pushed me into one of the hard metal chairs. The same person then dug her hands into both my arms with such force that my fingers tingled from the lack of circulation.

Three Black Crows entered the living room and sat at the table. I didn’t recognize any of them from the car. They must have already been in the apartment. Invisible Crow kept me pinned in place.

“What’s your name?” Crow No. 1 asked.

“Nioucha.”

“Nioucha?” Crow No. 2 repeated.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what your name means?” she asked. Invisible Crow dug deeper into my arms.

“No.”

I stared at the table. Of course I knew the meaning of my name, but I didn’t want to have a conversation with them.

“‘Nioucha’ means someone who listens.” I was surprised she knew this. Very few people knew the origin or meaning of my name. “Are you a good listener?”

“I try.”

I barely recognized my own voice. The three Black Crows from the car entered the room.

“You should have seen how she was walking in the streets,” Backseat Crow said. She joined the others around the table. “Everything was out for the whole world to see!”

I stared harder at the table. My arms felt bloated, like a million ants had crawled under my skin and were struggling to find a way out.

“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” Crow No. 1 said. I looked at her. I was surprised to see how pretty she was, especially her long eyelashes.

“No.”

“What?” It was Frontseat Crow. “We can’t hear you!”

“No, I don’t.” I tried to keep my voice steady.

“Let’s lock her up for a while,” Crow No. 2 said. “We’ll decide later what to do with her.”

“Wait!” I said.

“What?”

“Can I call my mother?”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No! No calls are allowed,” Backseat Crow said.

Invisible Crow released her grip on my arms. Instantly, the ants scattered. Crow No. 1 dragged my chair aside with such force that I was nearly flung forward. She punched my arm as a signal for me to get up. I did. She pushed me and I fell across the table. Everyone laughed.

“Put her in the back room,” said Crow No. 2, the one with the really raspy voice. “I have someone else in the front room.”

I pulled myself off the table. Backseat Crow took my wrist and yanked me to a room at the end of the hall. She opened the door and shoved me inside.

“Make yourself at home,” she said.

She closed the door. I heard her lock it and remove the key. I glanced at my watch: 4:37 p.m. I rubbed my arms where I could feel the fingernail indentations through my sleeves. I looked around the bare room. The walls were white, with dirty finger marks everywhere. Black curtains covered a small window, and a bare lightbulb hung from the ceiling. I pulled the curtains aside to discover that the window was barred. I tried to open it for some air, but it was sealed shut with tar. Looking out across the dirt road, all I could see was a building still under construction.

The room smelled of stale urine and sweat. The floor was carpeted, light gray with dark stains. I gagged. My legs almost gave way, but I didn’t want to sit down and absorb a stranger’s urine. I didn’t even want to lean on the walls; the finger marks were disgusting. I hovered near the window, my hands in my pockets.