April 1, 1999
The Iranian
Part III
September 1978
Babak was now a senior in an international high school. He had grown
into a likable young man easily making friends across the many cultural
borders in his school. He had met so many people from different countries
and each person he met filled his curiosity a bit more. In the last few
years he had met people from Communist Russia, Yugoslavia, Poland, and
Bulgaria and had debated their styles of government and had understood
them better. He had sat next to a pretty blonde girl from South Africa
and came to understand the very fragile nature of the Afrikaaners and their
justification for apartheid.
He was most curious about Americans, however.
At once they both excited him and appealed to his growing sense of adventure
and love for intensity and fun, and at the same time disgusted him with
the scent of their cigarettes and fabric softened clothes. They seemed
so vulgar and sexual. As a result he met and dated several American girls,
mostly out of curiosity. He found them to be eager, flirty and aggressive
at the onset of a new relationship, but feelings soon waned as things became
predictable and routine. They became indifferent and the constant urge
to move on to new excitement eventually doomed the relationships.
The Iranian girls, in contrast were mostly polite, well bred, hardly
giving any boy a passing glance except to make sure you were looking. They
were sweet and cordial, and Babak wished deeply to get to know them more.
But the trend amongst the Iranian girls was a competitive streak as each
tried to to outdo the other. Claims of older boyfriends who had cars and
went to other schools and junior colleges around town flew through the
classrooms. The ultimate popularity prize, to be picked up from school
by a boy in a BMW 2002 wearing one of the beards made popular by the Pop
singer Sattar!
Malek meanwhile had become fully embroiled in the religious training
he was receiving in Qom. The sweet sorrow of Islam embraced him so fully
that he felt happy, sad, elated, lost, full and void, all at once. This
thrilled his need for stimulation so greatly that he had quickly risen
to the top of his class. Encouraged constantly by the clerics who taught
him every subject expertly, he soon developed a leadership role among the
other students and the younger classmen looked up to him full of admiration
and respect.
On his weekend visits home, Malek was attended to reverently by his
family. Their pride and social standing had been enhanced greatly by the
continuing accomplishments and success of Malek's father, but now even
more so by Malek's achievements at school. Malek wore the traditional collarless
shirt, robe or abaa of a molla along with small turban and his beard was
beginning to come in more fully, although he had never shaved it since
going off to school. Many said he was the spitting image of the popular
portrait Ali, the revered nephew of the prophet. There was an overwhelming
serene sadness about him that instantly attracted anyone he came in contact
with. He had it. And knew it. Soon after graduation he would be able to
have everything he desired and the thing he desired most was power.
January 1979
Things around town were exploding. All hell had seemed to break loose
as the religious class had grown louder and louder in their protestations
of the government and unions had gone on strike, the government troops
had now gone and made the fatal mistake of firing on the unruly crowds
that grew larger and larger each day.
Everyone seemed to think the madness would eventually
end and they could all go back to the way things were. But that was impossible
now. Whether instigated or tricked or out of self preservation, one side
had spilled and tasted the blood of the other and there was no stopping
it now. Malek had been pulled from school at the request of one of the
mollas in school who had contacts with the underground movements. He had
been chosen to help the cause through organization, running money to where
it was needed and gathering information.
Malek had felt for a long time now that the vast difference between
the opulence of the rich in Tehran and the south city poor was a crime
that now needed punishment. His father had gone completely mad in this
regard and had all but given up his business, not that he needed to work,
and had gone completely underground as he and others in the bazaar had
begun to pave the way for His arrival.
Tapes of the fiery speeches of the man had been distributed around town
and even Babak's father had gotten a hold of one on one of his trips through
the villages. The speeches were patriotic, the logic compelling, and there
was no getting around the truth. He was right, this system had to go.
Malek had begun carrying a small revolver as the riots had built up
to a fever pitch and the military had not hesitated in responding with
the best equipment American ingenuity had to offer. It wasn't a matter
of whether there were other options such as riot gear or water cannons
or even the nice friendly rubber bullets from Israel. It was a matter of
who had decided to use 60mm shells. Babak had quickly grown another year
older when he found one in the tappehs one day.Nightly you could watch
the Tehran skies light up with red and green tracers flying from one side
of the sky to the other. These shells were about 6 inches long and the
tips a good 3 inches beyond. These tips when fired could easily cut through
a crowd of about 30 or 40 bodies before they stopped. Effective one would
think, except for the fact that when used by an Iranian on an Iranian had
a consequence that no military manual has yet to point out. The revolution
had begun.
End of part Three. Go to part
four
* Part
one
* Part
two
* Part
three
* Part
four
* Part
five
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He was most curious about Americans, however.
At once they both excited him and appealed to his growing sense of adventure
and love for intensity and fun, and at the same time disgusted him with
the scent of their cigarettes and fabric softened clothes. They seemed
so vulgar and sexual. As a result he met and dated several American girls,
mostly out of curiosity. He found them to be eager, flirty and aggressive
at the onset of a new relationship, but feelings soon waned as things became
predictable and routine. They became indifferent and the constant urge
to move on to new excitement eventually doomed the relationships.
Everyone seemed to think the madness would eventually
end and they could all go back to the way things were. But that was impossible
now. Whether instigated or tricked or out of self preservation, one side
had spilled and tasted the blood of the other and there was no stopping
it now. Malek had been pulled from school at the request of one of the
mollas in school who had contacts with the underground movements. He had
been chosen to help the cause through organization, running money to where
it was needed and gathering information.
