May 1979
Malek had now moved into the residences that surrounded the grounds
of the Rostam Palace. Home of the Peacock Throne. He had been put in charge
of investigating the many allegations that were now being brought forth
to the council allegating acts of corruption and wrongdoing. People were
being brought in daily as their past affiliations were traced and anyone
who had had anything to do with anyone in the Shah's regime was called
forward to explain.
One Friday afternoon as Babak walked through his house looking for something
to do, he noticed a commotion outside in the street. He walked over to
the kitchen and looked out onto the street and saw several men carrying
rifles and Uzi machine guns walking down the sidewalk. Babak followed them
through the window and moved into the hall and made his way past the front
doorway to go towards his parents' bedroom window to continue his observation.
But they hadn't continued down the sidewalk as Babak had expected. As he
walked back into the hall the front door burst open with a loud boom! In
poured all the armed men.
"Put your hands in the air," one of the men barked. Babak
frozen in horror immediately complied. They ran into the house and pushed
him against the wall and patted him for weapons. By this time Babak's father
came out of the TV room and the men immediately turned him around and shoved
him into the kitchen.
"Where is Bagher Tabrizi?" they ordered. Bagher Tabrizi was
Babak's father's uncle from the province. He had owned a large commercial
farm and had become a wealthy man producing food for export. He had been
showcased to the Shah many times as a model industrial farmer and had received
several grants and projects with U.S. universities testing new agricultural
techniques and drought resistant hybrid plants. A very educated man, he
was self-taught in five languages and came to visit often to speak with
Babak's French mother. He had visited Babak's home just three days ago
on one of his visits to Tehran. No one knew where he had gone after his
visit. Finding this hard to believe, the guardsmen turned to Babak and
his mother and almost routinely said they would be taking Babak's father
in for questioning.
Babak did not protest, even though he knew inside he would not see his
father again, just like the kids in school. But his mother had a worried
look on her face and Babak had to reassure her for now.
All the next day Babak was unable to concentrate on school. Now people
looked at him as he had at the others. Now he knew how it felt not knowing.
Finally at noon he called his cousin who had a car to come and pick him
up. His cousin told him that they wanted to speak with him anyway and they
had been looking for Babak all day and asked him to take him in for questioning.
Babak cringed in horror and thought that this was it, this was when they
would hand him his father's body and everything would end. He sat silently
in his cousin's car as they made their way slowly through the impossible
Tehran traffic towards the south of the city.
He was in a trance when his cousin finally stopped the car and turned
to Babak and said,"Well, we're here."
"Huh?" 
Babak suddenly awoke from his other place and
stumbled out of the car. They made their way past several armed guardsmen
through the large gates of the former palace to a main office area. They
had converted the large entry ways of the palace into administrative rooms
full of phones and typewriters. people with beards in suits without ties
but collars buttoned up, now the trademark of a revolutionary, moved urgently
in and out of the rooms. Babak was asked to have a seat in front of one
of the desks. Babak asked to see his father, and one of the men gruffly
said, "You'll see him soon enough."
This had the desired effect and Babak promptly sat down. After an hour
of waiting, a man walked by the table where Babak sat and said, "It
won't be much longer." and left the room. Another hour passed. Babak
began to think that this was part of a plan to break his will, although
he couldn't imagine what will they were worried about, he knew nothing.
So he played along. Could it be any worse? If they had already executed
his father there wasn't much more anyone could do to hurt him.
Finally a man came up to Babak and asked him to come with him and they
left the room. They walked through the grounds and Babak remembered how
normal everything looked, a sharp contrast to the opulence it had before
when the Shah was in power, when only guided tours were allowed and everything
was kept up meticulously. They walked past the Peacock Throne almost as
if it never mattered, and Babak was amazed at how close he was to it. They
almost brushed past it as they walked through the open-air room where the
throne had sat for hundreds of years.
Finally they entered an ante-room off the side of a main courtyard on
the grounds. There was an office set up much like the waiting room he had
sat in for three hours. He was shown the seat in front of the desk and
asked to sit.
"Here we go again," he thought as he sat down expecting to
be put through the now thinly transparent tactic once again. But about
10 minutes later the door opened and in walked a molla. He was young and
as he moved quickly into the room Babak caught a glimpse of the hand gun
tucked into his sash under the light brown abaa. As he wheeled around the
other side of the table and sat down, they both looked up and froze, eyes
wide open. It was Malek!
"Is it you?" Babak exclaimed. He couldn't believe what he
saw. Malek's eyes glistened as he looked at Babak. For a moment he smiled,
then suddenly his eyebrows became sharp and he sternly looked back at his
paperwork, and asked quickly, "What do you know about Bagher Tabrizi?"
"He's my dad's cousin, and he has a lot of land, and he is loved
by his workers....what's this all about?" Babak replied. He wanted
to get this over with now that there was less formality.
"He is accused of crimes against the homeland," Malek repeated
almost automatically.
"That's ridiculous!" Babak laughed. "He's a farmer."
"Some of his workers think otherwise." Malek shot back quietly.
"So, is this the way you want to have a revolution? By paybacks?"
Babak was becoming angry.
"Hey, they had their time. Now it is our turn," Malek said
matter of factly.
Disgusted Babak realized this was the andakhtani game all over again.
The game they had played in their youth was being played out in another
form now. And Malek was as good as ever.
"How's your Mom and Dad?" Babak changed the subject hoping
to get on Malek's good side again.
"They're fine. My Dad is in charge of the Davoudieh Komiteh"
Malek replied, now equally eager to avoid the issue.
"That's great." Babak said. He was patronizing Malek now.
Malek spotted it and the conversation turned terse again.
"Does your father own a gun?" Malek asked, looking down at
the paperwork on his desk.
"You know, I have no idea. Can I call my mother to let her know
I will be late?" Babak said just as rapidly.
"Yeah, in just a minute. So, you don't know that your father owns
a gun eh?" Malek was so obvious in his play to get Babak to blurt
out something.
But Babak didn't know anything and as such recognized it as a ploy.
"Look, if he told you he has a gun, then he must have one then. I
haven't seen one, so I don't know." he said.
Malek became uncomfortable. He thought the ploy would clearly work.
It hadn't. He changed the subject again. "Have you thought about what
religion you are? I mean, your mother is a Christian and your father is
a Moslem. So what are you?" he asked flashing his holiest smile.
"I don't know. See, I wear a cross next to my Allah." Babak
replied and pulled out the thin gold chain one of his aunts had given to
him one Noruz. It had the usual gold coin with a picture of Mohammad on
one side and Ali on the other. Babak's mother had given him the small gold
cross one Christmas and for lack of a better idea he had put them both
on the same chain. It was a personal reminder of what he was.
"But which one will you choose?" Malek repeated.
"I don't know. I'm still studying." Babak responded obviously.
He watched Malek in enjoyment, as it slowly sank in that one could not
know which way was right. To Malek it had been always so clear.
"You should choose Islam." Malek finally said. "It is
a much more complete and modern religion."
"Yes, it's also a younger religion, so it has been able to refine
areas that the other religions fall short in." Babak tossed in.
"Exactly!" Malek replied thrilled that Babak felt as he did.
"Can I please see my father now?" Babak asked hoping to get
a quick yes.
Malek looked at Babak as the remains of the smile faded, and stopped,
reached for the phone and told the other end to bring in Mr. Bahrampour.
"Do you want some tea?" Malek asked.
"Sure, but only if you have some too." Babak responded. The
traditions of tea and sitting, talk and conversation had been bred well
into both as boys and now as men.
Malek picked up the phone again and soon the tea arrived. Soon after,
another knock on the door, this time Babak saw four men outside. The second
man who entered was his father! Babak wanted to jump up and run to him.
But he saw in his father's eyes that everything was all right and instant
relief took over and Babak relaxed almost immediately.
"Are you okay?" Babak asked his father in English.
"Yeah!" His father grinned back. Babak later found out that
for the past few days his father had been playing hokm and smoking hashish
in the large group cell shared by 40 other men.
"Your father will be released tomorrow after our investigation
is done." Malek announced benevolently.
After they all had tea, Malek asked the men outside to take Babak's
father back to the holding area. Malek led Babak out of the office and
put his arm on Babak's shoulder as they walked through the palace grounds,
now lit up by small lights and moonlight. They reached the gates and passed
through the guards to the street where Babak was amazed to see his cousin
still there standing by the car. His cousin started to run across the street
to meet him. As they waited, Malek looked at Babak and said, "Hey,
do you remember how we used to play andakhtani on our bikes when we were
kids?"
"Yeah, you were always better than me. You always used win,"
Babak said rubbing it in.
"Aw C'mon don't be sore," Malek teased. "I used to let
you win one now and then didn't I?"
They looked at each other quickly one last time. Each knew what the
other had meant, each knew things had changed forever and each knew that
they were now on separate paths leading towards an uncertain future.
One thing was sure, they had each passed into manhood. Malek said goodbye,
Babak thanked him for his kindness as was proper, to which Malek properly
replied he had done nothing. And they both turned and walked away.
End of part five. The end.
* Part
one
* Part
two
* Part
three
* Part
four
* Part
five
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Babak suddenly awoke from his other place and
stumbled out of the car. They made their way past several armed guardsmen
through the large gates of the former palace to a main office area. They
had converted the large entry ways of the palace into administrative rooms
full of phones and typewriters. people with beards in suits without ties
but collars buttoned up, now the trademark of a revolutionary, moved urgently
in and out of the rooms. Babak was asked to have a seat in front of one
of the desks. Babak asked to see his father, and one of the men gruffly
said, "You'll see him soon enough."
