A Time To Betray Part 15

Another Guard, who was running for cover, reached me. "Just keep moving-run!" he said. But I could not. I had to find Kazem and Javad. I headed back in the other direction, and amid the dust and the smoke, I saw two Guards lying on the ground facedown, one covered with blood.

"Kazem, are you okay?" I called. No answer.

I broke into a run. Please, G.o.d, not Kazem. Please, G.o.d, not Kazem.

As I got close, I saw that one of the two fallen Guards was trying to get up. I could now clearly see that it was Kazem. He noticed me and said, "I am okay, Reza. It's just my arm. Go check on Javad."

I blew out a deep breath and continued toward the second Guard. It was indeed Javad, and he was bleeding heavily. He had been hit by a large piece of shrapnel. It had torn into his back right under his left shoulder, taking out a chunk of tissue. He was not moving or making any sound. I took off my jacket and wrapped it around him, grabbed his upper body, put him over my shoulder, and bent over from the weight, started running. Kazem followed us, holding his arm. When we reached the car, I laid Javad in the backseat and drove back to the base. He didn't respond when we asked him questions, but his eyes were wide open and he was moaning.

Once at the base, we got out and called for help. The medics rushed Javad inside.

Kazem and I were both in shock. I have no idea how long we sat in one place before Kazem looked at me and said, "Are you okay, Reza? There is blood on your ankle."

I had forgotten about that. I looked down and saw that my ankle had been cut open by shrapnel. Medics soon came and closed the wound with seven st.i.tches. They dressed the wound on Kazem's arm, a.s.suring him he'd taken only a small hit.

While waiting to hear about Javad's condition, Kazem placed his jacket on the ground, took his holy stone and prayer beads from his pocket, and prayed. I walked back and forth gingerly on my repaired ankle, trying to process what we'd been through. We stayed like this until a medic walked up to us.

"Javad is now a martyr," he said flatly. He rubbed his forehead with the back of a blood-covered hand and went back in.

Kazem and I looked at each other in disbelief. I leaned against the wall, slid down to the ground, and sat there trying to compose myself.

Kazem handed me a cup. "Here, Reza, drink some water. You look pale."

"I am all right, Kazem. I am all right."

But I could not stop thinking about Javad. I felt responsible for his death. Had he chosen to come to jebheh jebheh because of me? because of me?

That night, while the Guards and Basijis gathered inside the base, thankful for the shelter and hot food, I walked outside and sat on a small hill nearby. The curtain of stars on an infinite sky provided a backdrop for the lights of Iraqi jets flying above, trying to find their targets. I stared at this dreadful portrait drawn by two madmen-Saddam and Khomeini-for untold minutes.

The sound of artillery rounds coming in and going out filled the air. I thought about G.o.d looking down and watching mankind once again killing one another for land, power, and other meaningless things. I maintained this tortured meditation for some time and then at last went back inside.

The light was dim. There were more than a hundred combatants in the room. Some were doing their prayers, some were lying down on blankets, and others were engaged in conversation. Looking around, I spotted Kazem sitting with a group of fighters. I joined them, listening to their war stories.

"... He was in charge of bringing back three Iraqi POWs," one Guard was saying, "but he shot them instead, taking revenge for his brother who was captured and killed by the Iraqis. He said one of the Iraqis begged for his life and took out a picture of his wife and children. But he pulled the trigger anyway."

Another Guard added, "One of our buddies survived an offensive that turned against us. He told us that the Iraqis were going over to the injured Guards and Basijis, shooting them in the head to finish them off. He and a few others, who were also injured, played dead. At night, when no one was around, they crept on their bellies to get back behind friendly lines. In the morning, the Iraqi choppers swooped down, hunting for any Iranians they could find. He was lucky he managed to make it back after a couple of days without much food or water. He survived by chewing on gra.s.s and sipping the early-morning frost. He said he saw a light that guided him in the right direction."

It amazed me how sometimes one's faith brings extraordinary strength to accomplish impossible tasks. I felt compelled to contribute something, so I told them about Javad's fate-how he had come here to be of help at the front and became a martyr instead. They shook their heads, acknowledging his sacrifice. That story was nothing new for them, just a daily reality of war.

Javad's death left me with a strong sense of contradiction. I knew I should have been relieved that he would no longer be pursuing me. The very real fact was that his loss was my family's gain. But at the same time, I couldn't stop feeling guilty. His pursuit of me was what killed him in the end, so if I hadn't made the decisions I'd made, he'd still be alive.

Since both Kazem and I were wounded, the Guards sent us back home the next morning. Kazem spent a great deal of time talking about Javad on the way back.

"He was only twenty-four, not even married yet," he said as he choked back tears. "He was not armed or fighting the enemy; he was just trying to help. He dedicated his life to Islam, and took care of his poor family and his disabled brother. G.o.d loves him and honored him with martyrdom. He will receive his proper rewards now." He attempted to say this last line with pride, but I heard the resignation in his voice.

Upon our return, we headed straight to Rahim's office to inform him about Javad. The news saddened our commander and he pledged to arrange the funeral and take care of Javad's family. A martyr's funeral was a special one, and as Rahim promised, Javad's was one worthy of a martyr. We held it the following Friday at Javad's house.

People throughout his neighborhood displayed pictures of him. They placed black-and-green banners reading ya hussein and shahid-e-rah-e-hagh (the martyr of G.o.d's path) along the roadside. Hundreds of Guards members in uniform gathered in the street. Several Guards, including Kazem and me, carried the coffin on our shoulders for a few blocks around the neighborhood while the rest followed us, some beating their chests with the palms of their hands while singing sorrowful songs of martyrdom. A ceremony of mourning then took place inside Javad's house with a mullah preaching and paying tribute to Javad and other martyrs.

After the ceremony, we headed to Behesht-e-Zahra cemetery for the burial. Inside the burial ground was a vast area dedicated to all martyrs. Thousands of young people who had given their lives were resting in peace in that section. Rahim had chosen a special place for Javad next to his older brother. On a stand on Javad's grave was a huge picture of him covered with flowers and flags. Javad's mother wailed while his father, an old man, was reading verses from the Quran. After the burial, we approached Javad's father.

"Congratulations to you for your son's martyrdom," Rahim said as he hugged the man. "Javad sacrificed his life for Islam. He is a great shahid shahid and is now in heaven with Prophet Mohammad, Imam Ali, and Imam Hussein. You are very lucky to have given two sons to G.o.d." and is now in heaven with Prophet Mohammad, Imam Ali, and Imam Hussein. You are very lucky to have given two sons to G.o.d."

Javad's father looked at us with tears in his eyes and said, "I wish I had more sons to dedicate to Islam."

The power this religion had on its most fundamentalist followers continued to astound me. As much as I believed many of the tenets of Islam, I didn't think I could ever accept congratulations on a death rather than condolences. Iranians have been practicing Islam for many centuries. For some, it offers guidance, a light that illuminates the darkness on the path of life. To others, it is a set of written rules from G.o.d through his Prophet Mohammad, and no one should ever amend these under any circ.u.mstances. During the shah's regime, people had the freedom to follow their interpretation of their religion. Not now, though. Now, not following it as the mullahs demanded you follow it carried serious consequences. Therefore, as always, I kept my thoughts to myself when in the presence of Kazem and others who thought as he did.

Kazem believed that the Islamic Revolution would lead to worldwide salvation. He talked about this as we drove back from the cemetery. He believed that the war with Iraq was not only to defeat Saddam, but also to ultimately defeat imperialism and Zionism.

"Can't you see, Reza? Saddam attacked Iran with the encouragement of America. They want to destroy our movement, as it is the first of its kind to confront the West. America is only interested in Middle Eastern oil and not the progress of its people. And other Islamic countries like Egypt and Saudi Arabia are nothing more than servants of the West. We are not like them. We are defending Islam and will fight with the last drop of our blood."

Kazem did not see the crimes being committed by the mullahs as unjust. He thought those who did not believe in Imam Khomeini and the clergy were enemies of Islam. He believed Prophet Mohammad and his army fought and killed thousands of nonbelievers to raise the flag of Islam. He thought that now we would raise that flag at all corners of the world and that we would defeat the greedy, corrupt West once and for all.

I could see that religion had stripped Kazem and others like him of perspective, common sense, and independent thinking. They did not question what the mullahs decreed because they believed the mullahs spoke the rules of G.o.d.

Not all of Kazem's animosity toward the West lacked validity. England once wielded enormous power in the Middle East. It went so far as to divide countries, draw new borders, choose sheiks to run these oil-rich nations, and coordinate coups (in Iran, among others). England chose to divide and conquer, and its most divisive action was to enflame sectarian violence and to promote division within ethnicities and religions such as the s.h.i.+tes and Sunnis.

America had its own culpability in sending mixed signals and promoting a confusing foreign policy. For example, it supported dictators to the detriment of the citizens of those nations-Suharto in Indonesia, Augusto Pinochet in Chile, Manuel Noriega in Panama, Hosni Mubarak in Egypt, the shah in Iran, Saddam Hussein in Iraq, and many others in Africa, Asia, and Latin America. American policies were also to blame for helping the Mujahedin in Afghanistan, which then led to the creation of the Taliban and Al Qaeda. Thousands (probably hundreds of thousands) of people lost their lives because of these policies.

However, many Iranians still saw America as a friend, a superpower that respected and defended democracy, where people of different ethnicities and different ideologies lived in peace together. They hoped that somehow, some way, America would help rid Iran of the mullahs and end our long nightmare.

I was one of those Iranians.

21.

TOO CLOSE TO HOME.

SHORTLY AFTER RETURNING home from the front, I went over to my mother's condo to retrieve the hidden doc.u.ments. No one had approached me since the Evin Prison incident, so I'd begun to believe that the entire thing had been less menacing than I'd originally perceived. And now that Javad was no longer a threat, I felt somewhat safer. home from the front, I went over to my mother's condo to retrieve the hidden doc.u.ments. No one had approached me since the Evin Prison incident, so I'd begun to believe that the entire thing had been less menacing than I'd originally perceived. And now that Javad was no longer a threat, I felt somewhat safer.

Even though I knew I had to be ever vigilant and prepared to deal with dangers even greater than any posed by Javad, I thought it was essential that I start writing to Carol again. Since I'd completely cut off communications, she might have a.s.sumed the worst about me and I needed to ease her mind. Most important, though, I had a great deal of information to convey. In a short letter, I told her what had happened to Javad and shared my belief that the threat was over. I also let her know that I would resume filing my reports. I promised not to let my guard down.

It was now important to focus on my family, whom I had neglected since the chilling experience at Evin. I'd been so fearful of what might happen to them if I were caught that I'd managed to push them away. I was physically there, but I'd retreated into myself. What they saw was a tense man with little ability to engage with them and share his soul with them. I needed now to show them how lucky I felt to be alive and to have them in my life. Somaya seemed happy to have my full attention again. How happy could we be if I were not living two lives and if we weren't under constant threat of having our world turned upside down?

I sent another letter to Carol a few days after I reopened communications, updating her about everything that had happened in the past several weeks, including the formation of the MOIS, and the transfer of Rasool and many other Guards to the ministry. I'd actually heard a rumor that Rasool was going to be on the move yet again. Someone told me that he was leaving the country to pursue his education, which surprised me a little. I b.u.mped into him one day leaving Rahim's office, and I almost didn't recognize him. He was nicely groomed, he'd shaved his beard, and he was dressed in a business suit. Something was going on.

"Salam, Baradar Reza," he said brightly. "I'm glad I saw you. I wanted to say good-bye to you." He shook my hand and reached to give me a hug, overwhelming me with his size. Baradar Reza," he said brightly. "I'm glad I saw you. I wanted to say good-bye to you." He shook my hand and reached to give me a hug, overwhelming me with his size.

I tried not to look too surprised by his new appearance. "Salam, big guy. I heard you were going to England to continue your education. When are you leaving?" big guy. I heard you were going to England to continue your education. When are you leaving?"

"Inshallah, this afternoon." this afternoon."

Kazem validated my suspicion when he told me the same day that Rasool had been prepped to become an agent in England. This would be valuable news to pa.s.s on to Carol, and I needed to find a way to uncover more details about Rasool's mission. Getting Kazem to talk would not be difficult, but he seemed very busy at the time. As it turned out, Rahim was also traveling to England, which meant Kazem had extra work preparing to fill in, which he did whenever the commander was away.

When I finally got Kazem alone in his office, he told me that Rasool's new a.s.signment was to infiltrate the Iranian opposition groups in England to learn about their activities. He also said that the reason for Rahim's travel was to meet with the Guards' agents in London. The Guards had gone abroad to confront the Mujahedin and others challenging the Iranian government. The Mujahedin were active in Europe, conducting a campaign aimed at toppling the Islamic regime. They were also busy helping to coordinate a.s.sa.s.sinations of Islamic officials in Iran.

"Reza, we have the approval of several European governments to go after the opposition," Kazem told me.

"You mean we can take them out at will?"

"As long as we do not jeopardize the security of those countries or their citizens, we can."

This seemed incredible to me. I wondered how the West justified helping fanatics who could just as easily turn on them. As I thought this, I flashed on something Naser had said during the early days of the revolution: "Why would the West-or even the East, for that matter-want Iran to progress when they can take advantage of our oil while having stupid people rule the country?" If his observation were true, it seemed that the West was being incredibly shortsighted.

Kazem maintained that the Europeans raised no objection to Iranian agents' murdering the opposition-members of the Mujahedin as well as former officers and monarchists-inside their countries. This would result in the Guards' killing hundreds in Europe and around the globe, with bombs planted in their cars, by attacking them in their homes, by beheading them, or by shooting them execution-style. Some they abducted, tortured, and killed, dumping their bodies in remote areas. Among the many they a.s.sa.s.sinated was General Gholam Oveissi, the former commander of the shah's army, along with his brother, on the streets of Paris. But there would be many, many more. The most notable figure, a.s.sa.s.sinated some years later, was the last prime minister under the shah, Shahpour Bakhtiar. He'd escaped the country after the revolution and stayed active in Paris promoting opposition to the mullahs. The Guards finally caught up to him, stabbing him thirteen times in the neck and shoulder, and cutting his throat with a kitchen knife.

While we were talking, two Guards entered the room. Kazem got up excitedly and welcomed them. They shook hands and then hugged.

"Reza, these brothers are from the Central Command," Kazem said as he introduced them to me. He then went on to brag about how my contributions helped set up the computer infrastructure that facilitated the Guards' activities throughout the country. At first I was worried that this might be another trick, but when they continued with their unfiltered conversation, I was relieved and felt they regarded me as one of them.

One of the Guards mentioned that Iraq was receiving military aid from the West, especially France. This included new fighter jets to target Iranian naval s.h.i.+ps and oil tankers in the Persian Gulf. The Iraqis had also purchased jets that could drop bombs from high alt.i.tude, therefore remaining immune to antiaircraft guns. What he said next stunned me: "Baradar Kazem, our intelligence has learned through arms dealers in the black market that Saddam is desperately looking for the technology to build an atomic bomb. We have verified this with our sources in Iraq."

"An atomic bomb in the hands of a madman," Kazem said, shaking his head.

"We won't let it go unanswered," the Guard continued. "We already have approval from the Supreme Leader, Imam Khomeini, to strengthen our capabilities with such technology. Don't worry, Baradar, Baradar, Islam will conquer the evil forces. Saddam and his boss, Islam will conquer the evil forces. Saddam and his boss, Amrika, Amrika, will be defeated, will be defeated, inshallah inshallah."

Later that night, I wrote Carol again. This was the third letter in as many days, but with significant news I felt could not wait.

[Letter #-]

[Date:---]

Dear Carol,1-Rasool has been sent to London from MOIS as an agent to infiltrate the opposition groups.2-His duties are to identify group leaders, sympathizers, and individuals connected to them who travel in and out of Iran. This information is used by MOIS to arrest members and sympathizers upon their arrival in Iran and to a.s.sa.s.sinate opposition leaders abroad.3-Kazem told me that Rahim has also traveled to London to meet with Guards' agents. Rahim is becoming increasingly involved with the activities abroad.4-Kazem told me that there is an unwritten pact with the European governments, especially France, England, and Germany, that allows Guards' agents to a.s.sa.s.sinate opposition members without interference of those governments' security services.5-While in Kazem's office, two Guards from Central Command showed up with news that Saddam is looking for nuclear technology and desperately wants nuclear bombs. This has been confirmed by Guards' agents in Iraq and Guards' contacts with arms dealers in the black market. Consequently, the Guards have also started their pursuit of the nuclear bomb with the approval of Imam Khomeini.

G.o.d Bless, Wally My preoccupation with the flurry of vital information I'd been receiving distracted me from Kazem's upcoming wedding. As the day approached, I realized that I'd have to prepare my grandfather for the celebration, as he was quite old now and reluctant to go out. He was slightly stooped and needed a cane to walk. His snow-white hair and wrinkles testified to a lifetime of changes and experiences, from the invasion of Iran by the Allies in World War II, to the shahs' monarchies, to the mullahs he'd never respected now ruling his country.

As I did regularly, I flashed back on the long-ago summertime gatherings when Agha Joon and Davood would discuss their differences about the shah, democracy in Iran, and their favorite subject, the influence of Arabs and Islam in our society. As a kid, I didn't appreciate the extent of this influence and how it was changing the vision of our nation. This great country-once ruled by Cyrus the Great and known for its rich culture and literature-was regressing now because of religion.

Although a Muslim, like many other Iranians, Agha Joon did not feel obligated to practice Islam the way my grandmother had. He didn't go to the mosque or pray five times daily, and he didn't think he was going to go to h.e.l.l because of this. But he did live by the highest tenets of our religion: he always helped the poor, he never lied, he never stole anything-and, above all, he was not a betrayer. Agha Joon believed strongly in the separation of religion and politics. He would say, "Religion is in the heart. It cannot be forced upon the people. It is a private relations.h.i.+p between a man and his creator. You find the love within G.o.d, and with that love, you cherish life."

At first Agha Joon told me that he wasn't going to go to Kazem's wedding. He was uncomfortable being where henchmen of the Islamic government would be gathered. Unlike my mother, Agha Joon had never expressed his disappointment in my joining the Guards. He always gave me a warm smile, saying, "Pesaram, hopefully you'll find a better place to work." But he did not hesitate to show his resentment against the Islamic regime and the crimes it committed. When I told him that it would mean a lot to Kazem, and that Kazem's father had sent a special invitation for him, Agha Joon finally agreed to accompany me. hopefully you'll find a better place to work." But he did not hesitate to show his resentment against the Islamic regime and the crimes it committed. When I told him that it would mean a lot to Kazem, and that Kazem's father had sent a special invitation for him, Agha Joon finally agreed to accompany me.

The ceremony was at the bride's house. When we arrived, a brand-new black Mercedes pulled up in front of us. At this point in the revolution, the regime had stopped the import of foreign cars for ordinary citizens. Only the authorities and high-ranking clergy were able to special-order the latest models and drive them. It did not surprise me when a chubby mullah exited the car. He was wearing a long black chenille robe and holding on to his white turban. He draped his prayer beads, s.h.i.+ning on a gold string, in his hand. Two Guards escorted him out of the car, one opening the door and the other holding his hand to guide him out.

A small crowd, perhaps the bride's family, immediately surrounded the mullah. Agha Joon nudged me, winked, and with a wide grin said, "Look at this son of a dog. He steals people's money, drives a Mercedes, and I'll bet he has an honorary Ph.D. or a law degree, too."

"Agha Joon, please, hush." I was afraid someone who knew me would overhear him.

Kazem's father hustled toward the mullah. "Bah bah, Hojatoleslam Yazdi, you honor us today by your coming." Hojatoleslam Yazdi, you honor us today by your coming."

I looked at Agha Joon, who was now reaching into his pocket for his gla.s.ses. He mumbled "Hojatoleslam!" "Hojatoleslam!" derisively spitting the honorific t.i.tle representing authority in Islam. In those days, any mullah who had moved up in rank by any means received it. derisively spitting the honorific t.i.tle representing authority in Islam. In those days, any mullah who had moved up in rank by any means received it.

Agha Joon finally found his gla.s.ses, stared out, and then turned to me in disbelief. "Reza jon, jon, this is our own Mullah Aziz!" this is our own Mullah Aziz!"

Shocked, I looked closer and realized that he was right. It was Mullah Aziz-upgraded from a donkey to a Mercedes and with his t.i.tle changed from Mullah to Hojatoleslam. I just shook my head.

Kazem came out to welcome the guests. He greeted us and took us over to Mullah Aziz.

"Bah bah, Agha Joon," the mullah said with great enthusiasm. "It is so nice to see you again." Agha Joon," the mullah said with great enthusiasm. "It is so nice to see you again."

"Salam, Mullah Aziz," Agha Joon said, not caring that calling this man "Mullah" rather than "Hojatoleslam" and using his first name was a sign of disrespect. Mullah Aziz," Agha Joon said, not caring that calling this man "Mullah" rather than "Hojatoleslam" and using his first name was a sign of disrespect.

Mullah Aziz reddened at being addressed that way in front of his escorts. But I jumped in, trying to avoid any further embarra.s.sment that would jeopardize my position. I paid my respects and introduced myself, certain the mullah would not recognize me.

"Bah, Reza Reza jon jon!" Mullah Aziz said as he wrapped his arms around me. "Kazem has told me all about you, a true pasdar, pasdar, a great Muslim." a great Muslim."

I looked at Agha Joon to see his reaction. He was shaking his head, not happy with this reunion. I grabbed my grandfather's arm and we all headed inside the house, where the ceremony was to take place. But inside felt more like a funeral than a wedding. One room was full of men sitting on the ground with a couple of chairs in the corner, one especially cus.h.i.+oned for Mullah Aziz. The women and the bride were in a separate room, where they could not be seen or heard. Usually at a wedding, music played and people danced, but not here, not when religious radicals were the hosts. Only the smile on Kazem's face indicated that this was a happy event.

I could see that all of this displeased Agha Joon. All his life, he had been the center of attention, spoken his mind freely, and enjoyed the respect of everyone who knew him. Now he was being made to sit on the ground next to people who had stolen the dignity of his beloved country and he had to bow to a mullah who once performed a sermon at his house for a dollar or two.

"You know, Reza jon jon," Agha Joon said on the way home, "there are a lot of these besharaf besharaf mullahs out there. But do you know what this perverted b.a.s.t.a.r.d did while you were in the States going to college? He sent a messenger to your uncle's house to announce that he wanted to go mullahs out there. But do you know what this perverted b.a.s.t.a.r.d did while you were in the States going to college? He sent a messenger to your uncle's house to announce that he wanted to go khastegari khastegari for Haleh, your cousin. He had no shame. Haleh was half his age and this for Haleh, your cousin. He had no shame. Haleh was half his age and this binamoos binamoos didn't know that my son would never have accepted him even as his daughter's butler." He shook his head. "I am glad it was before the revolution, otherwise G.o.d knows what he would have done to get them to accept. And thank G.o.d Haleh got married shortly after and left for Sweden with her husband." didn't know that my son would never have accepted him even as his daughter's butler." He shook his head. "I am glad it was before the revolution, otherwise G.o.d knows what he would have done to get them to accept. And thank G.o.d Haleh got married shortly after and left for Sweden with her husband."

He was right. During the wedding celebration, Kazem told me that Mullah Aziz's new position was as a judge in the Revolutionary Courts in charge of the trials of opposition groups. If he were interested in Haleh and my uncle refused, he could have accused my uncle of sedition, had him sent to prison, or even had him killed.

That night at home, I once again thought of Naser. I took his picture out, saw his bright smile s.h.i.+ning back at me, and imagined that same smile on his wedding day, if he had lived. Earlier in the day, Kazem had described his wedding as the purest form of bliss. The revolution had stolen that bliss from Naser and his siblings.

Early the next morning, I received a message from Carol: Dear Wally,It's great to hear from you.We are so happy you are well and back on the job.We received all three letters.The information provided was extremely important and valuable.Please keep us posted on any further information regarding nukes.We have located both Rasool and Rahim.Stay safe,Carol By the spring of 1985, the war was becoming more intense. Imam Khomeini and the ruling clerics were pus.h.i.+ng for the removal of Saddam, conquering Iraq, and unifying Muslims in a bigger, holier war against Israel. Guards commanders said that Khomeini would go to his prayer room alone to talk to G.o.d for his approval before any offensive. Following one such talk with G.o.d in March of that year, he issued an order for a ma.s.sive movement toward the city of Basra in Iraq dubbed Operation Badr, sending tens of thousands of soldiers to the front. The operation was successful, initially capturing part of the Basra-Baghdad highway, but it soon turned horrific when the Iraqi army again resorted to the use of chemical weapons. Saddam went even further by bombarding civilian targets in Iran.

Because of this, I told Somaya that even though most of the attacks came at night, she needed to take extra precautions when I was not there. She should keep the radio on at all times, and if the siren signaling an imminent aerial attack went off, she should take shelter in our cellar. She didn't like that idea, but for Omid's sake, she agreed it would be safer.

Taking such shelter became routine for us. First the siren, then antiaircraft guns, and then explosions, sometimes so close they would jolt our building. Omid, now three, would cry, Somaya would shake, and I would wrap my arms around them trying to protect them. Then there would be a quiet moment before another siren announced an all clear and we could leave the shelter. Calls to close family members and friends followed to make sure everyone was still alive. We somehow managed to continue to conduct our lives under these conditions, as did everyone who survived the raids.

That summer, a neighbor down the block invited Omid to a birthday party. I didn't want to let Omid out of our sight, especially because the party was in the evening. Even with the Iraqi air raids, Iranians maintained their custom of having parties, even birthday celebrations for the young ones at dinnertime. Although I knew Somaya would be by his side, still I was hesitant. That day, though, Omid woke up with a fever and Somaya decided not to take him. We had a quiet day, and Somaya got Omid ready for bed early, since he still wasn't feeling well. As she did, the siren went off. Before we had a chance to run to the cellar, a roaring explosion filled the air and the house shook violently. I grabbed Omid and pulled Somaya to a corner of the room away from the windows, covering them with my body. They were both screaming. For what seemed like an endless stretch, all I could feel under my body was the frantic beating of two innocent hearts desperate for survival. I prayed to G.o.d to let this pa.s.s with no harm. The growl of each antiaircraft missile shook Somaya's back and made Omid squeal. Windows and other gla.s.s shattered, and I kept praying.

I don't know how long we were in that position before the guns finally stopped firing. I left my family, still hysterical, in the corner. I stepped on picture frames that had fallen off the walls, broken vases, and other objects on my way to the far side of room, where I kept the emergency flashlights on the nightstand. I then led them to the cellar.

As we crumpled into one another's arms, the sky seemed quiet. But the sound of ambulances, police cars, and fire trucks filled our neighborhood. It was apparent that the explosion hit somewhere close to our house. When Somaya and Omid finally calmed down, I stepped outside to see what had happened.

Debris cluttered the neighborhood. Clouds of smoke and dust filled the air and I had to cover my mouth against this as I walked down the block. There, I saw that the top of a four-story building was missing, with bricks and concrete blocks in a pile on the ground.

Several neighbors were outside helping the police, the firemen, and the Guards pull bodies from the rubble. I saw several small bodies wrapped in cloth lying on the ground. The bodies seemed about Omid's size. Then it dawned on me: Oh my G.o.d! This is where Omid would have been. Oh my G.o.d! This is where Omid would have been. These were the kids at the birthday party. These were the kids at the birthday party.

I started digging furiously, helping pull out more bodies. Mostly small kids. Some still in their mothers' arms. Most dead. The kids and guests at that party on the fourth floor were all dead. Only a few from the lower stories of the building survived, suffering various injuries and burns.

A Guard was going around to the women's dead bodies and covering their hair as we pulled them to the side. They wouldn't allow even the injured and dead to be seen without cover.

The bombing and deaths of our neighbors terrified Somaya and me. After this event, Somaya would not leave Omid's side. She would hold him in her arms, and when he was asleep, she would sit next to his bed and cry. In the ensuing days, I pleaded for her to consider leaving, this time making sure not to offend her as I had when I'd proposed the same during her pregnancy.

"Just until this war is over," I pleaded. "And I promise to come and visit as much as I can. Do it for Omid. He is constantly crying and screaming through this madness."

Somaya wiped her tears, and bent and kissed Omid's hand as he slept in his crib. "I love him so much and I feel so responsible for him," she said, bursting into tears. "What if we were at that party and something had happened to him? What would I have done without him?"

I hugged her s.h.i.+vering shoulders, not mentioning that if they had been at the party I would have lost her as well. "I know. And we should thank G.o.d that Omid had a fever. That's why I am asking you to go to your parents. I know how much he means to you and you know how much you both mean to me. Your safety and happiness are all I am pleading for."