When the military vehicle reached the end of the street, it turned around. I became certain they were coming toward our house. I didn't hesitate. In a panic, I ran downstairs at lightning speed.
Rah va Rahavard
An Experience-Narrative of a Life
Mohammad Kianoush-Rad
Part Thirteen
**A Child of Our Own Time**
The army truck "Rio" stopped right across the street. Several soldiers were sitting in the back of the truck in front of Mr. ...'s house. The commander was talking with the neighbor across the way, Mrs. Sh... I don't know whether he was asking for the address of our house, or whether Mrs. ...'s royalist zeal had flared up and she had pointed out our house to him. The pointing of Mrs. ...'s finger made me aware of the danger.
I was standing. I immediately bent down and crouched. A little later I lay down so as not to be seen. Through the holes between the bricks of the rooftop, I watched the scene. The north rooftop overlooked the street.
The parapet of the rooftop, in the style of those days, was brickwork. The brickwork of the rooftop parapet, in addition to protection and the beauty of the facade, was a window for the passage of the breeze in summer. At night we slept on the rooftop. I was still watching the car through the lattice wall.
When the army car reached the end of the street, it turned around. It became certain to me that they were coming toward our house. I did not delay. Frantic and quick as lightning, I ran downstairs. On the last steps, from the intensity of stress and haste, my foot twisted. I tumbled down several steps. My elbow hit the ground and my hand was scratched and bleeding. My shirt was torn at the elbow. My hand began to sting. I paid no attention. I did not notice the stinging and blood of my elbow at all. I had flip-flops on my feet. It came off my foot. I fell to the ground again. I was very scared. I fled.
It was enough for my green leather bag to fall into their hands. My work would be finished. I hurried to the bag. I had hidden it under the bed. I lay down on the ground and with difficulty pulled it out from under the bed. I thought only of not being caught. I was going up the stairs to the south rooftop. A thousand thoughts crossed my mind. That perhaps I would never return home. I thought of my mother and turned back.
In the living room, she was praying. I had to tell her that I was going. Quickly and hurriedly I said: "The army men are at the door of the house. They are after me. I am going. Perhaps you will not see me again."
She glanced and smiled, but did not break her prayer. I saw no change in her face. Perhaps she thought I was joking. Perhaps she was expecting such a day. She knew that I had secret activities.
That day, early in the morning, before the call to prayer, she had seen us. Ahmad had taken the motorcycle of Mr. Agha, the Malayeri fruit seller. The motorcycle was strong and thick-necked, which suited our work. It could bear three passengers at high speed. Everything was ready. We had done reconnaissance.
Early in the morning Ahmad came. We got on the back of the motorcycle and set off in the darkness. Our arrangement was that Ahmad would be the driver, Mehdi would break the window, and I would finish the job. Mehdi struck the window several times with a large stone. The window did not break. We became anxious. The material in my hand was combusting, and there was a possibility of my being burned. There was no choice. Like in the movies, I kicked the window and broke it and finished the job. God had mercy. If that thick glass had landed on my foot, it was not clear whether my right foot would have remained intact. With the haste caused by fear, we quickly moved away from the place.
My mother and father had seen us silently from the rooftop and through the windows of the brickwork wall of the rooftop. They said nothing.
My father, early that same day, went to Nezami Street to bring fruit for his shop. When he returned, I was at home. My father came and said only one sentence: "Did you do your work? I know what you did." I said: "What work?" He smiled meaningfully, shook his head, and left.
My mother knew this. She had seen us early in the morning. So she was somewhat prepared for such matters. She looked at me calmly and went to bow [in prayer].
I said goodbye. Without waiting for an answer, I quickly went up the stairs to the south rooftop and went to the rooftop of Uncle Ramazan's house, which was wall to wall with our house, and to the next house, Tavakoli's house, and from there too I jumped to the rooftop of the next house. I lay in ambush to see what would happen.
That day, the entire courtyard of the house, which was brick-paved, was supposed to be tiled. The main door of the house was open and the workers were busy working.
My mother later said: "I immediately reached myself to the door. I told the builder too to say no one is at home." The builder had said: "We are tiling the floor of the house. No one is here. No one can come and go for now either." The commander, who at the threshold of the door, because of the tiles and the obstacles, had no possibility of entering, was convinced and turned back.
I put the bag on the neighbor's rooftop. I quietly came to our own rooftop and watched the scene from afar. When the army men left, I breathed a sigh of relief.
After this incident, I never, even by hint or allusion, brought up the matter of giving the address to our neighbor, Mrs. Sh...
In those days, no one was seeking name and bread, nor waiting for a reward. Our only expectation was arrest, SAVAK, torture, and prison. Rightly or wrongly, we in those days were "a child of our own time."
To be continued...
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