A Bitter Veil (9 page)

As the fiery summer blazed into fall, the shah behaved uncertainly. In late August, he replaced his prime minister and announced that he would honor Islamic traditions. Less than two weeks later, his troops opened fire in Jaleh Square during a massive demonstration. Depending on who you talked to, Nouri realized, somewhere between fifty and two hundred people were killed. Dozens of arsons were reported, and numerous banks, cinemas, police stations, and shops were destroyed. Martial law was imposed and opposition leaders were jailed. “Black Friday”—as it came to be called—made many despair of compromise between the protest movement and the shah.

Despite the turmoil in other parts of the city, the streets of north Tehran remained peaceful, and the planning continued for Nouri and Anna’s wedding. The celebration would be in mid-September, after the end of Ramadan. They would go to Esfahan for a honeymoon. Maman-joon and Anna spent hours, sometimes entire days with the seamstress who was making her bridal gown.

The wedding ceremony and banquet would be held at a new luxury hotel, the Azadi Grand. The shah was not invited, but other important government ministers would be there. Parvin and Anna pored over the seating arrangements, the meal, the flowers, and the favors guests would take home. They spent two days rehearsing the ceremony so Anna would be prepared. Various members of Nouri’s family planned to host parties after the wedding, so the celebration would stretch over an entire week.

Although he’d started his job and wasn’t around much, Nouri was grateful the wedding had focused the family on something other than the future of the country. His mother and Laleh were consumed by the planning, and even Anna seemed swept up in the events. Only one problem remained, and one evening after dinner, after Laleh left with Shaheen for the disco, Nouri screwed up his courage. “Maman, Baba, there is something we need to tell you.”

“What is that?” His parents were watching a variety show on television. They looked more relaxed tonight, a welcome respite. The frown line on his father’s forehead had become a permanent fixture, and the cheerful energy he normally associated with his mother surfaced only when she talked about the wedding.

Nouri glanced at Anna who sat quietly on the sofa. She looked like she wanted to disappear into the upholstery. He took a breath. “Before we came here, while we were still in America, Anna and I were married.” He spoke in Farsi, but he could tell Anna understood.

His mother reeled back as if someone had slapped her. His father didn’t move. Anna nervously fingered her arm. Nouri wanted to melt into the floor. The shocked silence lasted an eternity. Finally, Baba spoke.

“Why?”

Nouri swallowed. “Her father requested it. He isn’t able to come for the wedding, but he wanted to see his daughter marry.”

His mother regained her voice. “I don’t understand. Does he not trust us? Does he think we are peasants with no knowledge, or culture, or—”

“Parvin.” Nouri’s father cut her off. “Let me handle this.”

His mother blew out a breath and clasped her hands together. She reminded Nouri of those women in old movies who nervously fan themselves during moments of crisis.

His father’s eyes narrowed. “He gave you no other reason?”

Nouri shook his head. “Baba, I’m sorry if I made a mistake. I spoke with other Iranian students in the US. Apparently, many who marry Americans do it twice—once in the States and once here. I didn’t think it would be an issue.”

Maman let out a stream of Farsi, emotional and tense. She gestured in Anna’s direction.

At length, Baba sliced his hand through the air. “Enough.”

Maman went quiet.

Anna cringed. She couldn’t possibly understand, but she knew it wasn’t going well.

Baba turned to Anna and spoke in English.

“Forgive us, Anna. We were…taken aback. That is all. We would like to have known this was happening. But it is not terribly serious. As you already know, many American and Iranian couples do what you and Nouri have done. With your permission, I will call your father and tell him that.”

Anna felt relief wash over her. “Thank you, Baba-joon. If I had known the distress it would bring, I would have made sure you knew in advance. I didn’t know the protocol. Forgive
me
.”

“There is nothing to forgive. And do I have your permission to call your father?”

Anna’s face darkened. Nouri knew it wasn’t over.

Baba leaned forward. “What is it, Anna dear?”

Anna seemed flustered. “I don’t know…I mean, I don’t know if Nouri told you…” her voice trailed off. “But you—you and Maman-joon—need to know who my father is.”

Baba steepled his hands. “Who he is?”

Anna blurted it out. “His background. He…well…it might make you reconsider having me in your family.”

Baba glanced at Nouri, then back at Anna. “You mean the fact that your father is a physicist who worked for the Nazis before he was brought to the US?”

Nouri’s mouth dropped open. So did Anna’s. “How did you…”

Baba’s smile told Nouri he was enjoying their confusion. “Did you think I would not investigate the family of my son’s fiancée?” He chuckled. “I know that your father lives in Maryland, and your mother—who divorced him years ago—is in Paris.”

Anna’s cheeks turned crimson. She wouldn’t meet Baba’s eyes.

“Anna, my dear, you should know there has always been a close relationship between Iran and Germany. The father of the shah changed Persia’s name to Iran, largely because of the Aryans who dominate our culture. The same Aryans who were so important to Hitler.”

Anna and Nouri exchanged glances. Anna looked shell-shocked, Nouri thought.

“In fact, Reza Shah wanted to ally Iran with Germany during the war but was prevented from doing so by the Allies. So, please, feel no shame. Your heritage is a proud one. You will always be precious to us.”

Anna sat motionless, her hands folded in her lap. She must still have been absorbing Baba’s words, Nouri thought. She had been carrying the weight of her father’s supposed villainy for years. It was the guilty secret that tainted her, that made her less American. No one had ever expressed tacit approval of her father before. To have that weight lifted so quickly and easily must be cathartic. Nouri offered an encouraging smile. She needed to know he understood.

At length, Anna jumped up and threw her arms around Baba. Then she hugged Nouri’s mother. Although his parents seemed flustered, even a bit awkward, Anna flashed Nouri a radiant smile. Nouri felt her release. Or was it his?

Nouri woke on the morning of his wedding with a massive weight crushing his chest. The day that had been heralded since he was a child was here. He took a deep breath, pondering its enormity. He was straddling the line between boy and man. For the first time, his actions would have real consequences.

He laced his hands behind his head. It would be too easy to assume it started when he stepped back onto Iranian soil. In truth, it began when he decided to marry Anna—soon to be his wife, the mother of his children. Their children would go to the best schools. He would have a distinguished career. They would live in a magnificent house. There was nothing they could not accomplish together.

Nouri got up and went into the bathroom. His father had held political aspirations once upon a time, but despite his connections to high-ranking ministers and the royal family, Baba’s hopes were never realized. Nothing was ever said, but Nouri knew his parents saw him as their second chance. If he did well on the Metro, and parlayed that into other successes, he would be well-positioned. Perhaps one day he would be asked to help run the government.

He splashed cold water on his face. No. The shah was corrupt. He had abused his power. He must be replaced. Still, there would always be a need for Western-educated engineers, no matter who was in power. There were still many villages that lacked electricity and running water, people who could not read, too many with too little. He gazed at himself in the mirror. It was time to put away his childish ways. He would play an important role in the future of his country. And today was the first step.

He bathed and shaved, while the servants laid out his tuxedo. He was not allowed to see Anna until the ceremony, but Laleh and his mother were already tending to her. Anna’s mother had been invited, and they’d expected her to fly in from Paris, but the violence of the past week had frightened her, and she canceled at the last minute.

The day passed as slowly as rock turning to desert sand, but finally Nouri dressed, and he and his father drove to the hotel. Many of the guests had already arrived and were seated in an auditorium with huge chandeliers. The soft hum of conversation filled the air. Nouri recognized faces he hadn’t seen in years. He hoped he remembered their names.

On the floor, at the front of the room, was a white silk spread edged with vases of fresh flowers. On top of the spread lay the items for the
Sofreh Aghd
, the formal part of the ceremony, which was based on ancient Zoroastrian rituals. The ceremony required specific objects: a large mirror which represented light; a pair of elegant candelabras which signified fire (one for the bride, one for the groom); an enormous loaf of decorated flat bread; gold coins symbolizing prosperity;
esfand,
a smoky incense, which would be lit to ward off the evil eye; tiny bowls containing honey and rosewater; and small baskets filled with sweets, fruits, eggs, and nuts. Later, a ceremonial cloth on the spread would be lifted to represent Nouri and Anna’s union. The spread itself faced the direction of the sunrise.

Nouri sat on the right, in one of two chairs near the spread, and at the other end of the room, the band struck up a version of “Bada Bada Mobarak,” a happy tune often played at weddings he’d attended. Its lyrics congratulated the couple on their joyful event. His stomach flipped as he realized that today was his turn.

A moment later, Anna entered the room, trailed by Laleh and Nouri’s mother. The crowd, which had gone quiet as the music began, emitted a collective gasp.

Anna looked ravishing. Her gown, a rich white satin, was fitted at the bodice and flared gently to the floor. The top of the dress was covered with lace, and threaded with tiny jewels that sparkled in the light. Her skirt and train repeated the jewels. The gown was strapless, and Anna’s skin retained a rosy summer glow. A veil, attached to a thin headband, hung over her face, but Nouri could see her eyes. Lit by an inner fire, they blazed like green emeralds. Her long, blonde hair was coiled in braids around the head piece, and her ears were pierced with delicate diamond studs. She looked like a magic princess, Nouri decided. Or a movie star: Jessica Lange or Olivia Newton-John. He wished they were alone.

Anna sat down on the chair beside him, and the ceremony began. The officiating mullah was a distant cousin, and was known to be quite liberal—some clerics would not marry couples if they were not both Muslim. He recited some introductory blessings. The esfand was sprinkled on a bed of glowing coals in a brazier. Nouri’s aunt and uncle walked around Nouri and Anna seven times. The smoke from the esfand made Anna quietly clear her throat.

After speaking about the sanctity of marriage for what seemed like an eternity, the mullah asked if Anna and Nouri wished to proceed. The idea was to make Nouri wait for Anna’s answer, and Anna was asked three times whether she wanted to marry Nouri. Anna did not respond, and after each question, Nouri’s mother placed a gold coin in Anna’s hand, symbolically encouraging her to say yes. After the third time, Anna said in a clear voice. “Yes.
Baleh.”

The mullah recited more verses from the Qur’an, after which Anna and Nouri and their witnesses signed the marriage contract. The mullah pronounced them man and wife, and Nouri lifted Anna’s veil. They kissed and exchanged rings. Nouri heard Anna’s intake of breath when she saw the ring Nouri slipped on her finger. Made from beautifully wrought gold, the diamond was enormous. Anna gave him a simple gold band.

During the ceremony, two of Nouri’s female cousins had been holding the ceremonial cloth over Anna and Nouri’s heads. Now a third cousin rubbed together two cone-shaped pieces of sugar and let the grains fall onto the cloth, to sweeten the couple’s life together. Nouri and Anna dipped their fingers into a small pot of honey, then into each other’s mouths.

They kissed again. It was done.

The guests moved into another room for the banquet. The room was lavishly decorated with flowers, fruit trees, and, in one corner, a pool with a tiny waterfall. The band was already playing but, between courses and during breaks in the music, guests sauntered through the artificial garden to enjoy the babbling water.

Nouri’s mother had imported a chef from Paris to supervise the menu, which included escargots, followed by courses with names like
Quail in Puff Pastry Shell with Foie Gras and Truffle Sauce
. Different wines were served with each course. There was a nod to Persian food too, and the haute cuisine was paired with sweet rice, chelow kababs, vegetable dishes, and flatbreads.

As course followed course, the noise, the smells, the heat—despite the air conditioning, it was a hot September night—took their toll. Nouri slid into a daze. A blur of men, most of whom he only vaguely recognized, pumped his hand or took him aside to whisper how lucky he was to have snared such a beautiful blonde. The women overwhelmed him with hugs, perfume, and giggles as he danced them around the room. The relentless flash of the photographers’ lights blinded him. It was all too much. His smile felt sewn on. And this was just the first of several parties, called
paghosah
, that would occur after the wedding.

He tried to be polite, the perfect host, but by midnight his patience had worn thin. Finally, they cut the cake, and were able to make their exit. They took the elevator to the hotel’s honeymoon suite, where they fell into bed and were soon asleep.

*****

Esfahan, about a six hour drive from Tehran, depending on traffic, was at one time the capital of Persia. It was also one of Iran’s most beautiful, romantic cities. The five days they spent there reminded Nouri of their life in Chicago. It was only the two of them, free to say and do whatever they pleased.

They stayed at the Abbasi, a luxurious five-star hotel with magnificent gardens, walkways, restaurants, even a teahouse. For the first two days they hid out in their room, doing what newlyweds did. By the third afternoon, though, they were ready to face the world, and got dressed, and strolled from the hotel to the Zayandeh River. The riverbanks, with their wide, sloping lawns, were crowded with families picnicking and drinking tea. Children frolicked at the water’s edge. Nouri gave them a tolerant glance. “That will be us soon,” he said to Anna.

Anna squeezed his hand and offered up a shy smile. Since the wedding she’d been different. Nouri couldn’t quite define it, but something had changed. In bed she was less passionate, more tender, vulnerable. It was as though a catch had been released. She seemed…happy. Now he bought her an ice cream, and they admired the bridge with its series of pointed archways. Young people joyously paddled around the river in swan boats.

They found their way up to Shah Square, a complex of two mosques and a palace that were almost painfully beautiful. The bigger mosque, designed for men, was covered by a turquoise dome rising above a towering façade with elaborate mosaic patterns. Although seven different colors of tiles were used, shades of blue predominated. A huge reflecting pool sparkled in front. Nouri explained that the color blue was thought to calm the soul and promote spirituality.

Humbled by the architecture, they were subdued as they wandered the grounds. The smaller mosque had been built for the women of the seventeenth century shah’s harem. Twenty stately columns protected a golden honeycombed façade and dome. Inside, thousands of tiny mirrors twinkled from the ceiling, and intricate mosaics and frescoes saluted the king, who’d built the complex during perhaps the most noteworthy of Persia’s golden ages. Nouri told Anna about Shah Abbas and how he’d decided to move the country’s capital to Esfahan in 1598.

“Which calendar?” Anna joked.

Nouri laughed. Iranians operated with two calendars, the Persian solar calendar and the Western one. It might be 1978 in the West, but it was only 1357 according to the Jalali calendar. “Which one would you like?”

“The one that will stop time altogether,” she said.

Nouri stole a glance at her. Her expression was pensive, almost sad. “What’s wrong?”

“This is all too beautiful, Nouri.”

He brushed his hand down her cheek.

“Everything. This city. Our wedding. Your family. It is almost more than I can bear. You have filled the hole inside me—the one that has been there since I was a little girl. I think my heart might break from joy.”

Nouri gathered her in his arms. At that moment he loved Anna more than life itself.