God.
“My poor friend,” Bakravan said. “My poor friend, how you must have suffered! Never mind, you’re safe now. Stay here tonight. Ali, directly after first prayer tomorrow, go to the prime minister’s office and make sure this matter is dealt with and those fools are punished. We all know Emir Paknouri’s a patriot, that he and all the goldsmiths supported the revolution and are essential to this loan.” Wearily he closed his ears to all the platitudes that Ali Kia was uttering now.
He studied Paknouri, seeing his still-pallid face and sweat-matted hair. Poor fellow, what a shock they must have given him. What a shame, with all his riches and good name - connected as he is through Cousin Valik’s wife Annoush to the Qajars - that all my work for Sharazad came to naught. What a shame he didn’t sire children with her and so cement our families together, even one child, for then certainly there would never have been a divorce and my troubles wouldn’t have been compounded with this Lochart foreigner. However much this foreigner tries to learn our ways he never will. And how expensive it is to keep him to uphold the family’s reputation! I must talk to Cousin Valik and again ask him to arrange for Lochart to have extra monies - Valik and his greed-filled IHC partners can well afford to do that for me from the millions they earn, most of it in foreign currency now! What would ft cost them? Nothing! The cost would be passed on to Gavallan and S-G. The partners owe me a thousand favors, I who for years have advised them how to gain so much control and wealth with so little effort! “Pay Lochart yourself, Jared, Excellency,” Valik had said to him rudely the last time he’d asked him. “Surely that’s your own charge. You share everything we gain - and what’s such a tiny amount to my favorite cousin and the richest bazaari in Tehran?”
“But it should be a partnership charge. We can use him when we have 100 percent control. With the new plan for the future of IHC, the partnership will be richer than ever an - ”
“I will at once consult the other partners. Of course, it is their decision not mine….”
Liar, the old man thought, sipping tea, but then, I would have said the same. He stifled a yawn, tired now and hungry. A nap before dinner would do me good. “So sorry, Excellencies, so sorry but I have urgent business to attend to. Paknouri, old friend, I’m glad everything is resolved. Stay here tonight, Meshang will arrange quilts and cushions, and don’t worry! Ali, my friend, walk with me to the bazaar gate - do you have transport?” he asked thinly, knowing that the first perk of a deputy minister would be a car and chauffeur and unlimited gasoline. “Yes, thank you, the PM insisted I arrange it, insisted - the importance of our department, I suppose.”
“As God wants!” Bakravan said.
Well satisfied, they all went out of the room, down the narrow stairs and into the small passageway that led to the open-fronted shop. Their smiles vanished and bile filled their mouths.
Waiting there were the same five Green Bands, lolling on the desks and chairs, all armed with U.S. Army carbines, all in their early twenties, unshaven or bearded, their clothes poor and soiled, some with holed shoes, some sockless. The leader picked his teeth silently, the rest were smoking, carelessly dropping their ash on Bakravan’s priceless Kash’kai carpets. One of these youths coughed badly as he smoked, his breath wheezing. Bakravan felt his knees weakening. All of his staff stood frozen against one of the walls. Everyone. Even his favorite teaboy. Out in the street it was very quiet, no one about - even the owners of the moneylending shops across the alley seemed to have vanished.
“Salaam, Agha, the Blessing of God on you,” he said politely, his voice sounding strange. “What can I do for you?”
The leader paid no attention to him, just kept his eyes boring into Paknouri, his face handsome but scarred by the parasite disease, carried by sandflies and almost endemic in Iran. He was in his early twenties, dark eyes and hair and work-scarred hands that toyed with the carbine. His name was Yusuf Senvar - Yusuf the bricklayer.
The silence grew and Paknouri could stand the strain no longer. “It’s all a mistake,” he screamed. “You’re making a mistake!”
“You thought you’d escape the Vengeance of God by running away?” Yusuf’s voice was soft, almost kind - though with a coarse village accent that Bakravan could not place.
“What Vengeance of God?” Paknouri screamed. “I’ve done nothing wrong, nothing.”
“Nothing? Haven’t you worked for and with foreigners for years, helping them to carry off the wealth of our nation?”
“Of course not to do that but to create jobs and help the econ - ” “Nothing? Haven’t you served the Satan Shah for years?”
Again Paknouri shouted, “No, I was in opposition, everyone knows I… I was in oppo - ”
“But you still served him and did his bidding?”
Paknouri’s face was twisted and almost out of control. His mouth worked but he could not get the words out. Then he croaked, “Everyone served him - of course everyone served him, he was the Shah, but we worked for the revolution - the Shah was the Shah, of course everyone served him while he was in power…”
“The Imam didn’t,” Yusuf said, his voice suddenly raw. “Imam Khomeini never served the Shah. In the Name of God, did he?” Slowly he looked from face to face. No one answered him.
In the silence, Bakravan watched the man reach into his torn pocket and find a piece of paper and peer at it and he knew that he was the only one here who could stop this nightmare.
“By Order of the Revolutionary Komiteh,” Yusuf began, “and Ali’allah Uwari: Miser Paknouri, you are called to judgment. Submit yo - ” “No, Excellency,” Bakravan said firmly but politely, his heart pounding in his ears. “This is the bazaar. Since the beginning of time you know the bazaar has its own laws, its own leaders. Emir Paknouri is one of them, he cannot be arrested or taken away against his will. He cannot be touched - that is bazaari law from the beginning of time.” He stared back at the young man, fearlessly, knowing that the Shah, even SAVAK, had never dared to challenge their laws or right of sanctuary.
“Is bazaari law greater than God’s law, Moneylender Bakravan?” He felt a wave of ice go through him. “No - no, of course not.” “Good. I obey God’s law and do God’s work.”
“But you may not arres - ”
“I obey God’s law and do only God’s work.” The man’s eyes were brown and guileless under his black brows. He gestured at his carbine. “I do not need this gun - none of us need guns to do God’s work. I pray with all my heart to be a martyr for God, for then I’ll go straight to Paradise without the need to be judged, my sins forgiven me. If it’s tonight, then I will die blessing him who kills me because I know I will die doing God’s work.” “God is Great,” one of the men said, the others echoed him. “Yes, God is Great. But you, Moneylender Bakravan, did you pray five times today as the Prophet ordered?”
“Of course, of course,” Bakravan heard himself say, knowing his lie to be sinless because of taqiyah - concealment - the Prophet’s permission to any Muslim to lie about Islam if he feels his life is threatened. “Good. Be silent and be patient, I come back to you later.” Another chill racked him as he saw the man turn his attention back to Paknouri. “By order of the Revolutionary Komiteh and Ali’allah Uwari: Miser Paknouri, submit yourself to God for crimes against God.”
Paknouri’s mouth struggled. “I… I… you cannot… there…” His voice trailed away. A little foam seeped from the corners of his lips. They all watched him, the Green Bands without emotion, the others with horror. Ali Kia cleared his throat. “Now, listen, perhaps it would be better to leave this until tomorrow,” he began, trying to keep his voice important. “Emir Paknouri’s clearly upset by the mista - ”
“Who’re you?” The leader’s eyes bored into him as they had into Paknouri and Bakravan. “Eh?”
“I’m Deputy Minister Ali Kia,” Ali replied, keeping his courage under the strength of the eyes, “of the Department of Finance, member of Prime Minister Bazargan’s cabinet and I suggest you wait u - ”
“In the Name of God: you, your Department of Finance, your Cabinet, your Bazargan has nothing to do with me or us. We obey the mullah Uwari, who obeys the Komiteh, who obeys the Imam, who obeys God.” The man scratched absently and turned his attention back to Paknouri. “In the street!” he ordered, his voice still gentle. “Or we’ll drag you.”
Paknouri collapsed with a groan and lay inert. The others watched helplessly, someone muttered, “The Will of God,” and the little teaboy began sobbing.
“Be quiet, boy,” Yusuf said without anger. “Is he dead?”
One of the men went over and squatted over Paknouri. “No. As God wants.” “As God wants. Hassan, pick him up, put his head in the water trough, and if he doesn’t wake up, we’ll carry him.”
“No,” Bakravan interrupted bravely, “no, he’ll stay here, he’s sick an - ” “Are you deaf, old man?” An edge had crept into Yusuf’s voice. Fear stalked the room. The little boy crammed his fist into his mouth to prevent himself
