“When I finished the picture, I placed it on the nightstand by my bed and fell asleep. The next morning when I woke, the picture, the pencil, and the papers were gone.
“Later that day, I saw the man with the radio outside my window, and realized that the paper and the pencil had been placed by my bed to trick me into writing or drawing something that would give the agent a clue to the identity of my cohorts. The thought of you being hunted by that evil man threw me into a frenzy. I yelled, screamed, and beat myself in despair, cursing the Shah, his family, and all his supporters. The nurses rushed into the room, tied me to the bed, and gave me an injection that made me fall asleep.
“When I woke up, the man with the radio was in my room. He was standing close to the door, and he held my drawing in his hands. We stared at each other silently for a long time before he told me that he wasn’t there to hurt me. He wanted me to relax and calm down. The soft tone in his voice eased my nerves. I asked what he was there for and he walked up to me and put my drawing on the bed. I picked it up, and pressed it to my heart. He whispered to me that he was not going to hurt the young man in the picture. They had been investigating all of us for a long time and were completely sure that we had nothing to do with Doctor’s actions. ‘Not affiliated with his group,’ as he put it. Then he told me that I was going home, and that my parents had already been contacted. Since my father was an Olympic champion, the government had decided not to punish me, despite my stupid behavior on his majesty’s birthday. However, my whole family was to be exiled to Bandar Abbas, where we would live the rest of our lives by the Persian Gulf, away from the rest of our relatives. He pointed to the drawing in my hands, and said that it would be best if I had no contact with the person in the picture. It was also made very clear to me that I shouldn’t talk to Ahmed and Faheemeh. It was then that the idea of me masquerading as the Masked Angel was discussed. He suggested it and I thought it was a good idea. This was the only way I could still be around for a while. I wanted to see you desperately, and I wanted to be with my parents.”
Zari stops, and I tighten my grip on her. “I love you,” I whisper. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she whispers back.
I want to say that I’m surprised her parents agreed to this arrangement, but then I realize how Mr. and Mrs. Naderi must have suffered thinking that they had lost Zari. Pretending that she was dead to keep her alive was a small price they would have paid gladly.
I can tell from the way Zari leans against me that she’s exhausted. I’m moved by her strength and courage. She never once complained of her personal pain, the unfairness of her fate, or her burned skin.
She grabs my chin, pushes my face up, and looks into my eyes. “Now you see why you have to leave. I can’t be with you, and I can’t go back.”
I hold her tight. “But they cleared us,” I whisper in despair.
“No, they cleared you and Ahmed. I still have to pay for what I did.”
I press her harder against my chest.
“A lot can happen in a few years,” she says. “Things will change—they always do—and then it might be safe for us to be together.”
“How badly were you hurt?” I ask.
She shakes her head. I take hold of her face and start kissing her over the burqa.
“The thought of you being in so much pain kills me,” I whisper.
“It wasn’t bad,” she says softly. “It really wasn’t that bad. Maybe someday they can make the scars go away with plastic surgery. Who knows? The world is changing so rapidly. That’s another reason you need to leave. You can find the best doctors in the U.S., and then you can send for me. When I get there, they can clean up my face and my body, and I can be pretty again. Then you can marry me and we’ll have little babies.” Her voice breaks. “I need you to go away.”
I stay silent, hoping that if I don’t speak, I won’t have to agree.
“Trust me, it isn’t easy for me to let you go. I’m miserable without you. There hasn’t been a moment since last summer that I haven’t thought about you. We need to make this small sacrifice now to ensure that we are together in the future. And between now and then I will dream every night about the day people start calling us Pasha and Zari Shahed.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Shahed,” I say.
“I love the sound of that.”
“I love you.” I squeeze her to me, and for the first time in months, the iron band around my chest is gone. The lump that had blocked my throat seems to have suddenly melted.
“I am yours,” I whisper. “Do what you will with me.”
“Then I’m sending you away.”
We hold each other through the rest of the night, and soon the sun starts to rise in the east and the darkness gradually falls away. We sit there, her head on my chest, fingers entwined, her legs draped over mine, and watch the world come to life. I close my eyes and shut out all distractions, so that I can memorize every detail.
“Come to my room, I want you to have something,” she says, stretching to rise. I follow her to her room, where everything is packed in boxes and ready to be carried away. She gives me the picture she had drawn of me in the alley. This time, however, my mystery woman has a face. Her face.
“Don’t forget me,” she says.
I think of her in a desert of loneliness while I’m abroad, and an idea forms. “If you feel lost,” I say, pulling her close once more, “look to the sky and you’ll see us there, together.”
“I know your star, but which one’s mine?” she asks, letting her weight sink into me for just a moment.
“The biggest, brightest one.”
“That’s you,” she corrects.
“That’s us,” I whisper. “We share the same star.”
Dear Reader:
I’m thrilled to welcome you to the world of Rooftops of Tehran.
I discovered the gift of reading when I was ten years old, sitting on my own rooftop in Tehran and losing myself in a Farsi translation of Jack London’s White Fang. I was blown away by the power of words to take me to a place I hardly knew and make me feel as if I’d lived there all my life. It was an experience that never left me. Much later, I began to write stories of my own and quickly realized that writing was more satisfying than anything else I’d ever done. I’d start early in the evening and pause at dawn, exhausted, elated and barely aware that the night had passed.
In writing Rooftops of Tehran, I wanted to acquaint readers with Iran, and bring to life a small part of the centuries-old Persian culture. At a time when the country of my birth is often portrayed in the news media as “the enemy,” I chose to tell a story about friendship and humor, love and hope, universal experiences valued by people in all times and places. I wanted to show a side of Iran that’s usually hidden from view—its warm, funny, generous people. Perhaps as you read the novel—as you meet Pasha’s friends Ahmed, Faheemeh, Doctor, Iraj and Zari; as you accompany Pasha down the alleys of his neighborhood; as you spend a night on his roof, peek into his neighbor’s window, and fall in love with the girl next door—you’ll understand my affection for Iran and its people. And you will see why the flame of hope for Iran still burns so fiercely in my heart, and in the hearts of so many Iranians at home and abroad.
Since I first lost myself in White Fang so many years ago, I’ve read hundreds of books, and often wished afterward that I could share my thoughts and feelings directly with the author. So I invite you to contact me. If you’d like to express a comment about Rooftops of Tehran, or if your book club would like to arrange a visit via speakerphone, just send a note to Mahbod@ rooftopsoftehran.com. I’d be delighted to discuss my novel, and share my story.
Best! Mahbod Seraji
READERS GUIDE of Tehran
Mahbod Seraji
READERS GUIDE
READERS GUIDE
A CONVERSATION WITH MAHBOD SERAJI
Q. You’ve lived in the United States for thirty-two years, since you arrived at the age of nineteen. What inspired you
to write your first novel at this point in your life, and how much is it based on actual events?
A. Thank you for letting everyone know that I’m an old man!
Q. Old? I don’t see how that’s possible since I’m several years your senior, and I’m in the prime of life!
A. Ah, but it’s well known that editors remain forever young. Anyway, getting back to your question, I’ve wanted to write ever since I was ten years old when I read my first book, Jack London’s White Fang, a translation into Persian from the original English, on the same rooftop that’s depicted in this novel. But life always got in the way of my writing. Then, a few years ago, I lost my job, and that was the best thing that ever happened to me. I started writing and haven’t stopped since.
As for the novel, some of it is based on actual events, but not all of it. So it’s important to point out that this is not an autobiography. It’s also important to note that I fictionalized Golesorkhi’s trial by changing the date and some of the words he used defending himself in court.
Q. You came to this country speaking very little English, but have obviously mastered the language. How did you accomplish that, and what was it like to face the formidable challenge of learning a foreign language, in a strange new land, without the support of family nearby?
A. I wish I could say that I’ve mastered the English language. There’s always more to learn! Learning a new language is a challenge faced by millions of people living in countries other than their homelands, and learning English is hard. One of the hardest things I’ve ever done. When I first came to the United States, I ate Big Mac, Small Fries, Small Coke for six weeks because that’s all I knew how to order. I’m sure the McDonald’s Corporation’s revenue skyrocketed that quarter! The trick to learning any foreign language lies in assimilating yourself into the culture of your host country, mingling with the native speakers, watching lots of television, and—the one factor that unfortunately many people ignore—reading as much as you can. The first non-textbook English-language book I read was Erich Fromm’s Art of Loving. And for me that translated into the Art of Loving to Read. Since then, I’ve been reading religiously. Some of my favorite authors are named in Rooftops of Tehran: Emile Zola, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, Maxim Gorky, Jack London, John Steinbeck, Bernard Shaw, Noam Chomsky, and many others.
Q. In the novel, you convey the love-hate relationship that Persians had with the United States in the 1970s—and some very funny misconceptions. The U.S. was the power behind the oppressive Shah, and thus their hated enemy, yet also a place whose freedoms and opportunities beckoned to them—what an emotional tug-of-war that contradiction must have created! What surprised you about American society when you arrived here, and what misconceptions about Iran do you still encounter among Americans?
A. I don’t want to generalize or offend anyone in either country, so please forgive me if I do. Americans are wonderful people: kind, accepting, honest. They tend to do as they say and act in fair-minded, balanced ways. This country’s higher education system is excellent, both in terms of quality and accessibility. Here anybody can go to college. Many countries simply can’t accommodate many students. And by the way, most people who came here in the seventies came to get an education. They didn’t wake up one morning and say, “I’m going to America to be free.” They said, “I’ll go there to get an education.” That’s an important distinction. It was only after they were here for a while that they fully appreciated the freedoms we enjoy here.
What surprised me when I first arrived was how, despite the abundance of information available, only a small number of people knew about, or had any interest in knowing about, what was happening in the rest of the world. To a large extent, that’s also true today. I was shocked, for example, to learn how little most people I met knew about Iran. I remember once during a class discussion, while attending college in the ’70s, I mentioned the CIA’s successful 1953 overthrow of Mosaddegh, the only democratically elected prime minister in the history of Iran, and half of the class accused me of lying because “the American government just doesn’t do bad things like that.” Even the teacher said I had my facts wrong.
Some Americans have a blind faith in their government. I mean, think about it. Institutional democracies such as America’s must not support, in fact should oppose, undemocratic actions, movements, or forces anywhere in the world, at least in theory, right? But that’s not always true in practice, and that’s what some Americans have a hard time believing or even comprehending. Consider the situation in Iraq today, the summer before the U.S. presidential election. There are still people who are looking under rocks for weapons of mass destruction. They genuinely can’t fathom that their government deceived them.
Iranians and Americans are on the opposite ends of the spectrum on this issue. It might take an act of God to convince some Americans that parts of their government are corrupt, but at the same time, you cannot, under any circumstances, persuade an Iranian that his government is not corrupt! Fascinating, isn’t it?
As for current Americans’ misconceptions about Iran, I see a lot of misrepresentation in the media. Because the governments of Iran and the U.S. don’t get along, we tend to mischaracterize the people of Iran as evil. The media immediately conveys images and information that dehumanizes the Iranian people. Likewise, we’re encouraged to forget that our so-called enemies have feelings and are capable of love and friendship. We see them as so dissimilar, we can’t imagine that we may actually have a lot in common. It’s really sad for me to see how far apart these two great nations have fallen.
Q. Americans know very little about Persian history. I was especially interested to learn of the long periods of occupation and oppression by foreign invaders that Persians have endured over the centuries. Are there obvious ways in which that history continues to shape Persian culture and society?
A. Iran is one of the oldest civilizations in the world, with an interesting, tumultuous history. Three massive invasions have left indelible marks on our culture, psychology, literature, and arts. These invasions included that of Alexander the Great, called in Iran “the cursed Alexander”; the Arabs; and Genghis Khan. Millions of Iranians lost their lives in those invasions, and were subjected to unimaginable violence, and modern-day Persians have not forgotten. In between those invasions our people suffered grim atrocities committed by our own homegrown despots. Each nation’s history, and the way in which its people respond to it, help define the culture of that country. So because of our history, we tend to have a grim and fatalistic outlook on life. We suffer from pessimism. We’re suspicious of authority figures, always feel victimized, and unwaveringly believe in the existence of unseen forces that control events from behind the curtains. We see strings where there are no puppets. At the same time, it’s important to note that we are a resilient people and we can survive almost anything; nothing can break the passionate Persian spirit. We love to argue—not discuss, but argue politics. Family is very important to us. Our friendships are legendary. We are a generous nation, kind and extremely hospitable. Even now, many Americans who visit Iran talk about being overwhelmed by the warmth and hospitality of the Iranians they meet in public places. You hear stories of cabdrivers not taking money from their American passengers, restaurant owners not charging Americans for food, regular people going out of their way to help Americans. I know some readers may find this hard to believe, but it’s true.
Q. Do you still visit Iran? How has it changed since you were growing up there?
A. I do go back for visits. My father still lives in Iran. I can’t find my way around Tehran anymore—it’s grown so much! And people are different. There is a feeling of melancholy in the air that you sense immediately upon your arrival. But, amazingly enough, as you get back into the daily routine of life, you rediscover that indomitable Persian spirit, that “we’ll survive anything” attitude!
Q. I think of Iran as a rocky, barren, hot desert country. Yet when you sent me some pictures of Tehran, I was surprised
to see that it’s quite green, with full-sized trees, and that it snows there. Can you give us some idea of the size and geographical diversity of the country? And how much of a middle class does Iran have, compared to those who live in poverty?
A. Contrary to popular belief, Iran is one of the most mountainous countries on the planet. It’s actually a pretty large country, sixteenth in the world in terms of its size, about one-fifth the size of the USA, with a diverse population of over 70 million people consisting of such ethnic groups as the Azaris, Baluchs, Kurds, Lurs, Assyrians, Armenians, and many more. There are two large mountain ranges, Zagros and Alborz. The highest peak, the volcanic but thankfully dormant Mount Damavand, is 5,678 meters (or 18,628 feet) high. It’s an easy-to-remember number and used to be a favorite geography quiz question, when I was in high school in Iran. There are two great salt deserts in the eastern part of Iran, mostly uninhabited. The climate varies from region to region. Winters can be bitterly cold with heavy snowfalls in the north-west. Spring and fall are absolutely gorgeous regardless of where you are. And summers can be hot and dry in some areas, and very humid in others, particularly in the north by the Caspian Sea and in the south near the Persian Gulf. In terms of wealth, the United Nations considers Iran a semi-developed country; its GDP is ranked fifteenth in the world. So Iran is not one big desert wasteland like many people think. Because of the type of work I do, I’ve traveled widely throughout the world, and the area by the Caspian Sea is one of the most lush and beautiful I’ve seen anywhere. In terms of standard of living, according to the figures I’ve seen on the Internet for 2007, approximately 18 percent of the population in Iran lives below the poverty line (compared to 12 percent in the U.S.). And of the almost 30 million people who make up the workforce, 15 percent to 20 percent, depending on whose statistics you believe, are unemployed. So there is a middle class in Iran, but I believe it’s shrinking.
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