“Some boys think war’s like the movies.”
“That’s it! He thinks he’s Clint Eastwood or Kojak.” I snorted. “Back when those shows used to be on TV he watched them all the time. I bet he can’t even tell you why we’re fighting, but he wants to go more than anything.”
We passed the pot makers, the aluminum bowls of all shapes and sizes stacked higher than my head. Two men sat pounding intricate patterns into the metal. When the banging was behind us I said, “I shouldn’t talk. I try to follow the war, to know what’s going on, but I really don’t understand it, either.”
We crossed the street to walk on the sunny side. Uncle unzipped Dad’s jacket. He waited until the father and young son in front of us had moved out of hearing distance. Then in a low voice he said, “Don’t blame yourself for not understanding. It’s complicated, and a lot of the information is propaganda for one side or the other.”
I waited as a mother and her baby passed by. “I know the basics. We’re fighting over land, right? And also because we’re Shiite and they’re Sunni, but if you made me write an essay on that part, I’d totally fail. It just seems like it’s been this way for as long as I’ve been alive.”
“Absolutely. It’s been this way as long as you’ve been alive and I’ve been alive and our fathers and grandfathers and generations back before that.”
We’d reached the shop where Mother liked to get our eggs, so we bought a dozen and some fresh feta. I wanted to hear more from Uncle about the war, but I wasn’t sure Uncle wanted to talk about it. We walked another block toward the apartment without saying a word. Then he started talking again, picking up his last thought as if the five minutes of silence had never happened.
“In theory it goes back to who should lead us. Back in the year 630-something, when the Prophet died, there were big arguments over who should take over. It’s obviously not as simple as all that, but both sides have been shaped by the fight for so long, I’m not sure anyone can really explain it.”
“It’s strange,” I said after a few quiet steps. “It seems like it would make the Prophet so sad to have caused such a mess. I mean, we’re all Muslim, right? It just doesn’t seem right.”
“No, it doesn’t, Cub. It absolutely doesn’t.” He put his arm around my shoulder. I wondered what it would be like to go back with him to Tehran. “Your mom really believes if we trust this new leader, stay with the old ways, the strict religious ways, he’ll lead us out of this mess. She’d like you to believe that, too.”
I glanced at Uncle, then looked down as I said, “I know it’s sort of selfish, but it’s hard for me to trust a guy who took away my music.”
Uncle squeezed my shoulder. “It’s not selfish. And it wasn’t just your music that got banned. There are a lot of people—musicians, artists—who feel the same way you do.”
“Is that why you joined the mujahideen?”
“That’s part of it. There are—” Before he could finish, Uncle grabbed my arm lightning fast and pulled me into a sweets shop.
Fear shot through me, fast as a jackal. We were alone in the shop. Uncle peered out the window and quickly stepped back. He pushed his dark glasses up on his head.
“There are two men out there.” He swore quietly. “Maybe your mother’s making me paranoid, but I think I saw them in Tehran the other day.”
I crept to the window. Two men stood looking up and down the street. As I watched, one went into the repair shop.
“One really tall and skinny?” I asked. “The other short with a black shirt?”
“That’s them.” Uncle Habib ran his hand roughly through his hair.
I moved back from the window. My breathing was shallow, and I felt sweat right where I’d so carefully tucked in my shirt. “I thought you said … What do we do? You think they know where we live?”
“No.” Uncle chewed on his thumbnail, his eyes on the window. “They wouldn’t be out looking if they knew where I was staying. I need to think.”
I looked around for an escape route. This couldn’t be happening. Uncle Habib had said he was safe. Just then the shopkeeper came from the back of the store. He wiped his hands on his apron and shot us a dark look.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?”
Uncle’s glance went from me to the big man. “Uh … no … sorry … I … I’m trying to avoid an old girlfriend.”
The storekeeper’s face brightened as he let out a low, guttural laugh. “Not another word. I’ve been in your shoes. I’ll be in back if you decide you want to buy something.”
“Thanks.”
Uncle turned to me, his eyes blinking fast. He was thinking, which was better by half than the flitting fear I’d seen in his eyes before.
“Rez, I was an idiot. I can’t believe they followed me here, but I’m more and more certain they did. I hate it when your mother’s right.” He bit his bottom lip and walked toward the back of the store.
“You head home.” His eyes scanned the room. “I’ll wait here for a bit, then head out. I can lose them.”
I went to the window again. They were closer. The short guy pulled a picture from his pocket and walked into the hotel three doors down. I was surprised to hear myself say, “I’ve got a better idea. Were you wearing that shirt on the train?”
“Yeah.”
“I bet they saw you coming into town but lost you before you got to our apartment. If they saw you even once, they’re bound to remember this thing.” I pulled at his green-and-red-striped jersey, talking fast so I wouldn’t back out of the plan forming in my head. “We’ll trade shirts. I’ll go out. They’ll think I’m you.”
“No,” said Uncle, shaking his head. “I know we’re almost the same height now, but we don’t look that much alike. I won’t put you in danger.”
“What danger?” I asked, bolder by the second. “You’re in danger. If they catch me, all that’ll happen is they’ll realize I’m not you. If I move fast, I can take them off your trail.”
Adrenaline sped me up, like a movie in fast-forward. I yanked at Dad’s old jacket.
“Come on, Uncle. Our hair’s close to the same.” I unbuttoned my shirt. “We trade. You go out the back way and I’ll go here. I’ll make sure they see me, then lead them into town a few blocks. I’ll move fast and lose them while you run back to the apartment.”
Uncle stammered, “Rez … I … This is not … If anything happened to you I’d…”
I glanced out the window. “Nothing’s going to happen. Come on. They’re getting closer.”
“Okay.” He took off the jacket and pulled his shirt over his head. “But you have to promise to stay around plenty of people.”
“Promise.” I couldn’t believe I was doing this. It was something Ebi would have done, not me.
“Here,” he said as he buttoned my shirt. “Take the hat, too.”
I shoved it on and pushed him toward the back of the store.
“See you in the apartment lobby,” Uncle said as he went around the counter. “Your mother can’t know what’s up. If you’re not back in half an hour, I’m coming to find you.”
“I’ll be there.”
When I stepped into the street, the men were fifty feet away, showing someone the photo. Now what? Beyond trading shirts, I had nothing. Well, nothing except for the eggs and cheese. I should have given those to Uncle Habib. My heart beat hard against his shirt.
I ducked into an alley where I could watch. And panic a little.
The men headed for the sweets shop. The guy behind the counter had bought Uncle’s story, but if these two guys asked, he might talk like an eight-year-old girl.
I had to distract them. I left my hiding place and, in a stroke of unintentional genius, immediately tripped off the curb, kicking a trash can as I stumbled.
I didn’t look back. I kept walking, listening. Hoping they’d seen me. I breathed in the smell of Uncle’s shirt and tried to walk like him.
“Hey, wait,” said one of the men behind me.
“Wha
t?” said the other.
“Look there—”
That’s all I needed to hear. Uncle wasn’t paranoid—these guys were after him. And now they were after me! I moved down the street, pretending to shake off the fall. An old Beatles song filled my head. The lyrics were some of the first English words I’d learned as a kid. You better run for your life if you can, little girl.
Lennon’s words had never made so much sense.
CHAPTER THREE
I moved my feet in time to the song, trying to keep the fear out of my step. At the end of the block, I pulled the hat down and risked a swift glance over my shoulder. The men were still there. The street was getting more crowded.
Then the Beatles song was replaced by familiar chanting. The call to prayer drifted from the domed mosque in the middle of the city. God is most great. God is most great. It rolled over the rooftops and into every open window in the city. I testify that there is no god except God. I testify that Muhammad is the messenger of God.
This complicated things. If I didn’t stop to kneel and face Mecca it would be suspicious, but if I stopped they’d catch up to me.
Come to prayer! Come to prayer!
Rounding the corner, I smiled. A throng of men in the middle of the block had spread their rugs all around the square. The crowd was big enough; I could find a place and not be easily reached. God was indeed great, and he’d answered my prayer before I’d even made it. I hurried to the far side of the square, found a spot, and rested my forehead on my knees.
From there I peered out. The two men rounded the corner and looked wildly around. The tall one nudged the other and pointed. They exchanged a few words. With their eyes still on me they settled down to pray.
“Calm down, Rez,” I whispered to myself. Uncle would realize I’d stopped to pray and give me more time before he came back to find me. “Calm down, calm down.” I breathed the words, making them my own prayer.
I let the traditional chant wash over me. I could hear Mother’s words: “The call to prayer is an honor and a privilege. It must never be neglected.” As much as Mother and I clashed, on this we agreed. This was the music I learned from. I couldn’t imagine my day without these notes floating over the city. Five times every day the city stood still. I knew from school that people who followed other religions didn’t do this. That was sad to me.
I lived in the prayer until my breathing slowed to normal. I weighed my options. The busiest streets were not the fastest way home, but if I angled back and took a shortcut, I could lose these guys and get home before Uncle came to find me.
I picked up the groceries as the last note drifted from the mosque above our heads. Perfect. They had to make their way through the old men folding up prayer mats and chatting. I went as fast as I could without attracting attention. I ran down one block, then crossed the street and headed into an alley. Looking back I saw no one behind me.
Yes! I’d lost them. I peeked in my bag. The eggs and cheese were intact. We’d have breakfast and—
The tall man was suddenly right in front of me. Before I could make a sound, he had me in a choke hold. The bag fell to the ground with a crunch.
“Let go,” I tried to yell, but it came out more like a squeak. There was no one around to hear anyway, except the short man rounding the corner to join us. They’d tricked me. One of them must have gone around the block while the other followed behind. I was afraid I’d pee in my pants. I wanted to kick myself. I should have known better. I was not cut out for breaking rules.
While I struggled in the tall man’s grip, the short one looked at me curiously. He pulled the picture from his jacket pocket. I could see it was a picture of Uncle. It was blown up until it was blurred and grainy, but it was Uncle. Not me.
“Who are you?” asked the shorter man. “What’s your name?”
“My name is Re—” I caught myself. “My name is Rahim. What’s going on? I didn’t do anything wrong.”
The tall man loosened his hold on me, but only a little.
The short one held the picture up next to my head and swore. “It’s not him—it’s just a kid.”
The tall man let go and wheeled around to look at my face.
“We wasted all this time. I told you we shouldn’t rely on the stupid shirt. Just because it’s ugly doesn’t mean it’s the only one in the world.”
“Guess so,” said the other man, looking again at the picture. “But they do look a bit alike.”
“I don’t know what’s going on, sir, but can I go? I’m supposed to get home with breakfast.” It wasn’t hard to sound young and pitiful. “My mom’s gonna be mad.”
“Get going.” The big man gave me a shove, then turned to his companion. “Now what?” He slammed one fist into his open palm. “I thought we had him.”
“We keep looking, I guess.”
I hustled to the end of the alley, glancing inside the bag as I walked. Four of the dozen eggs were broken, but eight would still make breakfast. My heartbeat slowly went back to normal.
I couldn’t wait to tell Ebi. He loved anything with a chase scene. He was going to wish he’d been me today.
When I reached the end of the block, I started singing. Not too loud, of course. A folk song Uncle had taught me—back when I was a kid. Waiting to cross the street, I even tapped out the melody with my foot.
Then, from behind me, a heavy hand took hold of my shoulder, yanked me back from the curb, and shoved me into the light post. Had the tall man come back for a second try? Worse. It was a soldier in a dark green uniform with a machine gun strapped over his chest.
“What are you doing?”
“Sir, I’m … I’m bringing groceries home to my family.” I lifted the bag of broken eggs.
“Were you singing?”
“I … I was…” I dropped my head. How could I have been so stupid? People were taken away for singing in the streets.
The soldier lifted me by my collar until only my toes scraped the ground. “Only religious music is allowed. That didn’t sound like any hymn I know.”
Thinking quickly, struggling to make my voice sound sincere, I said, “I … I’m writing a new hymn to honor our great struggle. That’s why you’ve never heard this tune, but … but I should keep my singing to the mosque.” I dropped my head again. “I’ll not forget.”
“See that you don’t.” The soldier relaxed his grip. “How old are you, young man?”
“Twelve,” I said. This time I wasn’t even tempted to add the almost-thirteen part.
“Boys your age should join the fight.” I hadn’t thought of Mother’s words since I’d traded places with Uncle. Now they came crashing back in this soldier’s echo. “Every able-bodied man must heed the call.”
“Yes, sir,” I mumbled. He towered over me. My legs twitched to get away.
“Be gone now. Your mother will be waiting for that food. And watch yourself.”
“Yes, sir.”
I ran the remaining few blocks to the apartment. Didn’t care who saw me. As I came up to the building, Uncle was halfway out the lobby door. He tugged me inside and grabbed both my arms. “What happened, Cub? I was just coming to find you.”
My words tumbled out in a rush. I told him everything. Well, almost everything. The part about my singing was just plain dumb, and I wasn’t sharing that with anyone, not even Ebi.
Uncle put both hands on my shoulders. “We really dodged one there, didn’t we.”
“But what about when you need to leave? Maybe you should stay here for a few weeks.”
“That’d be nice, but I have to work, and my work is in Tehran.”
“But is it safe?”
“Don’t tell your mother I said this, but I was being careless. If I watch it, I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?”
Uncle gave me a gentle shove up the stairs and said, “Let’s go. She’s not going to be happy. It took us a long time to come back with some cheese and four broken eggs.”
“And we can’t even tel
l her why.” I tried to laugh.
“No, we certainly can’t.” He took the bag from me and started up the stairs. I took one last look out into the empty street.
CHAPTER FOUR
As it turned out, Mother wasn’t even there. She’d left a note: I couldn’t wait. My volunteer shift at the hospital is over by five. I’ll be back in time to prepare dinner. The family will be here at six.
I looked around the empty room. The sunlight sent shadows from the table legs across the room. Uncle was watching me. “What’s going on in that brain, Cub?”
I shrugged. “Just thinking about how quiet the apartment is since Dad’s gone. About how stupid I am for thinking she might be sorry for what she said.” I walked to the window to stare down at the sidewalk below. “Maybe I should just go. Especially if Ebi goes. I couldn’t stand it here on my own without him. Besides, they might make us go soon, anyway. That’s what people are saying.”
“I hope to God you won’t be called, but as you may have noticed, I’m not in charge.” He went to the cupboard and pulled out a pan for the eggs. “Rez, I wish I could take you with me. But for now, just stick it out. Remember who your mother is—where she comes from. Our father dedicated his life to religion. He was a holy man.”
“I know, I know, and his father and his father before him. I come from a long line of holy, pious men.” I sat down and crossed my arms. “I’ve heard it a million times.”
“You’ve heard it, but unless you’ve lived it, it’s hard to understand how much it influenced our lives, especially her life.” The eggs started sizzling on the stove.
“What? You think it hasn’t influenced my life?” I blurted. I didn’t want to hear the same tired words from Uncle that I heard from Mother every single day. I couldn’t stop my voice from getting too loud. “Before the war, all she wanted was for me to be like her father. Now all she wants is for me to go to war so she can be proud. Even if I die.”
“Sorry, sorry.” Uncle put the spatula down and turned toward me. “I know how hard it is to live with that pressure.”
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