by Ehsaneh Sadr
“They’re medical records for—” Leila began.
“Stop!” Azar commanded as her eye caught the patient’s name. “Do you have a cellphone on you? Let me see it.”
Leila obediently handed over her cellphone and Azar removed the batteries. Then she did the same for her own cellphone so they would be safe from listening ears. She wasn’t worried about any additional listening devices in the office. The Foundation’s technicians had just swept it and confirmed it was clean.
“Where did you get this?” Azar demanded. “Do you know who this is?”
Leila nodded. “I think so. Isn’t it the same Arman Tamimi whose uncle is in parliament? The one they said died of an epileptic seizure?”
In fact, Tamimi’s case was one of the only ones that had been reported on as his uncle had publicly questioned official accounts of his death during a live session of parliament.
“Where did you get this?” Azar asked again.
“From a friend. Of my mother’s,” Leila answered.
Azar remembered Ms. Tabibian’s mysterious friend who had purchased a phone for her so many months ago. She wondered whether this was the same person.
“He works with the Revolutionary Guards,” Leila continued. “He was at our house last night and had a bunch of folders like this in a big box. Anyway, this is a big deal right? He wouldn’t want this to get out, right?”
Azar didn’t answer but continued flipping through the papers until she found one that seemed to summarize the medical findings. Among other things, the examiner had found significant bruising, swelling, and lacerations around the head and neck. He’d also reported “bruising on both sides of the hips and outer area of the anus caused by a hard and hot object.” On another page was an autopsy report. Cause of death was “trauma to the head by a blunt object.”
“My God,” Azar exhaled, “if this is real, this would be hard evidence that Arman didn’t die of a seizure. He was beaten to death while he was in custody. You said this friend had more of these medical files?”
“There were other files in the box, but this was the only one I saw,” Leila answered.
“He just left this one?” Azar asked. It was hard to believe anyone would be so careless.
Leila shook her head. “No, not on purpose. I spilled tea on his things when he was saying his prayers. I tried to clean everything up but I panicked and hid this folder since it was on top and the most damaged. I didn’t actually see or understand what was inside until this morning.
“Do you think this sort of thing could be used to, well . . . See, this man, Heydari, has been trying to get me and my mother to do things that we don’t want to do, and when I saw this, I thought maybe there was a way to get him to leave us alone.”
At the name of the man whose beating had imprinted its memory on her body, Azar felt as if her stomach were flooded with ice water. Could there be another Heydari that worked with the Guards?
“This man,” Azar breathed, “what does he look like?”
“What does he look like?” Leila repeated, surprised. “He’s, well, he’s old. He has white hair and a short beard. His lips are a strange color. He’s kind of small. Not much taller than me.”
As Leila described him, Heydari’s image appeared before Azar so strongly it was almost as if he was standing over her again, The Open Society in his hand.
“Leila,” Azar asked in a low voice, “what exactly is your mother’s relationship to that man?”
“Mr. Heydari?” Leila asked, “He’s from her village up north.”
Azar’s stomach tightened. In prison, where she’d had plenty of time to think it through, she’d concluded Ms. Tabibian must have been recruited by her son, Sadegh, to get to Azar and Ibrahim. Azar had never imagined the woman had a relationship with Heydari.
“And how long has your mother been working for him?” Azar asked the question that was foremost on her mind. How badly had she and Ibrahim been compromised?
Leila’s crystal-green eyes looked clouded and confused. “What do you mean? She’s never worked for him. She’s been looking for work since—”
“Don’t lie to me,” Azar snapped. “I know this—” Azar couldn’t bring herself to say his name again. “—man. Your mother sent me to him. And he knew everything about my life and my work. Clearly your mother had been giving him information about me and my husband. I ask you again, How long was my secretary spying on me for this old friend of hers?”
“No,” Leila protested, waving her hands in the air. “It’s not like that! It couldn’t be true. My mother hadn’t been in touch with him for years. She only saw him again in the summer.”
Azar didn’t say anything but continued looking at the girl in disbelief.
“Believe me, Ms. Rahimi. See, over the summer, I got arrested at a demonstration, and when they processed me, Mr. Heydari was there, and he recognized my mother’s name. Before that, we didn’t have anything to do with him. I’d never met him before in my life. And, you have to believe me, I curse myself every day for having brought this man into our lives. He’s a horrible, evil man, and I despise him. My mother despises him. There’s no way she would work for him.”
Azar tried to process what the girl was saying and decide whether she was being honest.
“You’re saying you and your mother didn’t have anything to do with this man until you got arrested?” Azar asked. “When was that exactly?”
“June twenty-fifth,” Leila answered promptly. “It was the same night your brother was taken in. I remember because the evening after I was released was the first time Mr. Heydari came to our house. My mother was trying to get information for you about where Mr. Ali might be. She’d tried asking my brother, but Sadegh wouldn’t say anything.”
Azar thought about this. When Ms. Tabibian had brought her information about Ali and where he was being held, she’d assumed that she’d learned everything from Sadegh. But it had been Heydari all along.
“What exactly did your mother tell Heydari about me?” Azar asked pointedly.
“Nothing important,” Leila insisted. “Nothing political. Just a little about your work and your kids and your husband . . .” Leila’s voice trailed off as she seemed to be considering a new thought.
“Leila, what did your mother say about my husband?” Azar demanded.
“Nothing!” Leila insisted, but she looked nervous. “It was just that Heydari kept bringing him up and telling her that you should take him with you when you go to get your brother.”
“Yes,” Azar said. “My husband was the one they were after. And they used every detail your mother gave about my kids and work and life against me. Why didn’t your mother tell me about this man? She let me believe she got the information from her son, Mr. Sadegh.”
“I . . . I don’t know,” Leila cried. “But you have to believe me. My mother never intended to create problems for you. She only wanted to help. She was so proud to have gotten information for you. And maybe she was embarrassed to admit that Sadegh wouldn’t tell her anything. This was all before we realized . . . You see, Heydari seemed so kind and helpful. He got me out of jail, he gave us information about your brother, he bought things for my mom. How could we have known? My mother would never have breathed a syllable if she thought it might hurt you.”
Azar thought about Leila’s story. If the girl was telling the truth, this would mean that Heydari had known much less about Azar than he’d pretended. That was a comforting thought. And it wasn’t hard to believe the man could have gotten information out of Ms. Tabibian without her realizing it. He’d done the same to Azar when he pretended to be his own assistant. Besides, even if Ms. Tabibian’s role had been more sinister, Leila probably wouldn’t have known.
“Thank you for explaining, Leila. I’m sure you’re right and your mother wouldn’t have purposely tried to hurt me.”
Leila looked
relieved. She thanked Azar and assured her once again that her mother would never have spied on her for Heydari. But Azar didn’t want to talk about that anymore.
“Begzarim. It’s in the past,” Azar said. Let’s talk about this file. This is extremely important information. You say there may be more of these? Can you access them?”
“Well, I don’t know,” Leila said. “I suppose so, but why would I need to? Isn’t this enough?”
“No,” Azar insisted. “We need to show that these sorts of cover-ups are happening regularly. One case isn’t enough.”
Leila looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t bring this to you to try to prove something about the government. I just wanted to use it to threaten Heydari and get him to back out of our lives. I thought we could, like, threaten to release this to a newspaper or something if he doesn’t leave us alone.”
Azar didn’t understand. “What are you talking about, Leila? If you and your mother don’t want to see him, then don’t see him. How is threatening him going to help?”
“You don’t understand,” Leila looked close to tears. “He won’t leave us alone. He says he wants to help us. He says two women shouldn’t be alone. And that his . . . wife is too ill to have normal relations with him.”
“He wants to marry your mother?” Azar asked. “And you’re opposed?”
Leila looked at her with reproach.
“Oh!” Azar exclaimed, as she finally understood. “I see. I should have guessed. But still . . . The man is more than twice your age.”
“I told you, he’s evil!” Leila took a deep breath. “He likes us to be . . . scared. My mother had hoped that Sadegh could help somehow . . . that he could find me a good husband quickly so I’d be protected, but he . . . well, Sadegh doesn’t deserve to be her son. You’ll never believe it but he actually kicked her out of his house. His own mother. She has loved him and pined for him all these years. And she wanted nothing of him for herself. It was all for me!”
Leila covered her face with her hands and started to weep.
“There, there, don’t cry,” Azar slid a box of tissues across the coffee table. Her words sounded awkward even to her own ears. She’d had plenty of crying clients over the years, but they always made her nervous, and she never quite knew what to do for them. It was too bad Mr. Sadegh hadn’t been willing to help these women. A speedy marriage for Leila arranged by a powerful family like his would have been a good solution.
Leila took a few tissues and wiped at her cheeks and nose. The tears made her eyes shine even more brightly, as if the emerald of each iris were surrounded by diamonds.
“Leila, dear,” Azar said, “you know he can’t actually force you to marry him. It’s your right by law to refuse.”
Leila nodded. “Yes, but he can make life miserable for us until I agree. And, well, he knows some other things about us that he’s holding over our heads. When I saw this file and what it contained, I thought maybe we could use it in the same way against him. He wouldn’t want anyone to know about this, or even that he was so careless with his files as to bring them to our home, right?”
It was a desperate plan. If Leila and her mother tried to threaten Heydari directly, Azar was sure the man wouldn’t hesitate to do them real physical harm. Still, maybe there was a way to help Leila while also striking a blow at the organs of state responsible for the worst abuses.
“Leila, dear,” Azar said, “the best way for you to deal with this man is to diminish his power without him ever learning of your role. I know people that can use these reports to help Arman Tamimi’s family file a complaint. Or maybe we could get this out to the international press. And if there are similar files for a few other cases, well, that would suggest systematic mistreatment of prisoners. Who knows, maybe Heydari himself could end up in jail for his crimes. There are still people in government who can’t tolerate this sort of thing.”
Azar stood up. “Let me make a copy of these,” she said. She walked to where her ancient copier squatted in a corner and powered it up.
Leila followed her. “What are you going to do?”
“Well,” Azar replied. “Here’s what I’m thinking. I’ll make a copy and keep it in a safe place. You take the original and get it back to Heydari without him realizing. And then you try to find more files like these. I’ll talk with some of my friends at the Foundation and see when and how we should proceed with filing complaints.”
The creaky machine blinked that it was ready, and Azar began making copies. She wondered what the chances were of this actually working and felt impatient to talk to some of her friends. Where was she going to keep these documents safe in the meantime? Her home and office could be raided at any time. Her father, she knew, would never willingly keep them for her.
“But how am I supposed to do that?” Leila asked. “It won’t be easy to even return this file, let alone try to find more.”
The path forward seemed so clear to Azar that she felt a bit impatient Leila wasn’t getting it. “The best thing you can do for now is to go along with him,” Azar said. “You don’t have to marry him. Just act like you aren’t opposed to the idea. Try to gain his trust and confidence. That’ll give you more time and opportunities to look for more of these sorts of documents.”
Leila shook her head. “I can’t do it.”
Azar took the originals off the machine and handed them back to Leila. The copies she stuffed into another folder, which she then slipped into a large white envelope.
“Look, Leila, it’s up to you. But . . .”
Bzzzzzz.
The sound of the doorbell startled her. Azar looked quizzically at Leila. Had someone followed her?
Bzzzzzz, bzzzzzz.
Heart pounding, Azar walked to the intercom to answer.
“Baleh? ” she inquired into the speaker.
“Open the door,” Ali directed.
“Ali? What are you doing here?”
“I’m the one that should be asking you that question,” he said angrily. “You were supposed to have left your office almost an hour ago! I brought your boys for you. Remember them? My god, if you care nothing for your own children, at least think of our parents. They’re too old to be looking after these little devils!”
“Ali-jaan, I’m so sorry. Someone came by and . . .”
“Just open the door,” Ali repeated.
Azar buzzed them in and turned to Leila.
“I’m sorry, but my brother is here, so you need to go. Like I was saying, this is up to you, and I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with. But you should realize that what you’re doing may be bigger than your own situation. Maybe this is a step toward forcing the government to confront the ways the system has allowed corruption and abuses of power to fester. And maybe that could be the beginning of the real reforms we’ve all been waiting for, the reforms you were demonstrating for over the summer. If not for your own self, don’t you have a duty to at least try for your country?”
Leila looked pained and confused as she gathered her belongings.
“Anyway,” Azar said as she ushered the girl toward the door, “Why don’t you go home and talk to your mom about it and decide what you’re going to do.”
Leila paused in the doorway. “My mom doesn’t know anything about it,” she said. “I didn’t want to get her hopes up.”
“Oh, well, maybe it’s better that way.” Azar replied with a gentle but firm pat on the back that moved Leila toward the elevator. “Come see me again in a few days and let me know what you’ve decided.”
Azar gave Leila a bright smile as the girl turned slowly to push the elevator button. Azar felt a bit bad about pushing her off, but she had to turn her attention to her family.
The elevator door opened almost immediately, and Leila stepped aside as Ali, Hossein, and Muhammadreza tumbled out of the tiny lift and filled the hallway with th
e sound of tears and shouting.
“My God, these boys are—” Ali stopped abruptly when he saw Leila.
“Sorry Ali-jaan, I had a visitor,” Azar apologized. “Leila-khanoom, this is my brother. Ali, Leila-khanoom is the daughter of one of my . . . Shhh! Quiet down boys! . . . Leila-khanoom is . . .”
Azar paused, confused by the way Ali and Leila’s eyes were darting from her to one another and then back to her as if they were witnessing something out of place and looking to her to explain.
“Leila-khanoom is my . . .” Azar began again but abandoned the introduction once more as her boys screaming had reached such a pitch that conversation was no longer possible.
“My precious children, why are you crying?” Azar asked. Go inside before the whole building is disturbed.”
“He made me drop my ice cream!” Muhammadreza wailed.
Leila waved her goodbyes and stepped into the elevator, and Azar dragged her boys inside.
“It was my ice cream!” Hossein responded.
“No! Uncle Ali gave it to me.”
Hossein turned on his younger brother, “Only because you’re such a baby!” Then, to his mother he explained forcefully. “He didn’t like his own ice cream so Uncle Ali made me give him half of mine. But he started slurping it in front of me and making faces like he was happy he got my ice cream . . .”
“I did not!” Muhammadreza interjected.
“So I shoved him! It’s not my fault he’s so clumsy and dropped it.”
Muhammadreza threw his head back and bawled. “I want my ice creeeeeeam!”
“Shut up or I’ll hit you again!”
Azar had heard enough. “Stop it, both of you! There’s plenty of ice cream in the world for everyone. Muhammadreza, that’s enough. Quiet down and I’ll get both of you a treat on our way home.”
The boys swallowed their tears and anger and looked at her expectantly.
“Can we eat out at Pizza Hat for dinner?” Hossein asked mentioning the popular restaurant that, Azar had heard, was a copy of an American pizza chain.