A Door between Us

by Ehsaneh Sadr

  “Allo? ” Sadegh answered.

  “Mister Sadegh? Shomayee, is it you?”

  It wasn’t Leila. Sadegh recognized the shrill voice immediately as the neighbor woman he had met.

  “Yes? Befarmayeed,” Sadegh answered with a sigh. He wished he’d ignored the call after all. “What can I do for you?”

  “Mibakhsheed az mozahemmat, I’m sorry for the imposition. Ms. Leila asked me to call. The police were just here. Oh, it’s so sad. I’m just beside myself. I can feel my blood pressure rising already.”

  “They came for Leila? It was the neighborhood police? Or the Intelligence?”

  “It’s unbelievable, I tell you. We’ve been neighbors for so many years. And she was always good to me. We didn’t see each other that much . . . you know how it is with neighbors. But she was a good, decent woman, and it’s just so hard to believe I’ll never see her again.”

  “What do you mean? What did they say to you? What has she done?”

  But the woman prattled on, ignoring his questions.

  “Don’t you worry, my son. We will help with all of the arrangements. And Leila is welcome to stay with us just as long as she needs. Oh . . .” The woman’s voice broke down. “She was just so young . . . so young!”

  Sadegh felt a rising sense of alarm that translated into fury at this woman’s refusal to communicate clearly.

  “Listen to me!” he hollered into the phone, “What are you talking about?”

  “Sadegh, shhhhh! ” Sumayeh leaned her head out of the kitchen as she shushed him. “You’ll wake the children.”

  Sadegh strained to hear what the neighbor woman was relaying through dramatic tears.

  “It’s your mother,” she sobbed. “She’s dead.”

  CHAPTER 9

  Saturday, December 19, 2009—six months after the election

  I could smell him before I saw him. His scent was a mixture of sweat and rosewater, and it reminded me of my youth.

  —Maziar Bahari, writing about his Evin Prison interrogator7

  Azar awoke with a start to the sound of her cellphone. Could it be Ibrahim? Every so often, he was allowed to call home from prison, always at odd hours. What time was it anyway?

  Azar squinted at her phone. It was 5:24 a.m., and she didn’t recognize the caller’s number, which was a good sign. Azar flipped the phone open, heart pounding with the happy anticipation of hearing her husband’s voice.

  “Baleh? Hello?”

  “Salam, Ms. Rahimi. It’s Leila. I’m sorry to be calling so early.”

  Leila? Azar felt like she’d just stepped into a warm shower only to be doused with ice water. She wanted her husband.

  Struggling to contain her disappointment, Azar assured the girl that it was okay. Then, remembering their telephone conversation from the previous day, she asked if Leila had heard from Ms. Tabibian.

  “Yes, well,” Leila continued in a flat voice. “She’s . . . passed. They say it was an accident. She was crossing the street and—”

  “Oh my God!” Azar pushed her bedcovers off and sat up, Ibrahim momentarily forgotten.

  Leila seemed to be struggling to control herself but finally managed to complete her sentence: “. . . she was hit by a car.”

  “That’s awful! How did it happen?” Azar asked.

  “They say she was hit and died immediately,” Leila repeated. I’m sorry. I know I should have called as soon as I found out. I’m so distraught . . . I wasn’t thinking. I should have called sooner. I know you would have wanted to know immediately so you . . . I’m sorry.”

  Azar immediately wondered whether Leila was trying to tell her something between the lines. She seemed to be saying it would have been better for Azar to know Ms. Tabibian was dead as soon as possible so Azar would have more time to . . . what? Secure the file? Like yesterday, when Leila called to tell her of Ms. Tabibian’s disappearance, Azar’s challenge was to understand the girl’s meaning without expecting her to spell things out on a possibly tapped line.

  “When did this happen?” Azar asked. Yesterday Leila had told her that her mother had been angry with her and had gone to meet a “friend” to make things right. Azar had taken this as warning that Ms. Tabibian knew everything and intended to tell Heydari about Tamimi’s medical documents. It would be helpful to know whether the accident had happened before or after Ms. Tabibian saw Heydari.

  “They weren’t sure. Thursday night or yesterday morning,” Leila replied, her voice still dull. “They found her body in the Ne’mat Abad neighborhood of Tehran. But they haven’t been able to find the driver or anyone else who saw it happen. And I don’t know what she would have been doing in that part of town.”

  Hmmm, so it was possible that the accident took place before Ms. Tabibian had even gotten to her meeting with Heydari. But then, Leila wouldn’t have called at this hour if she thought that was the case. Clearly, she was trying to warn Azar that Heydari would be looking for the file.

  “Well, I need to go,” Leila interrupted Azar’s thoughts. “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier.”

  Aloud, Azar offered the girl her condolences in as natural a voice as she could manage and then thought to ask, “Leila dear, are you by yourself at home? Do you have any family to call?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” Leila said. “I’m at my . . . brother’s house. He’s been very kind.”

  Azar wondered whether it was Ms. Tabibian’s death that had brought about this reconciliation. When Leila had visited her office a few weeks back, she and Mr. Sadegh didn’t seem to be on speaking terms.

  “I have to go,” Leila repeated and said her goodbyes before hanging up.

  Azar’s mind raced. She had to get to Ali to tell him how to pass on the file. Yesterday, after Leila’s call had alerted her, Azar had gone to one of the Foundation’s advisors, who’d told her who and how to give the documents for safekeeping. Azar’s intent had been to relay this to Ali, but he hadn’t been returning her calls, and she hadn’t been able to get to him.

  Azar looked at the time: 5:47. Still early enough that there wouldn’t be much traffic. She could get to Ali’s condo in ten minutes and then return in time to get the boys up and off to school. The only issue, of course, was whether she was being watched. Azar considered the possibility and then decided it was still less risky than trying to relay information to Ali over the phone.

  She dressed quickly and wrote a note for her boys, which she taped to the TV screen. “I have a quick errand to run. You can watch something until I get back. If I take too long, call your grandma.”

  Needles from an icy wind stabbed her exposed face and fingers as she stepped into the December air. Azar got into her car and turned it on. While waiting for it to warm up, she checked her phone to make sure she’d turned it off and removed the battery. The streets were quiet and dark but not entirely deserted. The sangak bakery on the corner had its lights on, but the usual long line of customers was absent. It would be good to stop by on her way back, she thought, to get some fresh bread for her boys’ breakfast.

  After a few minutes, Azar released the brake, and slid onto the road. She glanced in her rearview mirror several times as she drove but didn’t see anyone behind her. Probably it was too early and cold even for the Guards or Intelligence officials to be on the street. Azar started to relax. She blasted the heater, which quickly warmed her little car. When she turned onto Ali’s street, the sound of the morning call to prayer started from the nearest mosques. Perfect, she thought, he’ll be getting up already.

  Azar parked the car. She waited for a moment to see if another car would appear. Once she decided it was safe, she got out into the cold again and walked to the high-rise condo entrance to push the buzzer for her brother’s unit. Another blast of wind hit her as she waited. Ali’s neighborhood was farther up the Alborz foothills just enough to be even colder than hers. Azar pushed t
he buzzer again, this time holding it a bit longer.

  “Befarmayeed. Who is it?”

  The sound of the sleepy young woman’s voice gave Azar a start.

  “I’m sorry. This is the home of Ali Rahimi?” Azar’s face and lips were so cold and stiff she could barely form the question.

  “Baleh. Befarmayeed. Yes, who is this?”

  Ah, of course, it was Sarah. Six months after their wedding, the young couple had finally moved in together. No wonder Ali hadn’t been answering her calls.

  “Oh, Sarah-jaan,” Azar shivered into the intercom. “This is Azar. I didn’t realize you’d be here. Let me in. I need to talk to Ali.” Another gust of air blew through Azar’s many layers of coverings to freeze her flesh and bones.

  “Ali khabe hanooz. Hal nadareh. He’s still asleep. He’s not feeling well.” Sarah said. The door remained locked.

  Azar felt she couldn’t take the cold much longer and wondered whether she ought to run back to the warm car like a diver returning to the surface momentarily to catch a breath before trying again. “To ro khoda,” Azar pleaded like a beggar at the door. “It’s an emergency. Please, can you let me in?”

  The door latch finally opened, and Azar stumbled into the building. She took a few deep breaths in the warm lobby air and felt her cheeks tingle as the blood returned. What was Sarah thinking to make her beg like that to enter her own brother’s home? Azar took the elevator to the tenth floor and then navigated the hallway to Sarah and Ali’s unit. When Azar tapped lightly, Sarah pulled the door open, careful to remain hidden behind it from the eyes of neighbors that would be scandalized, Azar noted, by the sight of the flimsy cherry red lingerie that clung to her swelling belly.

  “Salam, Azar-jaan.”

  “Salam, Sarah.”

  Azar stepped into the apartment, and the door closed behind her. She held her hand out to Sarah in greeting but didn’t lean forward for a kiss. She expected that Sarah would lean in for the friendlier gesture and wanted her own brief hesitation to send a small, but meaningful message that she was irritated with the girl for the interaction over the intercom. To her surprise, however, Sarah held her ground, blinking her small eyes, and the two women simply shook hands in an awkward silence that was broken when Ali came into the room.

  He came forward to greet her with a hug and kiss.

  “What’s going on, Azar?” Ali teased. “You wanted to make sure I’d wake up for my prayers this morning?”

  “Vagh’an bebakhshid,” Azar apologized. “I’ll just be a—Oh my God! What happened to your eye?”

  Ali’s left cheek was purple and swollen and his left eye was red and glassy.

  Azar felt Sarah tense, but Ali’s voice was playful. “It’s nothing. It looks worse than it is. But it’s part of the reason I didn’t get back to you last night.”

  “How did it happen?” Azar asked. “Did you ice it? Are you sure nothing’s broken?”

  “Seriously, don’t worry about it,” Ali assured her. “It’s nothing. Anyway, what’s going on? Come, sit down. Where are my favorite nephews?”

  “No, I can’t stay,” Azar remained standing with her shoes on in the entryway. “I left the boys sleeping at home and have to get back. I just . . . There’s been a bit of an emergency, and . . . I need to tell you something.”

  Azar gave Sarah a sidelong glance to indicate she’d prefer to speak to Ali in private.

  Catching on, Ali turned to Sarah. “Sarah, azizam, if it’s not too much trouble, would you mind pouring some tea? I put the kettle on a few minutes ago, so it should be ready.”

  Sarah raised an eyebrow but said nothing and, as requested, left the two of them at the door.

  Ali asked again, “So, what’s going on?”

  Azar spoke quietly. “The . . . thing I gave you for safekeeping—I need you to deliver it to someone as soon as possible. He’ll know what to do with it. Just . . . You need to make sure you get it to him. Use a driver you trust completely. The address—”

  Ali interrupted her, “No, Azar, don’t tell me more. I can’t do it. I’m sorry.”

  Azar hadn’t considered the possibility that her brother might refuse her request.

  “What do you mean? It’s urgent. Something’s happened. I don’t have time to explain but it’s possible that they’re going to be looking for it soon.”

  Ali sighed. “Azar-jaan, you know how I feel about all of this. I don’t entirely disagree with you and Ibrahim. If I could snap my fingers and change parts of the regime, I would. But these things you’re involved with have serious risks. I don’t know what you’re involved with, but I don’t want to get dragged in. I need to think of my own family now.”

  “My God, Ali!” Azar was beside herself and had trouble keeping her voice low. “This isn’t just about me or you. Those papers prove that Tamimi was tortured and killed and that all of this has been covered up by the Guards and Intelligence officials. This needs to be made public so we can have some hope to putting an end to this sort of thing. You think you’re safe now just because you aren’t behind bars anymore? They could pick you up again at any moment and do whatever they want with you. Same with me or anyone else. But maybe, if these papers get out . . . we can change things.”

  Ali’s eyes were hard, and the veins on his thick neck were beginning to bulge. “Believe me, I know all too well that they can do whatever they want with me. And I’m not going to provoke them by working with you to embarrass them. I’ve already suffered enough because of you and Ibrahim.”

  “You blame me?” Azar raged at her brother.

  “Yes!” Ali cried. “What other reason did they have to hold me. Even now, they won’t leave me alone because of you.”

  “What do you mean they won’t leave you—”

  “Enough! I’ve said too much already.”

  Azar looked at her brother closely. She saw anger and fear, but also shame in his eyes.

  “My God!” Azar exhaled. “Ali, you’ve been working with them?”

  “No!” Ali protested. “It’s not like that. I’m just saying that . . . I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. I mean . . . even if I tried to help, it wouldn’t help.”

  He’s been spying on me, Azar thought. My own brother. She wondered how long it had been going on and what sorts of information he might have passed along.

  “I see,” Azar tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “And the file? Did you tell them . . .”

  “No.” Ali shook his head as he sighed, dropping the pretense that there wasn’t a them, “I probably should have. But it’s safe.”

  Azar wanted to slap him. Did Ali actually regret not telling the Guards about the file? It was with great effort that Azar kept her composure and said, “Well, I’m sorry I burdened you with it. Why don’t you give it to me now, and I’ll take it?”

  Ali nodded. “Yes, I think it’s for the best.”

  He turned and walked out of the room. Azar stood by the door waiting and trying to plan her next move. She needed to get that file out of her hands and to the right people as soon as possible. But its intended destination was a good thirty minutes away, and she had to get back to her boys. Maybe her mother could get them off to school while she took care of this. If Leila’s call had been a warning, Azar probably didn’t have much time.

  Azar suddenly felt hot. The heat seemed to be on full blast in the apartment. Probably, Azar thought with what she knew was unfair disgust, so that Sarah could walk around in an outfit much too ostentatious for an expectant mother. Azar took off her chador and headscarf to get some air.

  Sarah came out of the kitchen with a small tray of steaming cups. She started toward Azar but then paused and turned toward the sitting room.

  “Come in and sit down,” Sarah invited. “We can drink our tea together.”

  “No, Sarah dear, I don’t want any tea. I’ll be going as
soon as Ali gives me what I’ve come for.”

  Azar’s reply was stiff enough that Sarah didn’t insist any further. Instead, she set the tray on the coffee table and picked up her own cup of tea.

  It was hard to believe, Azar thought, that this frivolous young woman had once risked her own safety for a protester. Azar had finally heard the whole story from Leila. She’d talked about how scared and trapped she’d felt in that alleyway, how grateful she was when Sarah invited her into Ali’s car, how bad she’d felt when she saw the Basiji confront the couple that had tried to save her, and how surprised she’d been to realize, at Azar’s office, that the groom was Azar’s brother and that the courageous and generous bride was Sadegh’s own cousin. Hearing the story had made Azar feel slightly more sympathetic toward Sarah. But not today.

  Ali called to Sarah. “Sarah . . . Ye lahze biya. Come here a second.”

  “Al’an. I’ll be right there.” Sarah took a sip of her tea before setting it down and heading down the hallway.

  Azar waited with increasing frustration. It was starting to get light outside. She needed to get back to her boys. On Saturdays, their school bussed them to an aquatic center for swimming lessons. If they were more than fifteen minutes late, the bus would leave without them. Azar sighed. She supposed she could drive the kids straight to the aquatic center if needed.

  Azar wondered what could be taking Ali so long. She kicked off her shoes and wandered into the apartment down the hall toward the master bedroom. The door was closed, but she could hear Ali speaking.

  “. . . can’t believe this. I don’t even know what to say. How could you even consider doing something like that?”

  Sarah’s voice was testy. “Well, how could you even consider keeping something that could put our family at risk. To ke hamash migi siyasi nisti. I thought you weren’t interested in politics!”