- Of course, please. - I agree gladly. Do I have the choice?
Two grey horses are awaiting out-of-doors. Two of them are for the three of us? Exactly. The soldier gives away his rifle to the officer, mounts a horse, and I am ordered to sit behind him. On some considering they entrust me with my bag and my staff sword.
All the inhabitants have come to see me off and the child is the most active; it spins round in its mother’s arms, chattering something and from time to time hiding a little rhinoceros into the mouth, or it draws it out, twisting it before us with delight. But scarcely have we set off, it starts crying. Hasn’t its mummy occasionally pinched it for the sake of the parting in a theatrical way? Allah is a judge to her.
We start moving along the river-bed, but we are going by itself mostly. In advance there is a soldier riding with me “in the luggage carrier”, and the officer is riding his personal horse behind. The aim has been reached in some kilometers. On the river-bank, where the river forms a large sinuosity and the mountains have diverged, rather a large rocky square appears, not more than a meter high above the river-bed level. On the brownish grey background there is a little post standing out: a hut, perhaps three times as large as that shepherd’s one! Nearby, on the mast, there is a flag flattering sluggishly.
We are met by a group of soldiers with the officer ahead. They take my bag and I jump off the horse.
- Good morning. How are you? - Experts of the English language break out forward.
We are proposed to enter the barracks. I can see two-floored beds inside, but there is one important thing, that draws my attention.
A flag! Not a bloody-red “color-cloth”, but a three-colored one. I stare with curiosity and respect at the flag in ANOTHER colors, I have seen for the first time. Although, it’s a bit worn-out, closer to the lover edge and a large hole is gapping, and the colors are not distinct, having been faded in the sun.
- Come in, please, mister. - A strict voice can be heard sounding persistently for the second time already.
I have to come in? Well, if I ought to, let’s do it. -30-
The moment a group of soldiers and me have just entered and sat onto the beds (the chairs have been lacking), a guard with a rifle suddenly appears in the doorway. What a misfortune! What caused such a quick change?
They bring the English-Farsi phrase-book and we set down to searching the themes, that could help us. It‘s useless. Theatres, cinema, restaurants, shopping - isn’t it really an interesting theme for a conversation in the desert? And the word-stock of all of us is miserable. We exchange with some common phrases, because I have long ago drummed about my former having been a prisoner in the neighboring empire, and about my wish to be given a political refuge. I understand their questions easily, it’s not yet high time for me to hear the unknown to me word “ trouble ” - it’s not yet familiar to these soldiers as well. But very soon all the warriors of Iran’s army will get acquainted with the meaning of this word: a bloody revolution is being approaching in some months…
In a moment the guard vanishes in the doorway in the same unexpected way as he has appeared there.
- Perhaps, mister would like to go out? - My interlocutors go on surprising me. Haven’t I just been dragged inside almost under compulsion?
I`m going out.
The flag! A new spick-and-span flag is shining with all colors.
So that is the thing, my friends. Well, I understand and forgive your having taken me under arrest. All right!
This car turned to be the first swallow only, having been followed by the roars of the whole bevy, during the day. They were, obviously, of various models and their roars created quite a different echo each time, refreshing my feeling of fear: they are coming for me this time.
I was also uneasy about my having not slept very little the previous day too, about an hour. I was afraid to take some more of seduxen, and I did it vainly: I had to start off a march with fresh vigour.
Before dusk I finally decided to make some use of the binocular, as due to my reckoning the frontier had to be somewhere near. In the morning, when the sun was on the left and a bit behind, I didn’t take the trouble to examine the place, and such carlessness of mine turned out to be almost fatal. Towards the evening the sun was opposite me, a dove-colored mist enveloped round the mountains and my attempts to see something through it
were useless. My desirable binocular
becamе an unnecessary burden.
Chlorine spray “Taiga”was also of a doubtful use. Can mosquitoes exist here, in the desert lacking water? Each leaving being requires water, and mosquitoes, propagating exactly in the stagnant water, need it all the more.
Although, having sprinkled it around me, I perhaps was secured of the casual ants, because I had no trouble with them. But does this waterless desert crawl with them? And do scorpions exist here? Don’t they also require moisture, some shelter amongst the stones? It is never late to learn…
When in the long run after eight in the evening I made up my mind to proceed my way, I didn’t feel exhausted. It’s easy to guess, what energy supported me, in spite of my short sleep, I’ve had during the last two days. This was spiritual energy. The comprehension of the fact, that whole my future was at stake, that the sacramental to be or not to be depended on my tenacity.
… Little and large pits, itches and trenches, I was vainly looking for in the morning, soon relieved the monotony of my proceeding forward. And the mystery of the whole day car roaring, opened to me in three hundred meters: a high-way was stretching across my route almost at the right angle. I had to wait for a while until the next car passed by and only then I could rush by through it.
The traces of an old ploughed patch, without having been harrowed long ago, right behind the highway, made me worry. “What could that mean? - I was considering. - Perhaps, it was the old frontier line?!” But soon new adventures had taken that old border out of me.
Another road! And again it’s athwart to my direction. This time it’s not the highway, but a country-road. I cross it tranquilly, studying how frequently it had been used. But no sooner had I walked a few meters away, than a dazzling flash of a searchlight “burns” my heels. I am rushing forward as if having been launched.
Caution! Caution! The country-road can’t be treated thoughtlessly, just because it has not yet become a highway. It can be worth my life too.
I don’t know what hellish strength nourished the accumulating a searchlight of that car, but “the searchlight” turned out to be its head-lights. Soon it rushed by in the South-Eastern direction.
I failed to have mentioned before, that a string of lights was constantly looming in the distance during the whole last night and in -31- the morning. Although, before the dawn most of them had vanished (I must have, probably, passed them - have walked between them), but the furthest ones of them remained: one - to the left, in the South East, the other one - in the South-Western direction.
I, it stands to reason, had been walking between them, all the more it didn’t change the chosen direction considerably.
That car drove to the left light, but it had not been boasting with its searchlights long: hardly had it take aimed them at the left light, when the other one in no time turned its flashed eye to it.
I have a slight idea about what was happening there, why that mutual flashing was going for about half an hour, but it had a decisive meaning for my fate…
My agitation during the last hour has worried the life out. It is time to have a snack. As if for the order bespoke, I come across a deep ditch with almost a plumb bank. I make myself comfortable, like on a chair. As usually, I put a glance at the watch: 21:47 p. m.
What shall we eat? I don’t feel like eating cheese now. But as for a tomato or an orange - I’ll have them willingly. And I’d also like to drink some water mixture. Divine water!
Poor inhabitants of the “Noah’s Arch”: till tomorrow there will be only an unripe peach and an apple left from the five pairs. And cheese will remain as well. I realize with shame, that taking into consideration the fact, that I am in the desert, I am leading a wasteful way of life. There is not more than a liter of the water, the most essential provision, left. I am to control myself. I need a strict self-control. And I should start it right now.
Stand up! Forward, march!
Full of confidence, I firm my steps.
One-two, three-four, one-two, three-four, one…
A wire!
A hedge!
The first, the second, the third!
Obeying the brain’s word of command, milliards of new neurons start acting. The conditions are extreme, the tensity is top, and the stake is my life.
I’ve got no tongs? The twin wire is strained like a string?
Don’t pay attention. Cross it!
There, over the wire - is freedom.
From the officer’s office the sound of the radio station’s peeping is heard. And here is the officer himself with some paper.
- Could mister write distinctly in typed Latin letters his name, surname and home address? But it should be very distinctly, please.
Why shouldn’t I? Ain’t I among my friends?
And here my dinner comes: goulash with rice, if to say it in our way. But not according to our custom is a pitcher of cold water with some pieces of ice in it, and two huge loafs of bread. I should admit, they were not tasty at all, as they were barley and stale in addition.
We have our meal all together from one huge plate, having been put on the bed. Overfilled with glucose, I don’t feel leaning towards to eat, but I do it. Otherwise, what could they think of me?
I am out again. Someone has brought the binocular out of my bag and we are observing the surrounding mountains one by one. Some of them, probably, see such optics for the first time. Though, I as well have been recently looking at it for the first time, when I‘ve only bought it.
What was next? Then there was the arrival of the jeep, having been called for by means of the radio-station from the district (if to say it in our words) town, and the trip to that very town. So, we are mainly going along the river-bed, through the place lacking roads. Besides the driver, I am accompanied by two soldiers with rifles. The Japanese tape-recorder is playing all the time. We are listening to Iranian national music, unusual for a European’s comprehension. Time after time we exchange remarks in “ pigeon-English ” and suddenly - a surprise: before our entering the town they decide to tie my eyes.
Is it any strategic object? It’s hard for me to understand what they want to hide away from me, but I obey without saying a word.
Finally the car pulls up, I’m freed of the headband, and we get off. It is a provincial town, paved with asphalt, but I have no time to contemplate the buildings around, as I am asked to enter one of them. As it has cleared up, it’s a city department of gendarmerie with an inner yard for the drill of a score or a two of “sindans” (gendarmes). We enter the room of a man on duty, and judging a large amount of stripes, he is an army sergeant major. So, a usual chattering, the review of everything, I’ve already passed through at the first post starts. The sergeant major speaks English a bit better, than I do. During our conversation a mutual fellow-feeling between two of us, as with n o one before, has arised. I felt it, when some local breaker was brought to him on trial (I interpreted that situation in such a way). He was an old peasant, and I had no need to ask anyone to understand, that -32- the question was not about some criminal, most probably he didn’t share something with his neighbour.
The sergeant major read him a long lecture, and when I saw he had already harassed the old man too much, at the moment our eyes met, I told him in my thoughts: forgive him his “crime”, let him go… with Allah. In no time the sergeant major did so. He immediately quieted his voice and said, having pulled together the remains of strictness:
- You may go, but don’t let it happen again.
I don’t have the slightest doubt, he said exactly those words. You don’t need to know Farsi to understand the person, congenial with you.
- And now we’ve got to think about your lodging for the night. - He told me in English. - I’ll now write a note to the owner of the hotel.
A gendarme, who had been sent for, took the note and less than in ten minutes he was already back with the answer.
- Unfortunately, this hotel`s owner refused to accept a Christian. I’ll write a note to another one, - informed the man on duty.
The answer of the second hotel`s owner was quite similar to that of the first one. I understood it from the confused and continuous explanations of the sergeant major. - You’ll have to spend the night here,- he summed up.
- That’s really nothing. It’s of no importance to me. - I insured him.
I also ought to mention one imaginary offence, having been given to me the same evening by some sindan-albinos, as I’ve nicknamed him in my thoughts. I’ll also tell you what offence I have given him myself.
He, no doubt, was a representative of the white race, and who knows of what origin. So, having chosen the moment, when there was no one left in the room, he came in and I was thunderstruck by his select English:
- You won’t see England. You will be sent back to USSR.
I felt blood pressure strike my head.
- That’s not true! I am a former political prisoner… a victim of the communist regime… you are lying!- I didn’t comprehend, what I was saying, because of the offence and fury.
Sindan-albinos turned pale even more and left, and I was yet long boiling with rage in my soul.
Soon they made my bed there, in the same room of the man on duty. And he himself was having a rest on a bare bench. Although, I can only make suppositions, as I slept without waking till the very morning.
In the morning a surprise was waiting for me: I was invited to the gendarmerie commander, a lieutenant colonel. Like it had been with the sergeant major, we also felt a mutual fellow-feeling at once. Unfortunately, he was only able to say some greeting words in English. We again made an attempt to appeal to the phrase-book, but had no wish to speak on the themes of theatres, cinema, and restaurants.
Though it was still early, I was hungry very much, and breaking the fixed canons of the etiquette, I asked, if I could have breakfast. The lieutenant colonel called an orderly, and in some five minutes we were served a light breakfast there on a small table.
What was there?
A fried vegetable mass resembled me the meal, I had eaten only once before, and liked it very much,- fried egg-plants. Besides, there was the cheese, tasting wonderfully, white, like snow and delicate, like a jelly. It was only a pity, there was too little of it for my stomach, having not been cherished by dainty. There also were traditional tea and a barley loaf of bread, it was fresh this time and much tastier.
Soon we have parted heartily with the lieutenant colonel and in some hours my friend sergeant major made a parting and eccentrically speech for me.
The started jeep’s engine was already roaring, I was already sitting in it and my escorts-melomen were going to get in, when my friend sergeant major, a good expert of English, standing ahead of the body of his warriors, suddenly spoke in… Farsi:
- My brother! I made up my mind to appeal to you with these words, risking breaking religious dogmas. Don’t judge our officials for their fatal decision, they will soon take as for your person. I’d be glad from the bottom of my heart to help you in everything, but I can’t. Let your God bless you to stand the ordeal test with honor.Good-bye, my brother,and good luck to you.
Have I ever studied the Farsi language? I’ve never done. But you may be sure - I didn’t need any interpreter. I understood everything by looking at the confused faces of the warriors, standing close by, I underststood everything by the telepathy speechless channel, existing between us.
I admit with a shame now, that I didn’t make up my mind to give a proper answer in my native language. I rose and just with some general phrases in English thanked him for his wishes and finished with traditional:
