Iraq, would become the largest oil producing country in the world. Saddam Hussein, like any other dictator in history felt that once he eliminated all his internal opposition and proved to himself that he was loved by all and utterly invincible, he should begin to look outward so that the people of the surrounding countries and ultimately the entire world would know his greatness. Last but not least, Saddam Hussein kept referring to the battle of Ghadesieh, where the ragtag Muslim army of less than thirty thousand bedouins defeated the well-equipped Persian army of about three hundred thousand over fourteen hundred years ago. He promised that history would repeat itself and that he would defeat the Iranian military decisively this time, the same way the Arab army did before. Saddam Hussein perceived himself a great man destined to bring back the glory of the old Islamic empire or the glorious time of the Babylonian kings. And Iran was chosen to pay for his greatness, particularly since Khomeini had ordered the ill-advised purge in the Iranian military immediately after the revolution, leaving Iran defenseless and dangerously vulnerable – a sitting duck. The rich oil fields of Khuzistan were quickly captured by the invading Iraqi army, and both countries, to the delight of the Western countries that sold billions of dollars of arms to both sides, were locked into a long, senseless, devastating, and debilitating war, one that would not only drain their human and financial resources, but would leave irrevocable psychological scars on their people for generations to come. Because of the way the war started, it was apparent that no matter who would be the victor and who would be the vanquished, no one on either side would remain unscathed.
The bad news from all fronts added more misery to the minds of the people recently struck by the lightning of revolution, particularly when Iraq’s missiles kept soaring down from the sky on Iranians.
Fatemeh’s body shook with the deafening sound of sirens that often followed the earthshaking missile explosions.
Toward the end of that winter, when the last embers of her hope for things to return to “normal” gradually turned to ashes, exasperated with constant reports that other entertainers were having the time of their lives on the stages in Europe and North America, Fatemeh decided to leave the country. Besides, now she was certain that the glitter of her glamorous life that had kept her constantly in the spotlight was fast fading, if not already gone. She was sure that she could not go on living in solitude, on the margin of society, with the memories of the past her only companions.
Each time she looked at herself in the mirror, the mirror in which she used to see the image of an imaginary tall handsome young man in a white suit and turquoise-blue shirt telling her how beautiful she was, she now saw an image that reminded her, candidly and coldly, how lonely she was, telling her how fast she was getting wrinkled, grey and old. She would try to ignore his sharp fiery eyes by looking away and closing her ears so as not to hear the harsh words. But each time, the image would pull her back like a strong magnet, telling her, “You must do something about it, Fatemeh, now, before it is too late.”
Certain she wasn’t allowed to leave the country through any airport, border city or ship, she actively looked for a contact. She needed someone in the underground world that she could trust, who had enough goodness in his heart to take her across the border to Turkey. She remembered the doorman of a nightclub where she used to perform, a jack-of-all-trades who, for a price, could provide anything, whom she had always liked and treated nicely and tipped generously in the past. After a long search she finally found him. She asked him to put her in touch with a smuggling ring that could take her across the Iran-Turkish border. Surprisingly, her previous extended generosities to him seemed all but forgotten. He only agreed to help her if she would pay him five thousand Tomans. After much bargaining, begging and tears, silly acting on his part but serious and painful on hers, she ended up paying half the amount before he provided her with the name and address of a man in a five-story building on Karim Khan Boulevard.
Covered by her mother’s black chador, she went to the given address on a cold snowy day in February, and met a bearded man in his late twenties. With shifty eyes, he appeared incurably dishonest. Sitting on a chair across from the man, she removed the chador from her head and the man recognized the famed lady immediately. He asked for a payment of two million Tomans to smuggle her out of the country. His eyes single-mindedly perused her unintentionally half-revealed breast. She had the uneasy feeling she was playing into his hands by the way he was looking at her. She covered herself and tried to evoke his sense of pity by telling him about her misfortunes, the heartbreaking misery she had gone through. She cried and begged until she thought she had touched a small grain of humanity in his stone-hard heart. Every word she spoke was a cry, drawn from her heart.
The bargain was finally settled at fifty thousand Tomans plus one night in bed with her. Having no other assets to help her get through this last obstacle except her tired body, she accepted the offered package.
On the worn-out couch in his office, staring at the ceiling, she hated herself and her world and every man in it when she felt the weight of the man on her and the violent motion of his climax. The man, of course, didn’t see or notice the pain and sorrow in her eyes nor the warm tears that were falling down her face. He was busy enjoying his share of an unbelievable pleasure, a byproduct of the successful revolution that he would otherwise have been able to relish only in his dreams. He walked away proudly, thinking he had possessed the sexy body of the most famous woman in the land, not knowing or giving a thought that he had transgressed the sanctuary of a human spirit and the sanctity of her crying soul.
Later, bewildered and ashamed, she walked home on the empty cold sidewalk. Large fluffy snowflakes kept dancing in front of her red teary eyes, impairing her vision even further. She tried to forget all the remnants of her former self. At that very moment, she wished the happy child named Fatemeh, later the young girl with a heart full of hope named Faty, and at last the exciting and beautiful singer – the sexy woman in her prime named Zee-Zee, had never existed. She hoped she could obliterate their memories from her mind forever.
She borrowed from whomever she could, paid half the amount in advance and arranged for the other half to be paid this side of the border just before leaving the country.
Afterward, with a few seeds of hope germinating in her broken spirit because she would soon be leaving the country, she had nothing to do except wait for April 15, the day she was to be picked up in the lobby of the Jahan Hotel in the city of Tabriz on the way across the border.
Chapter Seven
A sudden bump in the road woke Fatemeh and returned her from her tumultuous dreams to the dreadful present reality. She sat upright and looked at Reza, the man who had helped her in the hotel earlier that morning. He was busy carrying on a friendly conversation with the driver. The fear, insecurity and loneliness that had pervaded her mind so often recently, gave way to a safer feeling just knowing that, for whatever reason, he was still there. Reassured, she closed her eyes, hoping she could fall asleep, but the waves of recent memories rushed in and flooded her mind, keeping her semi-awake. With her eyes closed, she gradually tried to escape the harsh reality of the present time and to reach out for more pleasant memories of a not too distant past. She remembered the events of two days earlier, visual moments, her last night in Tehran. She reveled in the near past, the easily retrievable past.
She remembered how worried she had become about her unknown future, and how she was overpowered with fear that soon gave way to paranoia. She became so terrified that she couldn’t stand the sound of her own heartbeat. She was certain that she couldn’t be on her own and spend the night alone. She felt a desperate need for an empathic and non-judgmental soul. That is why she had gone to see her friend Nousheen, to seek comfort and security in her company. She retrieved in detail the most intimate visions of that night.
On the night of April the 13th, she arrived at Nousheen’s apartment, less paranoid but in an anxious mood, to share the company of another badly bruised lonely person. Nousheen begged her to lie down by her side on a mat on the floor of her safe and secluded living
