older, he was visibly strong. With an automatic weapon hanging across his shoulder, a wide belt packed with ammunition across his chest and a small backpack, he looked well prepared for any extraordinary circumstances thrown his way. With his weather-beaten face, his commanding voice, and the manner in which he moved, he appeared as if he were in full control of the situation. His demeanor demanded immediate attention and respect.
“Akbar, the people in Tehran told you that; that goddamn Reza told you that,” Mahmoud the driver shouted back angrily. “It's not my fault,” he pleaded, then continued, “I'm not gonna take them back! You can take them back yourself if you want to! I got paid to bring them here! You got paid to take them to the border!” He paused for a few seconds and then said, “If you want me to take them back, you gotta pay me double!”
“Brother Mahmoud, listen to me carefully, things are bad nowadays,” Akbar said lowering his voice, “Mountains are full of soldiers, and now these trigger-happy Revolutionary Guards are everywhere. It's rough as hell. It’s getting tougher every day, all the way to the border. Women and children cannot make it. Now the godless, communist bastards Komoleh and the Azerbaijani Turks are hitting us from everywhere. The whole damn world is against us Kurks. I won't take the responsibility,” the guide said firmly. By putting the bundle of money he had received on the top of a rock, with determined steps, defiantly, walking away, heading up the mountain, he gave a distinct impression that he has washed his hands of the problem.
Mahmoud picked up the money and hurried after him pleading, “Believe me, I had nothing to do with this mess!”
Joining them with determined steps, the elderly, tall lanky passenger said loudly, “We can't go back! We've made our choices! Damn it, we've ended our lives back there!”
“You stay out of this and get back on the bus!” Mahmoud issued the order.
“You don’t make decisions for us,” the tall lanky man responded firmly. “We've burned our bridges back there,” he said, pointing to the east. “The women are strong, dead set. Men will carry the children if they must. We will not go back! Do you hear me alright, or you’re deaf?” His voice gradually changed, as it became exasperated. Spontaneously, he turned to the others and shouted, “It's not for him to decide! It’s our lives! We make the decision! Let's take a vote on this matter here and now!”
“I’m with you,” Fatemeh shouted.
“Goddamn it! I have had it! I'm tired of having others tell me what to do, where I can go, and how I can live my life!” the tall lanky man said defiantly.
“Me too! I have had it,” Fatemeh said.
“That goes for me, too!” the intense young man expressed his opinion.
All the passengers gathered around the tall lanky man slowly, with the guide and the driver watching, stunned.
“Whoever is in favor of going, with or without this man, please raise your hand,” the man announced authoritatively.
One by one, a few reluctantly, they all raised their hands in the air. The two children watched their mother’s hand go up and they too raised theirs. The tall lanky man cleared his throat and victoriously declared, “Good. It's unanimously approved. I know these mountains. I'll take you to the border myself.” He then turned to the driver and spoke with authority, “You can take the bus and go back now!” He then turned to the guard and asserted himself strongly, brushing him off with his hand, “And you can go to hell!”
The guide seeing the unwavering determination of the group, walked to the driver, received the money, and softened his voice, “Tell Reza do not send any more women and children. Otherwise ... otherwise, tell him to get yourself Azerbaijani guides. ... There's gonna be extra charges for this group, too. I'll tell Sardar Ghaisar when I see him.” He didn’t wait for Mahmoud’s response but instead turned to the group, staring at them as if he were evaluating their strength for the journey ahead. The anger gradually vanished from his face, which blossomed with a wide smile; he had been caught in his bluff.
“Let me tell you something. If you think this is gonna be a picnic, you’re dead wrong. You gotta walk all day today,” he spoke, warning them, not threatening, but trying to establish his authority and more importantly, to save face. He continued, “We're gonna stay away from villages along the way and stay on the mountain’s path. Let's go now!”
As he spoke the last word, he led off setting a slow pace, leaving the gravel road heading straight toward high ground. He had not gone more than a few yards when he turned and addressed the driver again, “Go back to your damn filthy city, you city boy!”
The driver smiled, ran to the bus and jumped in with the guard following him. He turned the bus around and left in a swirling cloud of dust. The hills gradually devoured the bus.
The older male passenger who had boarded the bus with his wife and was quietly walking next to her, quickened his steps to reach the tall man who had spoken on the group’s behalf and was now walking quietly only a few steps behind the guide. As he approached him, and with a complimentary tone of voice, he said, “That was very good, I mean what you did back there.”
The lanky man turned, arched his eyebrows, looked at the man next to him, flashed a smile, but kept quiet and continued walking.
“By the way, my name is Rayan,” the older man introduced himself.
Without changing pace, the tall man turned again, took a friendly good look at the man and said firmly, “I'm Javad Arash!” He paused and then continued, “I know who you are. Who doesn't?”
Caught by surprise Rayan changed the subject by offering a comment, “What I don’t understand is that we are in Azerbaijan Province, but our guide is a Kurd.”
“I think the smugglers don’t trust the Azerbaijani Turks.”
“I think that was wonderful the way you handled the situation.”
“I thought so too,” Javad responded indulgently and continued, “That was the will of the people at work back there – the will of the majority.”
“You risked it and it worked,” Rayan said.
“It wasn't totally a gamble. I’d have taken you all to the border myself, if he had refused. I spent a great deal of my life in these mountains.” He hesitated, and then said, “You know?”
“What?”
“That's the interesting thing about democracy. There is always a little gamble involved.”
Rayan liked the man's confidence. He extended his right hand and shook Javad's hand firmly and felt its enormous strength.
Chapter Ten
Eleven people followed the old Kurdish guide, walking in single file in the silence that had descended upon them. Fatemeh was the first one who daringly took off her veil and chador and broke the silence by shouting with an enthusiasm that had rare traces of bitterness, “To hell with the Revolutionary Guards, especially all those stupid mullahs, those diaper-heads!!”
With a flushed face, Fatemeh felt the startling sensation of the sun and the breeze on her hair and her skin for the first time since the bloody revolution. She felt the sudden rejuvenation of her spirit. Everyone involuntarily turned and looked at her and began to laugh with noticeable expressions of excitement on their faces. This
