talk to Ahmad for a long time. Ahmad moved to Tehran and a few years later Salman did too—“just like I said before”—when he was already a member of the party. He was curious about his friend, so he found Ahmad and stalked him for a few days. After a while Ahmad disappeared. Salman found him again and followed him some more. Then Ahmad disappeared once more, because he got into a fight with his grandfather over a girl named Raana and left his home. All those things Salman had found out later, a few years after he had left the Tudeh Party and worked with groups that would not refrain from pulling the trigger. He told the interrogator about his visit to Ahmad’s place some years after when Leyla was born. He had bought the baby red shoes with small Velcro straps.
“Is that all?” the interrogator asked after Salman was finished. For a few moments Salman plowed into the corners of his memory to find anything unsaid about Ahmad. Then he nodded his head and his bound hands started trembling from the thought of what the interrogator might do next. The man got to his feet and buttoned his suit. “Thank you,” he said and left the room. Soon the flogger came in. Salman looked for a blindfold in his hands, but the man was empty-handed. That meant he was not going to his cell, but back to the torture room. With the help of the big man, Salman stepped into the short corridor in the opposite direction which the dried blood of his footprints pointed to.
In the torture room, a previous agent, whose arm swings Salman recognized, was mopping the floor. He paused and threw a disgusted look at Salman. Later, Salman learned the interrogator was very meticulous about the cleanliness of the room and corridors. He had ordered “diligence and cleanliness, diligence in cleanliness.” Salman’s hands were opened. As the man put the handcuffs on a small metal table, Salman stood wondering what it would be this time: the cage, the box, the table, the chair, or the bed. From his metal table, the man took the jug of water and gave the big block of ice in it a swirl before he poured himself some. With the glass to his lips, he looked at Salman and pointed to the table. It was the sole flogging again. Salman sat himself on the table, relieved to get his weight off his feet. He lay down in position, hands where they would be cuffed to the legs of the table, feet where they would be secured with leather straps. The man put the glass down, rolled up his sleeves, and came to the table. He knelt down to put Salman’s wrist in the cuff that was permanently attached to the leg of the table. Salman’s hand shook violently. The man held it in his hand for a few warm and calm seconds. Then he put the metal around the bruised wrist. The fluorescent light buzzed on the plastered wall.
* * *
—
A FLUORESCENT LIGHT ALSO BUZZED on the plastered wall of Agha’s room all night. He had not slept since the day the doctor pronounced him dead. Shortly after the sunset, Khan went to him, the backgammon set under his arm. Agha would not play. Khan sat on the edge of the bed where Agha curled up. “But when did I die, Khan?” he asked. Together, they ruminated on their memories of the crucial incidents in Agha’s life. Khan remembered talking to Agha after he pulled the old man out of the hoez water. The night Agha hanged himself, Khan, with the help of Nana Shamsi, had cut the rope first from the ceiling, then from around his neck before laying him on the floor. Agha had taken the glass of water from Nana Shamsi and tried to drink, although he had not been able to. But he had smiled at her. Back they went into Agha’s life, but no matter how far they went, they could not find a decisive date. Not long before dawn, Khan lay down on the bed and went to sleep, but Agha sat up awake. If there was one day on which he had died, it was the day a merchant from the city came to his village and took the love of his life as his wife. From the distant wheat field, he had watched her leave on a white horse followed by