Heeding the call were army officers, Guards, normal citizens, and—most fearsome of all—Basij, a paramilitary force with boys as young as thirteen. Two hundred thousand untrained volunteers—a far larger militia than the number of trained servicemen we had—arrived at the front within months and met the Iraqi invaders. Since the Guards and Iran’s soldiers operated separately, there was no coordination of movements among our troops. But we soon learned that Basijis—many of whom were adolescents infatuated with martyrdom—could not be defeated by mere tanks and machine guns.
A short time after the first Iraqi attack, the Foreign Ministry announced they were closing the airports and that no one could travel outside the country except foreign nationals, Iranians studying abroad, and Iranians with residential status in a foreign country who had been in Iran less than six months. Those who qualified stood in long lines to secure permission to leave. Somaya’s parents were anxious to get out of a country under attack, and I asked Kazem to call his contacts in the Foreign Ministry to facilitate their departure.
My in-laws did not want to leave their only child in Iran during a war that was intensifying every day. I could sympathize with them. I told Somaya that I would feel better if she left withher parents, and I promised that I would visit her in England as often as I could. She refused flatly, telling me that she did not marry me to leave in times of trouble. This made me cherish her even more, despite my fears for her safety and my concerns about whether I could do what was necessary to protect her.
I did not go to work the day Somaya said her tearful farewell to her parents. I knew she needed me to be with her while she dealt with this abrupt change to her world. We were renting a small house that came with a neglected garden, and Somaya had been spending most of her days tending to it and planting flowers. When her parents left, she went there and I joined her, watching her work and thinking of how much she reminded me of my grandfather when she did this. We spent hours in the garden that afternoon. When we were done, Somaya’s face glinted with a wide smile. “It’s so beautiful, Reza. I especially love the lilies.” I was glad they had given her a measure of peace.
After dinner, Somaya sat on the bed quietly. I knew she was missing her parents. I sat next to her and took her hands. It was one of the first times in our marriage that we were alone completely. Her parents were gone, and the constant stream of family and friends visiting us was dissipating. I needed to be there for her. I needed to hold her in my arms and show her how much I loved her. I looked into her eyes, still not believing that someone as remarkable as she had chosen to marry me. I moved her hair away from her neck.
“You are so beautiful,” I said, pressing gently on her hands. She smiled at me warmly, defining the dimple on her cheek. I kissed her neck and pulled her close to me. She closed her eyes. I wrapped my arms around her waist and caressed the heat of her skin.
“I love you,” I said, kissing her again.
She started to respond when a loud whistle suddenly filled the air. Somaya jumped from the bed as if catapulted.
“Oh my God! There is an attack! Reza, get the radio!”
Startled, I ran to the kitchen to grab the radio and turn off the lights. On the radio, an announcer instructed everyone to get to a shelter, as Iraqi bomber planes were entering the sky of Tehran. I knew the Iraqi planes were going after military targets. But I also knew they wouldn’t worry too much about hitting civilians at the same time.
We had a small cellar in our house but Somaya didn’t feel safe there. She worried about being buried in rubble if the house took adirect hit. We rushed outside and leaned against a wall. This made even less sense than going to the cellar, but for some reason Somaya felt better there.
As we stood outside, it
A short time after the first Iraqi attack, the Foreign Ministry announced they were closing the airports and that no one could travel outside the country except foreign nationals, Iranians studying abroad, and Iranians with residential status in a foreign country who had been in Iran less than six months. Those who qualified stood in long lines to secure permission to leave. Somaya’s parents were anxious to get out of a country under attack, and I asked Kazem to call his contacts in the Foreign Ministry to facilitate their departure.
My in-laws did not want to leave their only child in Iran during a war that was intensifying every day. I could sympathize with them. I told Somaya that I would feel better if she left withher parents, and I promised that I would visit her in England as often as I could. She refused flatly, telling me that she did not marry me to leave in times of trouble. This made me cherish her even more, despite my fears for her safety and my concerns about whether I could do what was necessary to protect her.
I did not go to work the day Somaya said her tearful farewell to her parents. I knew she needed me to be with her while she dealt with this abrupt change to her world. We were renting a small house that came with a neglected garden, and Somaya had been spending most of her days tending to it and planting flowers. When her parents left, she went there and I joined her, watching her work and thinking of how much she reminded me of my grandfather when she did this. We spent hours in the garden that afternoon. When we were done, Somaya’s face glinted with a wide smile. “It’s so beautiful, Reza. I especially love the lilies.” I was glad they had given her a measure of peace.
After dinner, Somaya sat on the bed quietly. I knew she was missing her parents. I sat next to her and took her hands. It was one of the first times in our marriage that we were alone completely. Her parents were gone, and the constant stream of family and friends visiting us was dissipating. I needed to be there for her. I needed to hold her in my arms and show her how much I loved her. I looked into her eyes, still not believing that someone as remarkable as she had chosen to marry me. I moved her hair away from her neck.
“You are so beautiful,” I said, pressing gently on her hands. She smiled at me warmly, defining the dimple on her cheek. I kissed her neck and pulled her close to me. She closed her eyes. I wrapped my arms around her waist and caressed the heat of her skin.
“I love you,” I said, kissing her again.
She started to respond when a loud whistle suddenly filled the air. Somaya jumped from the bed as if catapulted.
“Oh my God! There is an attack! Reza, get the radio!”
Startled, I ran to the kitchen to grab the radio and turn off the lights. On the radio, an announcer instructed everyone to get to a shelter, as Iraqi bomber planes were entering the sky of Tehran. I knew the Iraqi planes were going after military targets. But I also knew they wouldn’t worry too much about hitting civilians at the same time.
We had a small cellar in our house but Somaya didn’t feel safe there. She worried about being buried in rubble if the house took adirect hit. We rushed outside and leaned against a wall. This made even less sense than going to the cellar, but for some reason Somaya felt better there.
As we stood outside, it
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