The Night of Afshar Tousse
I just read a particularly violent piece of news that disturbed me and made me shudder deeply. It hurled me back emotionally to a time in my past when there was great political unrest in Iran. There had been a power struggle between the Shah and Dr. Mossadeq, the prime minister. Dr. Mossadeq intended to overthrow the Shah and take over. He did not believe in the Westernization of Iran. I could not have been very old. I remember that I had just gotten what I considered to be my first grown-up bed. I was quite proud of my new bed. It looked the same as a real adult bed, except there were low guard rails halfway down the bed to prevent me from falling out while I slept. I must have had my own bedroom, for I cannot remember either of my sisters sharing it with me. One of my parents had told me a bedtime story earlier on and tucked me safely into bed. The sound of the water in the jubes, the small canals running alongside the trees by the pavements, felt like a gentle lullaby to the little girl that I was. Soon my eyes closed and I was in dreamland, frolicking about in a childish dream. Down the street from us lived Afshar Tousse, a minister in the Shah’s cabinet. I did not know much of him, if indeed I knew anything at all. After all, I was just a little girl intent on chasing butterflies in the garden in summer, admiring the colorful shades of the autumn leaves and gathering pine cones. In winter, I was busy cutting out clothes for my stacks of paper dolls. I was well taken care of and had no reason to concern myself with politics. I was living in a child’s paradise. That night, as I was chasing some childish fancy in my dreams, I was rudely awoken by the sound of fearful bellowing that went on and on. It sounded like a tortured cow being slaughtered. It must have been very late at night, for except for those blood-curdling screams, all else had been peacefully silent. Our world was in deep slumber. As I quickly emerged from mine, I felt terror. I felt my blood turn into ice in my veins. I was paralyzed with fear. It felt as if the agonizing sound would never end. I could not move. In the darkness of my bedroom, my eyes were wide open with terror. I was paralyzed with fear. The screams went on and on and on, then all of a sudden there was absolute silence. My heartbeats slowed down. I took a deep, deep breath. ‘Mama! Papa!’ I called out desperately. Down the hallway, I heard them rush out of bed and check on their daughters. They scooped us out of our beds and into theirs, hugging us closely to themselves. We stayed there the whole night, feeling safe in being together. It was later the next morning that we found out what had occurred. A group of political assassins had gone to Afshar Tousse’s home and murdered him. Four held his arms and legs while the fifth proceeded to slit his throat and stab his heart. What we heard were his gruesome death throes. I never forgot that night. Those cries are still indelible in my memory. However, I had protected myself from them by tucking them deeply inside pleasant ones. This morning, as I was sipping my tea and reading about this violent occurrence in the papers, my heart began to beat uncontrollably, and the memory of those terrifying moments rushed back. Once more, I was that little girl. I thought to myself, does violence and hatred never end? Will peace never come? Can people not learn to respect and love each other? Never? Ever?