Taking Cover: One Girl's Story of Growing Up During the Iranian Revolution. National Kids Geographic

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СКАЧАТЬ peeled ourselves out from under from the bathroom sink. Baba called family and friends to make sure they were safe. I sat in the TV room with Maman and Baba, afraid to stay alone in my room and trying to focus on my homework again. When Baba turned on the television, he drew his breath in and mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. I dropped my pencil and stared at the screen.

      The news showed hundreds of people jamming the streets. On the screen, white smoke billowed and chants rang through the air, though I couldn’t distinguish words. People milled around in the intersection. Then suddenly came the same loud bangs we’d heard in our apartment. The crowd panicked and ran in all directions. Then there was black smoke. I didn’t recognize this area of Tehran. In the corner of the screen a van appeared, carrying soldiers with big guns. I began to feel nauseated from the jerky movement of the camera, but then Maman turned off the TV.

      “It’s past your bedtime,” she said.

      I went to bed, but I couldn’t fall asleep. The sounds we’d heard, those scary bangs, kept ringing in my ears.

      When Maman came in to kiss me good night, she said, “It’s all right that you didn’t finish your homework. That’s completely understandable. I can write a note to your teacher if you want.”

      “Oh, I forgot I never finished it,” I said.

      “Well, it’s been a…difficult day,” she said. “Are you okay?”

      “I guess so. But, what’s going to happen?”

      “I wish I knew, chérie. It’s all a bit confusing right now.”

      “But I’m scared,” I said.

      “I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

      She hadn’t done that in years, but I felt relieved to have her there with me.

      The next day, most teachers, including mine, didn’t come to school. With so few teachers present, the principal announced over the loudspeaker: “Good morning, children. Because of the unusual circumstances we find ourselves in today, so long as you behave yourselves, you are free to play games or study until your parents pick you up.”

      —

      Hearing the principal’s voice brought me back to my first day of school in Iran, three years earlier. I had stood outside my firstgrade classroom crying, clutching Baba’s hand and begging him not to leave. Dozens of children filled the courtyard and played under the large willow trees.

      My new school was called Razi. It was for French-Iranian kids like me, or for Iranian kids who wanted to have a dual-language education. We had been given a tour of it when we came for registration. I couldn’t believe my eyes. It was the biggest school I had ever seen.

      Before moving to Iran we lived in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. At the time of my school tour we had been in Iran only a few weeks. Back in Pittsburgh, Baba had explained to me that he wanted to live near his family, that he missed his homeland. I was sad to leave the friends I had made in my preschool class. My preschool was in a room at the back of a church in our neighborhood.

      By contrast, Razi had a large swimming pool, four tennis courts, a track field, a gymnasium, and a theater. The school was divided into several areas for preschool, kindergarten, elementary, middle, and high school. As soon as the bell rang, the children rushed into their classes, leaving Baba and me alone in the concrete hallway. With a gentle nudge toward the classroom, Baba said, “I’ll wait right outside this door until recess, all right?”

      “But I don’t belong here!” I said.

      “Nioucha, we’ve gone over this. You do belong here. Now go on.”

      Reluctantly, I picked up the schoolbag at my feet and flung it over my shoulder. Baba pulled out his handkerchief, the one he used for wiping his glasses and his balding head. Gently he dried my tears and runny nose, being careful not to drop the newspaper and book tucked under his left arm.

      I sniffled deeply and gave Baba one last pleading glance. It had worked so well with him before, but not this time. He smiled, turned me around, and gave me a light but firm push. I walked into class and took my assigned seat in the front row.

      Mrs. Darvish opened her large notebook and began roll call.

      “Anahita A., Jean-Louis D., Bianca G.”

      She checked off names with a red marker and nodded curtly to each student after they called out, “Yes” in Persian, the language of Iran.

      “Nioucha H.,” she said.

      I knew she was looking at me through her thick glasses, but I kept staring at my desk and fingering the strap of my schoolbag.

      “Nioucha,” she repeated, this time raising her voice.

      I shared a school bench with Anahita. She elbowed me and whispered, “Say baleh.“

      I didn’t want to.

      Mrs. Darvish exhaled loudly and scribbled something in her notebook. When she finished calling everyone’s name, she rose from her seat. She smoothed her pleated black skirt and turned it around to make sure the seams were placed properly on her ample hip bones.

      She took a piece of blue chalk and said, “Is class ready for their lesson?”

      She smiled and her glasses moved up against her forehead.

      “Yes, Mrs. Darvish,” the classroom answered.

      She turned her back to us and began to write on the blackboard. All the kids in class took out their notebooks and pencils, ready to copy what the teacher wrote. Except me. I slipped my hands under my legs and rocked myself on the bench.

      Anahita whispered, “Why aren’t you doing anything?”

      “Because I don’t want to,” I whispered back.

      “But you’ll get in trouble,” she warned.

      “Don’t worry about me,” I said.

      She shrugged and returned to her notebook, her long braid swinging down her shoulder.

      I glanced up and stared at the photo of the shah and his wife, Farah, displayed above the blackboard. They were the king and queen of Iran. In the picture, he wore a uniform with lots of medals, and she had on a gorgeous crown made of diamonds and pearls. They smiled down at us as if to say, “We are watching over you as you study.”

      I looked at the clock, wishing I knew how to read it. I understood Baba’s digital watch because he’d taught me how it worked, but this one had the little arm and the big arm that confused me. I wondered how much longer it would be before the bell would ring and I could meet Baba. He hadn’t started his job yet, but Maman had, so he was the one bringing me to school. The first two days I had cried so much that Mrs. Darvish had let me leave so I could sit with him just outside the classroom.

      My eyes wandered to the posters by the door: rows of animals and fruits with the name next to each one. The animal poster had a picture of a yellow-and-blue canary, and I kept staring at him, willing him to fly out and sit on my finger like Titi, the canary I had in Pittsburgh, used to do.

      Suddenly, СКАЧАТЬ