Letters to My Torturer: Love, Revolution, and Imprisonment in Iran (14 page)

He handed me a letter inside a sealed envelope.

I went to Khamenei’s house early the next morning. We kissed each other’s cheeks, and asked after one another’s wellbeing and then
I handed him the letter. He opened it, and after a quick glance at it, said: “What’s happened?”

I told him and he replied: “Bring me some examples of the paper’s content.”

I conveyed the news to Rahman who prepared a booklet of samples. He also gave me a message from Kianuri – if possible, arrange a date for a meeting.

I took the samples to Khamenei’s office. At the time he was a deputy at the Ministry of Defence. I told the office director my name and sat down. A number of army men and clerics were also waiting to see him. The door opened and Khamenei stepped out. He called me into his office as soon as he saw me and closed the door behind us. He phoned his office director and said: “No meetings or calls for now.”

He turned to me and said: “I am tired. Let’s talk for a bit.”

For an hour, we talked about this and that – poetry, recently published books, the situation. When he stood up to get ready for prayers and lunch, he asked: “Have you brought the documents?”

I gave him the booklet. He carelessly flicked through the pages and said: “I’ll bring it to Aqa’s attention tonight. Call me tomorrow.”

I said: “Kianuri would like to meet with you.”

He said: “Alone or with you?”

He then laughed, and said: “If it’s with you, then it would be fine.”

I delivered the message to Rahman. The next evening, I called Khamenei, and he said: “Go ahead and print the paper.”

I asked: “Is there no need for an announcement or a letter?”

He replied: “If anyone pesters you, tell them to check with the Imam’s office.”

The paper resumed publication the next day and no one interfered.

The first meeting between Kianuri and Khamenei was one night that summer. It had been arranged for midnight. I had been ready
since eleven in the evening, watching the road through a small window facing the street just in case Kianuri couldn’t find the doorbell. The white willow outside the window had not yet died and was filled with noisy birds. At half past eleven a car stopped in the parking lot and Kianuri stepped out. I quickly ran downstairs and asked him in. He said: “It’s late and we must set off.”

I asked: “Then why did you send the driver away?”

Astonished, he said: “Why? Don’t you have a car?”

I said: “Of course, but I don’t know how to drive.”

He became very angry. He hadn’t driven for many years but he now had no choice and he kept complaining as we drove through Tehran’s empty streets.

We were seated in the large reception room at exactly twelve o’clock. It didn’t take long for Khamenei to appear, pipe in his mouth as usual, folders under his arm, and laughing. He greeted me by kissing my cheeks, but only gave Kianuri his hand.

We had barely sat down when Khamenei said: “Mr Kianuri, we have a very serious complaint against you.”

I saw Kianuri go pale and say with a cold smile: “You must have been given incorrect information ...”

Khamenei laughed and said: “No. My complaint is that you have taken our dear Houshang from us!”

Kianuri didn’t know whether this was intended as a joke or a serious rebuke and he had not yet responded when Khamenei asked: “When did you return to Iran, Doctor?”

Kianuri replied: “Early May.”

Khamenei drew on his pipe and said: “So you returned a few months after the revolution.”

Tea was brought in and a discussion began. Kianuri explained the Party’s position and kept saying that the Party intended to support the revolution with all force. Khamenei, in turn, kept bringing up questions which made it obvious that he regarded Kianuri’s words with suspicion.

Kianuri had brought a bundle of Party publications with him and kept insisting that Mr Khamenei read all of them. Khamenei kept saying: “I have read them. I have read them carefully. But back in prison I learned from Houshang to read between the lines ...”

Then he brought up a few examples of content from
Mardom
about Afghanistan and the Soviet Union. He had incredible presence of mind. Kianuri defended the contents. Khamenei said: “Come on, please. You are still acting like a Soviet representative! Look here ...”

Kianuri said: “The CIA and Savak tend to say that sort of thing. But why are you saying it?”

Khamenei said: “We know the past and are now observing the present from close up.”

Kianuri said: “Either way, the Union of the Soviet Republics was the first government to recognize the Islamic Republic and is your ally in the struggle against the United States.”

Khamenei responded: “We absolutely do not trust the Russians. I hope you do something to make us trust you ...”

The discussion went on and on along these lines until Khamenei stood up to signal that the meeting was over. Kianuri said: “It would please me if I could see you regularly.”

Khamenei answered: “No problem. Arrange the meetings with Houshang.”

We said our goodbyes. The two of them shook hands and Khamenei and I kissed each other’s cheeks. By the door Khamenei asked: “Haven’t you brought a new book with you? I have finished
And Quiet Flows the Don
. Amazing the way he manages to show the plight of the people under the Soviet government.”

I had never encountered this interpretation of
And Quiet Flows the Don
before. I said: “I’ll bring his later books.”

And we left. It was a cold, moonlit night. Kianuri was limping. He was deep in thought. He stood still in the middle of the lane and said to me: “This friend of yours is very dangerous. He’s a Maoist Islamist.”

I wished I knew what Khamenei had made of the meeting.

After we had driven off, Kianuri said: “I wish you had told us just how much he likes you.”

Now, when I remember his sentence, I feel a shiver go down my spine. I tell myself: “It was a good job I didn’t tell him. Or else they would have wanted me to infiltrate Khamenei’s office and I’d have said yes on the spot.” I hate that sort of business nowadays, even if it might have been advantageous for the revolution.

My wife and I were looking for work but couldn’t find any. My mother-in-law was paying our living costs. I occasionally visited Khamenei at home. We discussed current affairs, literature and poetry. He read every single book I gave him and talked about them with great pleasure.

Kianuri’s next meeting with Khamenei took place that autumn. As usual, I phoned and arranged the meeting date. This time, it was at eleven o’clock in the morning. On the way there Kianuri sat beside the driver, while one of Kianuri’s guards and I sat in the back. When we entered Boulevard Street, the driver said: “Comrades, we are being tailed.”

Kianuri said: “Don’t lose them. We are on our way to Khamenei’s home.”

When we arrived, Mustafa greeted us and said: “Aqa has sent a message that he’ll be late. Come in please.”

We waited for Khamenei for over two hours. Unusually, he was tired. He kissed my cheeks and shook Kianuri’s hand. As always, he was well-mannered and courteous as he warned us that he didn’t have much time.

Kianuri handed Khamenei an envelope that apparently contained documents and began talking about the danger of a military coup on the part of the Shah’s supporters. Khamenei listened attentively. He asked jokingly: “Have the Russians or your moles inside the army provided you with this information?”

Kianuri was jolted for a moment and gave his usual response: “The Party’s supporters put information inside a box and place it by the door.”

Khamenei stood up and said: “How strange ...”

And while shaking hands before leaving, he said: “I will look at these. But it would be better if you made sure this information gets to President Bani Sadr.”

Kianuri said: “That has already been done.”

Khamenei moved in the direction of the door and said: “Very good.”

Kianuri and I walked behind him to the door. Kianuri said: “Give us a date for a longer meeting.”

“Alright, Houshang can call to arrange it.”

One afternoon, I think it must have been 27 December 1979, I was called to Kianuri’s office. Kianuri said: “This is very urgent. You’ve got to find your friend, no matter what it takes and you must arrange a meeting for tonight.”

I phoned Khamenei’s home a number of times. Mustafa didn’t know when his father would return but guessed he might be at the office of the Islamic Republican Party. I told Kianuri. He called one of his drivers and told him to take me there and back. I found Khamenei there, but he said he had absolutely no time, though when I insisted, he agreed: “Twelve o’clock and only for five minutes.”

When we arrived just before midnight that night, Khamenei was home. As soon as we had exchanged greetings, he said: “I am about to go to the Revolutionary Council’s extraordinary meeting. I only have five minutes.”

In a few sentences, Kianuri quickly told him that the Soviet forces were planning to enter Afghanistan that night. Khamenei, who was standing, sat down as if hit by lightning. The wrinkles on his face deepened. He stood up and left the room without a word. Kianuri and I followed him, Kianuri trying to offer his interpretation of the Soviet forces moving into Afghanistan, and the threat of the USA,
while Khamenei wasn’t listening at all. His guards were waiting for him in the courtyard and escorted him away. We walked out into a cold wintry night. Everything had frozen, even the moon in the sky. For us it was the beginning of a freeze that would never thaw, and would profoundly change Khamenei’s attitude towards us. Later, I found out that the Soviet ambassador to Iran had been in Ayatollah Khomeini’s office that night and had officially informed him about the Soviet troops’ invasion.

One summer night the following year, our doorbell rang. I looked out of the window. It was Rahman. He came upstairs and said: “You must get this envelope to Khamenei right now.”

I looked at my watch; it was nearly four in the morning. I got dressed and Rahman drove me to Khamenei’s house. He waited at the entrance to the lane while I went to knock on the door of the house. It didn’t take long for a sleepy young guard to open the door. I said I wanted to see Khamenei. He told me to leave and return a few hours later. I insisted that he should wake Mustafa. He shut the door and left. It seemed ages before Mustafa came. He invited me into the inner courtyard. I said: “It’s very important that I see Mr Khamenei.”

He said: “He got back late and is asleep now.”

I said: “Wake him up.”

Mustafa went back into the house and very soon reappeared with Khamenei. He was dressed in house clothes, with a cloak hanging over his shoulders. I greeted him and handed him the envelope and said: “I have no idea what’s inside but apparently it’s very important.”

Khamenei opened the envelope right there, by the pool, and read it. I saw that his hands were shaking. He walked over to a phone, signalling me to go away. I left the house.

Rahman said: “Once again they owe us for salvaging the revolution.”

Now that I am looking at these historical incidents side by side, it seems plausible that the envelope contained intelligence about the Nojeh Coup
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and I ask myself: “Why were we doing that sort of thing?”

And I remember Khamenei’s words: “Either the Russians or your moles inside the army have provided you with this information.”

A year later, early one Friday morning, I knocked on Khamenei’s door. He had repeatedly told me: “Friday morning is the worst time. I will be preparing for Friday prayers and won’t have time to see you.”

I was very insistent and managed to see Khamenei for a few minutes to arrange a meeting. This time Kianuri’s bodyguard/driver, picked me up to take me to the meeting place. We stopped to collect Kianuri from his daughter’s home on the way. He was limping, and had his right hand in his pocket. I later found out that he had got himself a pistol for self-protection in the early years after the revolution.

Kianuri got in and we set off. The situation had profoundly changed since our first meeting with Khamenei. We knocked and I introduced myself. The guard appeared to expect us. He took us to the room by the door where the less important guests were received. We had just sat down when Khamenei came in and, as usual, greeted me warmly, with kisses on my cheeks. His handshake with Kianuri was very cold and as soon as he sat down, he said: “Get on with it.”

Kianuri gave a thorough explanation of the pressures that the Party was under and said that his people had once again been arrested. He listed the Party’s services to the Islamic Republican Party and referred to the Nojeh Coup. He talked about the Soviet situation and asked for pressure to be removed from the Party. Khamenei listened patiently and said: “We don’t trust the Party. We are aware that you are acting in an organized manner and are extending your influence, and you have influence in places that you are not supposed to.”

Kianuri said: “The authorities have information on all our connections.”

Khamenei said: “We too are not uninformed. I’m telling you my personal opinion in a friendly manner.”

Kianuri said: “Our policy towards the Islamic Republic really is ‘unity and criticism’.”

Khamenei answered: “On the surface, yes. I read your paper everyday, especially the bits between the lines.”

The rest of the meeting was about just this. Kianuri kept insisting that both the Party and the Soviet Union were defenders of the Islamic Republic, and Khamenei regarded everything he said with suspicion. He finally said: “In my view, the newspaper’s closure would be to your own advantage. If I were in your shoes, and really wanted to defend the Islamic Republic, I would stop all open and covert activity. What kind of doctorate did you say, you have?”

“Architecture.”

“So why not teach at the university?”

Kianuri fell silent and the conversation appeared to have ended. Khamenei stood up and we too stood. As we were about to leave, Khamenei said: “By the way, Mr Kianuri, what’s your view on Afzali?
⁴⁵
”

Kianuri froze for a moment. I had noticed before that he tended to lose composure in times of danger. He collected himself: “Why?”