A Bitter Veil Read Online Free PDF

must show Americans how bad things are back home.”
    “How?” Nouri asked.
    “We’ve studied the tactics of the anti-war movement, and the American civil rights movement—protests, demonstrations, speeches, pamphleting, manifestos. All of these tools are part of our plan.”
    “What is the most important task?”
    Massoud gazed at the group. “To make sure we are united. After all, we come from all parts of Iran, and all segments of Iranian society.”
    Nouri was skeptical. Even though the shah now subsidized education abroad, you still needed money to study in the US. Most of the students in the US were, in all likelihood, from wealthy families. But he kept his doubts to himself. “What are you planning for Chicago?”
    “When the weather is better, we will demonstrate at Daley Plaza.”
    “For what purpose?”
    The student who challenged him cut in. “Why are you asking so many questions?”
    “I want to understand.”
    Massoud and the other student exchanged glances. The student glared at Nouri. “Let me see your identity card.”
    He pulled out his student ID and handed it over.
    The student inspected it, then passed it to Massoud. They retreated to a corner and whispered. The others stared at Nouri as if he’d developed leprosy.
    Nouri shifted his feet. “You can’t think I’m an informer?”
    “Are you?” the student asked.
    Massoud came back to Nouri. “This is not a game, Nouri Samedi,” he said solemnly. “We are not playing at politics.”
    Nouri thought it was theatrics, but he wanted to do his part. “I understand.”
    “You see, we are being watched.”
    “By whom?”
    “Supporters of the shah. The CIA. FBI too. They monitor us. Tap our phones. Their photographers take pictures of us and send them back to Iran. Once students return home, they are rounded up by SAVAK and questioned. Their family members, too. That’s why we insist our members wear masks or paper bags during demonstrations.”
    “I am not afraid,” Nouri said.
    “Maybe you should be.” The militant student shot him a patronizing smile and handed his ID back. “We will be keeping an eye on you, brother.”
     
    *****
     
    At Christmas Anna planned to visit her father, who lived near Frederick, Maryland, but Nouri would stay in Chicago. Anna apologized but said it wasn’t yet time for him to meet her father. Still, it was clear she didn’t want to leave him alone, and Nouri knew she felt guilty. He told her not to worry, that, in fact, he would relish the solitude. Over the past year, except for those eight weeks during the summer, they had not been without each other for more than a few hours.
    Still, after she left, he felt the emptiness. Without Anna, the apartment seemed less his, more hers. Objects he usually took for granted, like Anna’s stereo, her books, even her toiletries left in the bathroom, assumed a foreignness, a strangeness around which he didn’t feel comfortable. He spent his time going to the movies, eating junk food, and trying to ignore the forced materialism and sentimentality of the American holiday.
    The evening before Anna came home, a woman from the Iranian Students Association invited him for dinner. Several other Iranian students were there as well, and they made a party. The hostess cooked chelow kababs with ground beef, which Nouri had not eaten since he’d been in Tehran. She apologized that she had only pita bread, not lavash, but no one seemed to care. They stuffed themselves. After dinner they broke out the liquor, and Nouri, who rarely drank, had too much. He stumbled home after midnight and collapsed on the bed.
     
    *****
     
    “Nouri, Nouri, wake up.”
    He came awake slowly. Light spilled through the window. He tried to answer, but his throat was like sand, and nothing came out.
    “Nouri, wake up!” The voice was insistent.
    He opened his eyes. Anna was standing over the bed. He tried to grin, but his lips felt like they were sewn together.
    “You are home,” he managed