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from Sky of Red Poppies Zohreh Ghahremani No one ever told me I would remember the hands that sculpted me or that words could be carved into my soul. Now, decades later, I reminisce, sometimes with affection but often not. It is the flexibility that I miss the most about my childhood. It is the remembrance of that innocence which helps me to forgive myself for who I have become. At sixteen, I was curious about many things, but the activities of the shah’s secret police weren’t among them. Mashad, my hometown in northeastern Iran, had awakened to a rainy day in the spring of 1968. Taking hurried steps, my ponytail bouncing, I skipped over the puddles along the sidewalk. There were no students on the street, which could only mean I had already missed the first bell. Just as I was about to cross the street, a car sped past me, splashing rainwater over my clean shoes. I looked up and saw a black Mercedes making a U turn. It parked in front of my school. Two men got out, wearing huge sunglasses that covered half their faces—the kind that had become a trademark of the secret police. The mere sight of them was alarming, though I had no reason to think their presence had anything to do with me. Instinctively, I ducked into the small bookstore across from the school. Warm air and the smell of a kerosene heater filled the shop. As I barged in, the old clerk rose halfway from his chair. Trying to catch my breath, I forced a smile despite the pump, pump of blood rushing to my ears. I turned to the display window and picked up a book of calligraphy. I was familiar with those books and their curved letters, for I had stopped by many times to admire their colors, ornate frames, and miniature 167 designs. But on that day, I looked beyond the case and watched those men across the street. They passed under the blue and white sign, Shahdokht High School for Girls, hanging over the tall wooden doors that led to the walled-in schoolyard. One of them pushed the heavy door, and they both disappeared behind it. “Don’t be scared, Miss Roya.” The clerk’s voice gave me a jolt, and I dropped the heavy book. A bookworm by reputation and a frequent visitor to his shop, I was no stranger to the old clerk. “They’re not looking for you, are they?” he asked, his calm tone indicating he already knew the answer. I shook my head and wondered if he could hear the crazy beat of my heart. The headline I had seen the previous week in the paper flashed before my eyes, “Following Tehran University’s riots, SAVAK arrested two students.” The acronym SAVAK referred to a security establishment, but to me it had a frightening resonance. They seemed to have nothing better to do than put students in jail. That morning, while my father listened to the news on the radio, I had overheard something about a possible execution sentence for the arrested students , calling them “the enemies of the crown and throne.” I did not dare ask Pedar any questions as he had strictly forbidden such discussions, but now wondered if there could be a connection. Lately, university students had organized too many demonstrations, and I’d heard the demonstrators distributed pamphlets insulting the shah. But that was in Tehran. What could SAVAK possibly want in my school? “These days they are everywhere,” the clerk said. “It’s enough to horrify even an old-timer like me.” I studied him with caution. This was the first time someone outside school had talked to me about the secret police. Unsure if I could trust the man, I turned my attention back to the window. My father had cautioned, “Never discuss such matters in public, especially not with strangers.” One never knew who might be a secret agent. “It could be a cab driver, a relative, even someone at your school,” Pedar had said. The shopkeeper took a step closer. “Don’t worry, Miss Roya,” he said, as if reading my mind. “I’m not one of them.” I shot him an embarrassed glance. The second bell rang. The man picked up the book I had dropped and put it back in the window. Then he went to his chair behind the counter and said, “You better run along now...

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