Roger Housden - Saved by Beauty

ALSO BY ROGER HOUSDEN

Dancing with Joy

Seven Sins for a Life Worth Living

How Rembrandt Reveals Your Beautiful, Imperfect Self:
Life Lessons from the Master

Ten Poems to Last a Lifetime

Ten Poems to Set You Free

Risking Everything: 110 Poems of Love and Revelation (editor)

Ten Poems to Open Your Heart

Chasing Rumi: A Fable About Finding the Hearts True Desire

Ten Poems to Change Your Life

Copyright 2011 by Roger Housden

All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Broadway Books,
an imprint of the Crown Publishing Group,
a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com

Broadway Books is a registered trademark and the Broadway Books colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Housden, Roger.
Saved by beauty : adventures of an American romantic in Iran / Roger Housden. 1st ed.
1. IranDescription and travel. 2. Housden, RogerTravelIran.
3. AmericansTravelIran. 4. IranSocial life and customs.
5. Jalal al-Din Rumi, Maulana, 12071273. 6. Hafiz, 14th cent.
7. IranIntellectual life. 8. IranBiography. I. Title.
DS259.2.H68 2011
955dc22
2011003323

eISBN: 978-0-307-58775-6

MAP BY MAPPING SPECIALISTS, LTD
JACKET DESIGN BY THOMAS BECK STVAN
JACKET PHOTOGRAPH: JALAL SEPEHR
AUTHOR PHOTOGRAPH: DAVIDMULLERPHOTOGRAPHY.COM

v3.1

This book is dedicated to the humanity, the dignity,
and the spirit of the Iranian people,
all of whom continue to shine
even in their current time of darkness.

Why did you come to Iran, Mr. Roger?

The chair I am sitting in faces three men. One of them wears reflecting wraparound sunglasses. He is a small, almost winsome presence. Harmless, you would think. Impassive as stone. Another fiddles with a pen behind a desk; he barely looks up. He is small, too, though more rotund, with grayish jowls and thin strands of hair brushed up from the side in a vain attempt to hide premature baldness. He is the one who has just spoken. A third man, younger and more dapper, with an intelligent gaze, sits to one side. He wears a checked sports jacket over a blue shirt.

I am your translator, says the dapper one. Please, just be calm and try not to get angry. I told them I didnt want to do this. I am just a translator. I am too emotional for this kind of work, but they said I had to help them. So please, cooperate, tell them the truth and make it as easy as possible for both of us.

Tell us, Mr. Roger, why did you come to Iran? The man behind the desk repeats his question without looking up, his words sounding as casual as if he were asking about the weather.

I came to write a book to show people in the West that Iran is not what they think. I came to find the soul of Iran, the truth and beauty of its past and also its present.

And what else? Baldy asks, his gaze still studying the grain of his desk.

Nothing else. Thats it.

Shades shakes his head slowly from side to side. Baldy clucks and lightly stabs the desk with his pen. Translator glances first at them and then at me.

Please, he says. Please, give them the right answers. It will be better for all of us.

We do not believe your answer, Mr. Roger, Baldy is saying, in heavily accented English, scrutinizing his desk all the while. Please, listen to me. We understand you have a problem. We want to help you solve your problem and leave Iran on your flight. But you need to cooperate with us. Now, please, tell us why you came to Iran.

I register that Baldy is eerily, almost condescendingly, polite.

By the way, Translator pipes up in a jaunty voice, Peter from Scotland says hi.

Peter from Scotland says hi? I am instantly, entirely, present, as when an inevitable crash looms on the freeway. They have hacked into my e-mail account. They must know everyone I have seen and everything I have said on e-mail.

Who are you working for, Mr. Roger? Baldy lets fly his question like a bullet.

Ive already told you. I work for myself, and Im working on a book. Its commissioned by Random House in New York. Ifyou look back at my e-mails you will see my correspondence with them.

We know about the book. We are not interested. Many people come here under the cover of artistic or journalistic activities in order to hide their true motives. Nonprofits come hereones like the Soros Foundation and the Aspen Instituteto spread their liberal agenda and to act as covers for Western intelligence. Now listen to me, Mr. Roger. Do you want to leave Iran? Baldy is speaking softly now. You are not helping us to solve your problem. You need to tell us the truth. We want to know why you were always changing hotels. We want to know why you wanted to meet Mr. Abbas Kiarostami. We want to know why you went to Kurdistan. Do not play with us, Mr. Roger. Your time is limited.

I wonder what he means when he says my time is limited.

Who sent you here? Baldy asks his question without seeming concerned for my answer.

Nobody sent me here. I am here to research a book.

Do you know your friend in New York is an agent for the CIA? Hes using you. Dont you see that? Do you work for him or for the State Department?

They know everything. All my phone calls, all my e-mails.

Im sorry, I know you want me to say something different, but I cant, because there is nothing else to say. I am nothing more than a freelance writer, and I am hiding nothing whatsoever.

They all shake their heads, even Translator, who I realize is not just a translator after all.

You are not helping us to solve your problem. I am sorry. Baldy is inspecting his fingers and almost mumbling to me from across the room, as if hes lost interest. You give us no choice. We are going to have to take you somewhere else for further questioning. Somewhere comfortable. Somewhere you know.

I would like to exercise my right to call the British embassy.

Baldy and Translator laugh and shift positions on their chairs. You are in Iran. You have no rights.

Shades doesnt move a muscle. His presence is shadowy, unsettling, even though he does nothing and says nothing, except for an occasional shake of the head. Hes like a prop or an extra in a movie scene whose presence sets the whole tone.

There is a knock at the door, and a man walks in with my baggage. They must have asked the airline for it before I even sat down in their office. So their questions are no more than a charade. This is all leading to a foregone conclusion, whatever that might be. My answers to their questions are irrelevant.

Please come with us now, Mr. Roger. We will go back to Tehran. Translator is curt now in his directive. I wish they wouldnt call me Mr. Roger. It reminds me of an affable television personality whose presence in this situation, even in my imagination, is wholly inappropriate