Bauer Shane - A sliver of light: three Americans imprisoned in Iran

Copyright 2014 by Shane Bauer, Joshua Fattal, and Sarah Shourd

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 215 Park Avenue South, New York, New York 10003.

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Bauer, Shane.

A sliver of light : three Americans imprisoned in Iran / Shane Bauer, Joshua Fattal and Sarah Shourd.

pages cm

An Eamon Dolan book.

ISBN 978-0-547-98553-4 (hardback)

1. Bauer, ShaneImprisonment. 2. Fattal, JoshuaImprisonment. 3. Shourd, SarahImprisonment. 4. Political prisonersIranBiography. 5. Ivin (Prison) 6. AmericansIranBiography. 7. HikersIraqKurdistanBiography. 8. IranHistory1997 Biography. I. Fattal, Joshua. II. Shourd, Sarah. III. Title.

DS318.9.B38 2014

365'.45092313055dc23 2013049037

e ISBN 978-0-547-98564-0
v1.0314

For those who are not free

The grief you cry out from draws you toward freedom.

Rumi

1. Shane

I stir out of sleep. The air is so fresh and cool, its almost minty. Distantly, I hear a stream purl. Sarah and Josh are lying on either side of me, unmoving. A deep predawn glow infuses everything. A bat cuts jaggedly through the air. I sit up and stretch my arms and back, which sends bursts of energy through my body. Today, we are going to hike. There are few things I love more than this.

Brown mountains jut up around us, mottled with specks of green bushes and patches of yellow grass that looks like lions fur. The trail we started on last night snakes upward, weaving a thin little thread through the valley. We wash our faces in a nearby stream. We fill up our many little water bottles, eat some bread and cheese, and walk.

Josh is light spirited and contemplative, jumping from one rock to the next as we set off up the valley. Hes so good at shaking off weariness, putting that wholesome smile back on his face. Sarah and I trail behind him, holding hands and weaving our way between the rocks. None of us speaks, except to point out the occasional curiosity, like empty goat pastures hemmed in by short walls of piled-up rocks or the occasional cement prayer niches with arrows that point the pious toward Mecca.

Hours pass as we walk. Porcupine quills, cat feces, and perfectly round spiky purple flowers appear sporadically on the slowly thinning trail. Josh is a hundred feet ahead. A cloud of yellow dust is pluming behind him, rising above the dry grass and hanging in the hazy air. Are we on a human-made trail, or did some goat slice through this endless meadow, creating this tiny track we are trudging on? The heat is growing and I am easing into that state where my body is tiring, but I just march on autopilot, pulled by something toward the top of the mountain. It must be 11 a.m. How long have we been walking? Five hours?

At some point, we stop to drink from our water bottles, which are starting to run low, and Josh mentions that were heading east. We could just keep going and go to Iran, he jokes. I remark that Iran must be at least a hundred miles away. We keep walking.

We reach what looks like an old, disused road, clogged with large rocks. We decide to temporarily jettison some of our things, cramming blankets and books under a bush and building a little cairn on the side of the road to remind us where the stash is. Then we plod upward, winding up the switchbacks. The ridge has to be close. The horizonsaddled between two peakshas seemed directly in front of us for a while now. At the top, well turn back. Well have to, or well miss Shon. He, the fourth of our group, stayed back in Sulaimaniya to rest up and is going to meet us back where we started this morning. Well have a night around the fire before we catch a bus back up through Iraqi Kurdistan to Turkey, through the flat expanse of the Syrian Desert, and back to Sarahs and my little home, tucked into the beautiful sprawl and bustle of Damascus.

As we walk, I notice a cigarette pack on the ground. There must be people nearby. Maybe well find a village, have some tea, chat with the locals.

We pass an ancient-looking, broken-down stone shack on the side of the road. Sarah wants to turn back; I can feel it. Her energy is nervous, but she is trying to hide it. Im used to this. She is strong and brave, but shes often a bit anxious when we leave cities, even when were in the United States. She fears things like mountain lions and lone men. But she doesnt like to let the fear dictate her actions. She also doesnt like to be coddled, so I let her deal with it herself. Anyway, I want to get to the top.

Would you rather... , she starts to ask Josh and me, before trailing off momentarily. She likes to play this game when we walk and, I think, when shes uncomfortable with the silence. I love how she always starts it the same way, stating the first clause, then deciding on the second clause while the listener waits. Now she asks, Would you rather get surrounded by five mountain lions right now, or five members of al-Qaeda?

I think for a few seconds. Probably mountain lions, I say. We could probably scare them off. I think if we were grabbed by al-Qaeda, we wouldnt have much of a chance.

Dont you think you could reason with al-Qaeda, though? Josh says. Speak to them in Arabic? Tell them you dont hate Muslims? Tell them youre critical of our government?

I dont think it would matter, I say. But okay. Ill go for al-Qaeda. Maybe youre right. Maybe we could try to reason with al-Qaeda. There would be no reasoning with five mountain lions.

Sarah chimes in. I would definitely choose al-Qaeda... She pauses. You guys, I think we should turn back. Its getting hot and were almost out of water.

Then, as if on cue, a tiny runnel trickles across the road. We dont have to go back just yet. The water is coming from a little spring, dribbling into a small, cement, human-made basin. I pour the water over my head by the bottleful and laugh as it runs down my skin. I cant remember the last time I felt so free. Free of time. Free of worry. Free of the heat.

Could I be more content, more happy? We take a break, our insides cooled after five hours of walking, and fall asleep in the shade. I wake to the phone ringing. Its Shon. He is on a bus and getting ready to come to meet us. How could the phone get coverage way up here? Just go to the waterfall, I tell him. Its right past the big campground with hundreds of people camped out. There are a bunch of tea vendors and stands selling souvenirs and stuff. From the waterfall, walk straight up the trail and up the valley. Well be coming down soon. There is no way we can miss each other. I hang up as Sarah and Josh stir out of sleep.

2. Josh

I could hike all day like this.

You guys, Sarah says with hesitancy in her voice. I think we should head back.

Really? Shane sounds surprised. How could we not pop up to the ridge? Were so close.

I turn to Sarah, thinking of her question about al-Qaeda and the mountain lions. I think of another discussion we had, wondering if Kurdish rebels would be in these mountains of northern Iraq and how nervous she was when we were hiking last night. It seems like shes wanted to turn back for a while but kept quiet. Then I look at Shane and say, Sarah feels strongly about this. I think we should talk it through.

Im being sensitive to Sarah, but Shane knows me wellhe knows I want to reach the top, and he asks, Josh, what do you want to do?

Well, I say, I think we should just go to the ridgeits only a couple minutes away. Lets take a quick peek, then come right back down. Sarah agrees.

Just as were setting out, Sarah stops in her tracks. She looks concerned.

Theres a soldier on the ridge. Hes got a gun, she says. Hes waving us up the trail. I pause for a second and look at my friends. They seem worried but not alarmed. Maybe its an Iraqi army outpost.