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I reached for my brief case.
“Why’re you taking that?”
“To look more official of course”
The guards intercepted my nonchalant stroll past the gate.
“What are you doing,” the shorter chubby one asked.
“I have an important meeting with Mr. Saydonlu, and I’m sorry I’m late, but it was 20 minutes ago. He’s expecting me.”
“Park your car then go in.”
A few minutes later a man intercepted me in the lobby, right near two large machines I never noticed (for shoe-shining). The following occurred while I heard a man getting his shoe shined by sticking his foot into the odd invention that spun endlessly and gnawed at shoes. It was like a muppet eating shoes:
“Hello? I need your birth certificate in order to proceed upstairs.”
“Oh no, I don’t have it. It’s ok, Saydonlu’s expecting me.”
Captain took over then and he zapped into Chuck Norris persuasion mode somehow and got clearance.
Nostalgia as we walked up two flights. The big open hallways. One more layer of security before Saydonlu I thought: the slow talking secretary that knows who I am, practices “Indian yoga”, and terminates calls prematurely. Upon entering the office, I immediately recognized heard the slow talker. She was on the phone, doing what she does best: talking in agonizingly slow speech and as if she just donated a pint of blood, with a brooding look. It made me want to cry , a gentle sorrow.
When she saw me, I immediately thought she shit her pants. Her eyes opened wide:“Um, Mr. Bakhtiari…what a surprise…um..Mr Saydonlu is really busy and he can’t- “
I interrupted: “I guess he private jetted back from the north? So soon? Glad he’s in virtual reality mode…. See that chair over there? I’m not leaving until I get a word with him.”
“But he’s very busy today and he can’t see anyone else. No way”
I sat down, she resumed slow talking. I looked over and noticed an Imam in queu along with another woman with glittery cheeks and lots of make-up. Servers moved in and out of Saydonlu’s office with various treats and tea. I recognized one of them but he didn’t make eye contact with anyone. Neither did. I opened my laptop and queud up Tyler’s 2 minute testimony to Saydonlu which I had subtitled by a friend. Then his door opened, and there he was, in all his potent smily glory and a half white beard. “Wow, Mr. Bakhtiari. So so nice to see you. You’ve changed.” I had shaved earlier that day after 2 months of a mandatory beard. Plus he’d only seen me with a beard. We embraced, the usual two kisses on the cheek.
He went on with a charmful smile, “Where’s our Tyler? You didn’t bring him?”
I immediately responded, “That’s a good one.”
We were invited in, along with the Imam. Saydonlu’s office is like a mini UN conference room, meeting a loungy living room. It’s rather large and graciously decorated with statues and pictures of him with the president and snacks reminiscent of the English Victorian Era. I noticed more pictures of him and the president this time. The Imam then talked more than I have ever heard an Imam talk, almost nervously, and as if he’s selling something. I think he was looking for support for his Quranic recitation activities. Unclear.
I showed him the short testimony I had recommended Tyler to put together. He said, “That’s our Tyler. Wow. Great.” I handed him a copy of Kintaro Walks Japan, and showed him a brief rough cut of I ran Iran.We conversed over an hour while calls sporadically came in. He inserted several comical moments with his nearly glazed over charm and revealed his strategy for getting Tyler in post New Years, which would be after March 27th. He seemed real busy. He spoke at length about all the effort he has made to make the run begin before the New year celebrations, which is before March 20th, and said it didn’t happen because “I am yet to get a thorough answer from the President’s circle. I am hopeful though so don’t worry.” He mentioned the letters he’d written to the Ministry Of Foreign Affairs a month back and went on:
“There are a few that are still making things difficult. Way more so than I expected. For example, someone made a big deal about Tyler receiving a scholarship or funds from an alcohol beverage company for schooling and this was cited for a major reason for the run was stopped. Also, the fact that the run was stopped makes it difficult and embarrassing for the country higher ups, if they would allow for it to happen again. It’s hard for them to justify that and it would compromise their validity or pride. ”
(It had been over an hour and a half now and I was concerned about the uncooked meat in the vehicle.)
“But let’s shoot for starting the run in early April.”
I asked, “Seriously now. Lets be honest. I have invested lots of time in this and Tyler has too, not to mention over 25K. I have turned down several potential acting gigs and here I am, in Iran, uncertain about everything. Its been over a year since you’ve expressed optimism about this happening in March. What are the chances of Tyler getting a proper visa and this run actually beginning? I need a straight up answer here.”
“ It’s a straight 50/50. Come back on Monday morning and I’ll let you know what the status is. I will be gone for the next few days but will make contact with the President’s circle. With you here now, we can put on more pressure and make this happen.”
A melancholy slump became of me as I exited his office. I wanted to throw a mint at the slow talker on the phone, or at the least shout “Capisco!”
I let out a lazy “good day,” then found myself selling eggs and sausages and other meats (including breaded shrimp) at Captain’s mini food market/shack up on the hill a ways. A big shipment of random food arrived and I worked away in silence for several hours, striking boxes and organizing the place, taking liberties, and all the while streategizing and wondering what to do next.
I remembered the days I would treasure hunt at my parents house as a fifth grader. I did this often solo when I was bored. I would pick an area of the house and dive deep into piles, looking for random cool things. It was like scuba diving for me, wondrous and random. This one day, I was in a large shoe closet, and came across a 2 piece cassette set with a cover that read in bright green, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”
I remember setting it up in a corner, as if its on display. Then I recalled all the moments I passed that damn small box for the next 10 years. For some reason, no one ever moved it.
I never opened it either.
It was enough inspiration the way it made its way into my life, and I was fearful that the cassette tapes wouldn’t offer any real advice or inspiration. Somehow, though, seeing it so often, left me pondering it permanently. Then I remembered the day after I took Ecstacy for the first (and last time), and was brushing my teeth in slow motion as I passed the small box. I remember thinking of how retarded I felt brushing my teeth. Then everything stopped. And there it was, the light at the end of the tunnel. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Those words crept into my conciousness like a Kubrick flick. (It didn’t help me brush faster or anything, but it felt so powerful and hypnotizing). I realized then that somehow, this small box had became a shrine of sorts over the years. I almost felt as if I should tip my hat or bow everytime I passed.
The sun was setting over the lofty mountains of 12+K ft. The back entrance of the food shack had a panoramic view of the looming mountains and the large city below it. It was getting cold. An array of daunting (yet strangely reassuring) sirrus clouds bled a streaky plush orange everywhere, spreading graciously across the peaks and thinned out finely on the horizon. Pensive, wise clouds I thought, if clouds could be such. It was spectacular. And there was no where else I wanted to be at that moment, but in this solitude of opening boxes, stocking sausages, and staring into the sunset.
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