I opened the front door to a somewhat haggard but glowy eyed Saydonlu carrying a heavy duty samsonite brief case. An enormous smile. “Bobak jaan. Salaam…” He was over two hours late, but the man came through. And that’s all that counts.  Hope.

It was 10:17pm. I poured tea and whipped out my wild card, an award winning walnut cake just out of the oven.

 

He appeared unusually excited to see my father; they had a good time together two months back when my father had invited him over to put the pressure on for the visa and to assess the situation. (That’s when Saydonlu dropped in with a bodyguard. This time he was solo.) Last week in his office, Saydonlu questioned where my father was, with a large smile, and then exclaimed reverentially, “ Your father is one of the authentic Bakhtiari’s! From the roots!” There was an element of nationalism and pride in his voice. I remember then suddenly thinking about a recess break in 5th grade at Woodside Elementary School,  among Kate Corfman’s clique, and being called Bacteria for the first time.

Throughout my childhood, I passionately and secretly hated my last name. Not only was it difficult to pronounce, because it features a loogie hawking character that’s not in the English alphabet, but it was often misspelled and most importantly, it  instantly evokes a world of ubiquitous disease-causing microscopic organisms. Heck, if I saw that name in 5th grade as a Caucasian kid, I’d crack jokes too. To avoid doing such a thing would be radically opposed to fundamental childhood principles of fun and humor.

I had always avoided saying Bakhtiari. I always wished my last name was Smith or Johnson or even Ming. Then I thought about highschool when they’d have me down as “Baklava” in the San Mateo Times when I’d score over 3 goals in a Water Polo match. This actually I sort of enjoyed being called; a delicious pastry wins over unwanted microbes any day. ( Plus my coach, Brian Feeley, really got a kick out of it. In fact, I think he was more excited to open a paper and see “Baklava” than to witness me actually scoring goals. ) But in truth, it was also a very inefficient last name. I always had to spell it over 3 or 4 times and repeat it endlessly until my correspondent would get it right. Imagine all the extra time I have spent in my life repeating the last name, “Bakhtiari”, respelling it, making corrections, and re-pronouncing it. Priceless. Later though, I grew to accept it as a unique thing. But it was an ardous and time consuming path of evasion until mid highschool.

In Iran, however, there was no hiding from it. And I didn’t want to. The name carries a momentum of nationalism and a gravity that always musters a second glance or an inquisitive look. The Bakhtiari’s are one of the few nomads still present in Iran. There are actually two films about them: Grass and People Of the Wind. I like to think of them as self-sufficient, compelling maniacs of momentum, that are always on the move and have long had a pivotal role in anchoring the Iranian identity, even in the face of ruthless powers as the Mongolians and the Arabs. I prefer to introduce myself with my last name here. Its instant respect.

I poured a third cup of tea as we waited for the delivery of lamb kabobs and herbs. I asked Saydonlu about his life and his background. He opened up. His life stories reminded me of the autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini, (which I highly recommend), in the wide range of his activities and the passionate specificity of his retelling. From Karate kid personality to war hero, Saydonlu was a man of many missions.

He was ranked 5th in the nation in Karate when he was drafted to the Iran-Iraq war. There he spent 38 months in battle, sustaining several injuries, and in the midst of Saddam’s chemical warfare. “I still take a lot of meds, for my stomach… my physiology is still somewhat out of whack…” He lit a cigarette and proceeded to smoke it like Audrey Hepburn would.

In awe of several of his stories, I began to understand why I had always felt the presence of a legendary character when around him, one that resculpted the dynamics of the room through brooding and self-absorbed silences. When speaking with him, it was always on his frequency; his effortless energy consumed the room and loftily dictated where the conversation would go, a bit like Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest ( but minus the eyebrow madness).

One of his stories involving the Iran-Iraq war: “When we were out battling near the border of Iraq, after Khomeini had agreed on a proper defensive, the area was littered with mines… Everyday, men would fight eachother over who would first go forward in an altruistic act to clear the path for the others and check for active mines. Men wanted to give their lives. It wasn’t in desperation either. It was because dying in the cause meant immediate access to Paradise.”

After an hour of tea, I was getting anxious because there was still no mention of the run. It was 1130pm by now. I wondered if my father was simply shooting the shit or in strategy mode. Then finally:

“This is an important project and I want to see it through….Let me tell you exactly what happened last time you attempted to run… There was a lack of planning and it was partially my fault. We cleared the path and sponsored you two, but unfortunately 2 days after the run began, the Asia Cup soccer tournament was happening in Qatar so I had to attend. The event was so disorganized we didn’t get sim cards for 4 days. .. During the run, Intelligence intercepted the run and asked the officials who is assuming responsibility for the American running. Head of Tourism said not I, pointing to the Physical Education Organization. When they consulted with the P.E.O., one of the guys in there denied any responsibility and the run was suddenly stopped. They tried to contact me but it was too late. The Nuclear energy thing wasn’t an issue. In fact, I was disheartened to find out that you wore the banners at all. ..It was a matter of no one assuming responsibility for Tyler, who had a tourist visa which we overrode. It was as simple as that…”

I further inquired what all the hype was about Tyler’s Japanese film being implicated as “political” and his beverage scholarship being cited. “Those were all secondary… and they don’t mean much… But listen, I am deeply invested in this project and I am doing everything in my power to get the visa before April 10th. “ It was evident that he was revealing a lot more than he had at his office a few days ago. He then mentioned he’d be in a meeting with the President within the next “10 days or so” and lit another cigarette.

I suggested if it would make a difference for Tyler to draft a letter to the president directly. He agreed that could be useful. I phoned Tyler.

We ate beef and lamb kabobs, onions, and plates of herbs. I remained vigilant of the tea all nite, keeping it fresh, the water hot, and served over 8 cups of tea per person throughout the night. Not having decent tea and lots of it during a serious meeting is like not having a bun for a hot dog.

Jafari joined in around midnite and the three chatted away about the project at length, taking brief tangents to share jokes of a political nature and also to compare military stories. I mostly observed after I had comprised a To Do list. As the night went on, the 3 appeared to me as old elementary school buddies reuniting after several years, simply having a good time. Even the prospect of a land purchase by Saydonlu via Jafari was discussed. They were shooting the shit into the night.

By 2am, Saydonlu had sketched out the plan of action:

*To open as many channels of potential supporters and give them his contact information.

*To have a letter from Tyler faxed to him, along with a letter from US Track and Field simply expressing Tyler’s interest to run the length of the country; this was in order to further validate the need for an athletic visa.

*For Saydonlu to meet with the President when the new years celebration is over and work on having an athletic visa by the 10th.

It was clear that his tone and his drive to make this happen had changed after seeing Kintaro Walks Japan. Saydonlu doesn’t speak any English, but he expressed he was moved by the piece. “I liked his work; it was a very interesting film and this style of film will make a dramatic impact on the way Iranians are perceived…. Tyler has a great energy and a great heart. I believe in this project and I want it to happen just as much as you.”

Around 230am, Saydonlu exited the scene with his master briefcase that he never opened. We sent him off with a satin blanket and some small gifts we had brought over for him from the US. (Well, actually, my mother had selected the gifts and packed it in my bag.)