Under it are the words, City of Poets and Roses. On the opposite page is a glossy photo of the Hafez mausoleum in Shiraz. Nakamura regarding pearls, lunch at home, receive shipment of black opals from Australia around 3:00 PM, pick up shoes from cobbler-appointments he won’t be keeping.
His calendar is spread open and he stares at it, at today’s date, September 20, 1981, at the notes scribbled on the page- call Mr. He looks down at his desk, at the indifferent items witnessing this event-the scattered files, a metal paperweight, a box of Dunhill cigarettes, a crystal ashtray, and a cup of tea, freshly brewed, two mint leaves floating inside. Isaac shuts the inventory notebook before him. The smaller man points his rifle directly at Isaac and walks toward him, his steps too long for his legs. We’re here by orders of the Revolutionary Guards.
A few months ago they took his friend Kourosh Nassiri, and just weeks later news got around that Ali the baker had disappeared. When Isaac Amin sees two men with rifles walk into his office at half past noon on a warm autumn day in Tehran, his first thought is that he won’t be able to join his wife and daughter for lunch, as promised.īrother Amin? the shorter of the men says.
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