The Moving Prison by William Mirza & Thom Lemmons

Author:William Mirza & Thom Lemmons [Mirza, William & Lemmons, Thom]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: historical, Fiction, Suspense, War & Military, Christian, Islam, Political, Judaism, Iranian Revolution, Cultural Heritage, Religious Persecution
ISBN: 9780781410038
Google: 987bN_k0iLUC
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 17120220
Publisher: David C Cook
Published: 1995-03-31T18:30:00+00:00

Esther took a sip of lukewarm tea and carefully set her cup back into the matching bone-china saucer in her lap. Biting her lip, she looked again at the plywood box sitting in the study. Ahmed Dabirian’s oldest son had delivered it early this morning. He told her Ezra had ordered it and presented her with a bill. Grudgingly, she had allowed him inside and given him the money.

Even a casual glance inside the box showed that the outside area did not match that within. Surely an experienced customs inspector would see that there was space at the bottom of the box unaccounted for by the visible inner dimensions. She doubted the wisdom of Ezra’s apparent plans for the hidden compartment. If they were discovered taking hard currency out of the country, no receipt or endorsement from Mullah Hafizi would save them.

Since Ezra’s delivery from Evin Prison, Esther’s attitude toward emigration from Iran had undergone a drastic change. She was now in an agony of eagerness to leave. The distress of her husband’s imprisonment, combined with the frank hostility of the search party, had made her a willing accomplice in the plan to escape to the West. As if these weren’t enough, their daughter feared for her life if she returned to school. Of course Ezra had agreed that keeping Sepi at home was for the best.

Esther was willing to abandon every shred of property and wealth they owned to facilitate their departure. But Ezra still went along with his plans, keeping his own counsel—to protect her, he said—making his careful, studied moves. Now, instead of being angered with his intent to leave, she was frustrated by his tedious, silent preparations, his apparent nonchalance. She wanted nothing more than to quit the churning cauldron of chaos that her country had become. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him to hurry up, to get them out of this cursed place. But Ezra plodded along, ordering a shipping crate with a false bottom, as if they had all the time in the world to pack their goods and make an orderly departure.

Moosa came downstairs, scratching his tousled hair and yawning. Esther looked at him, worry creasing her eyes. Why was he staying out so late, especially in times like these? Every night, rifle fire could be heard in all quarters of the city, as pasdars skirmished with resentful supporters of the Shah, or with mujahideen guerrillas. Even the mullahs had taken to wearing guns in these days of madness.

Walking home from the bus stop, Esther had seen graffiti sprayed on the wall: “Qalat kardeem—We made a mistake.” Too late, some had realized the dangers of placing so much power in the hands of the long-repressed mullahs. Yet her son had taken to roaming the streets at night. She didn’t know where he went on his mysterious nocturnal trips—and was not certain she wanted to know. Perhaps the country’s insanity was infecting all its citizens. Moosa glanced at her, then away, as he plodded sleepily into the kitchen.

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