Page 3 of Grave Danger
Yasmin broke free from her teacher and ran to the gate. The head of school passed her to Ava.
“May Allah keep you safe,” the school head whispered.
Ava took her daughter in her arms, just long enough to make her feel safe, and then put her back on the sidewalk. Other mothers at the gate called for their daughters and prayed aloud.
“We must hurry,” Ava shouted, and she started running, leading Yasmin along with her.
“Are we going home?”
“Daddy’s office,” said Ava. “It’s closer.”
Ava made a turn down a side street. Demonstrators sprinted past her and Yasmin, and Ava could see the utter panic on their faces. A gunshot rang out somewhere in the surrounding neighborhood. The crowd scattered in all directions, people screaming in confusion, and the race down the street became a stampede of civilians in search of any safe place to hide from the police. Ava’s husband had his office on the north side of the boulevard, but barricades blocked their way. Armed members of Tehran’s Guidance Patrol had closed off the square. Yasmin could run no farther. Crying and exhausted, she forced her mother to stop.
“What now, Mommy?”
Their apartment wasn’t as close as Farid’s office, but there was no other choice. Ava picked up Yasmin and carried her, running a half block and then walking to catch her breath, then running again towardhome. Another canister of tear gas exploded behind them, propelling Ava forward. Gunshots cracked in rapid succession—pow, pow, pow!—unleashing screams and more panic.
“Stop right there, woman!” a police officer shouted.
Ava froze. Two officers rushed toward her. The bigger one grabbed her by the arm.
“Where is your hijab?” he demanded.
Ava reached for it, only to discover that her scarf was gone.
“It must have fallen off,” she said. “I was running with my daughter, trying to get home safely.”
“You cut your hair,” said the other officer accusingly.
“No,” said Ava. “I wear it short.”
“You lie!”
“No, it’s true. Our family just returned from London. We lived there for my husband’s work. I wear my hair short with his permission.”
“You were one of those women who cut their hair in protest.”
“No, that’s not true!” said Ava, her voice shaking. “I obey the laws.”
“Liar!”
Ava didn’t see it coming, but the sudden crack of his baton against her arm made her cry out in pain.
“Mommy!” Yasmin shrieked.
“Where is your husband?”
“At work,” she said, which drew another smack of the baton.
“The address!”
Ava gave it to him. The officer told his partner to “take the girl to her father,” and then he cuffed Ava’s hands behind her back.
“You’re under arrest.”
“No, please!”
Yasmin called out to her mother, but they were being pulled in opposite directions. The arresting officer dragged Ava toward the police van, where more officers, batons swinging, were shoving men, women, and teenagers into the back of the van like mob criminals. Ava checked over her shoulder again and again, calling to her daughter, until Yasmin disappeared intothe back of a squad car. Her heart sank as the beacons flashed and the car pulled away.