Narisa 1

By C. Stanton Leman

Chapter 3

…All he said to me was, “It’s time.”

It’s time…

Those words had such a tone of foreboding and doom. Just the way he said it seemed to fuel my suspicions that I was being led to the hangman. With a deep sigh of resignation, I slowly rose and exited the cell. He grabbed me by the arm and briskly walked me through a series of corridors to where I’d begun my incarceration. I was told to strip, shower and shave what little beard I had after which my street clothes were handed to me. They’d been cleaned.

After completing my ablutions and dressing, I had shackles placed on my ankles connected with a chain about two feet long limiting my stride. My hands were handcuffed in front of me then I was led outside and put into a waiting vehicle where we left for the location of my trial.

On the way to court, I began to feel hopelessness slip in and began to cry. Clenching my jaw and squeezing my eyes shut tightly as I fought to regain my composure. I swallowed hard and resolved not to give my accusers the satisfaction of seeing me fall apart.

I gave a silent, ironic chuckle to myself thinking that if I was to have a lawyer, he’d never even visited me to formulate my defense. Some defense! It seemed the verdict was already in…

Well, there’s nothing I can do about it now, just steel myself and accept it.

When we pulled up to the building of justice, there was a noisy throng of people outside the courthouse all abuzz, seemingly waiting for the infidel to be tried. I was led into an anteroom next to the actual courtroom from a side door and was instructed to sit and wait to be called.

I could hear many people talking in the other room, but couldn’t make out anything being said. I heard a gavel drop three times, the door opened up and a uniformed guard took me by the arm to escort me into the courtroom.

In the front of the courtroom, sat a panel of three mullahs with the presiding judge in the center and I assumed a clerk and court reporter sat adjacent to the bench. The trial judge, I was soon to find out, was also the prosecutor. I learned (and experienced) that Iran has what’s called an inquisitional type of justice system.

As I was led to my place, I saw my parents, our guides, my friends, Rafi and his father behind where I was to sit. I even saw Doe Eyes as she sat a few seats behind Omar crying. My mother was sobbing as quietly as she could, but it could be heard easily over the murmurs of the audience. My Dad had tears in his eyes as he saw me shackled and led into the courtroom. In the front row of the gallery I saw my assailants sitting smugly with arms across their chests.

My lawyer immediately introduced himself as Samir Bashira. He hurriedly told me that he felt something was up and this didn’t appear to be a normal trial. The mood of the court and the unheard of presence of officials from the Special Clerical Court were also in attendance were indicators that this was an unusual trial. Shaking his head, he said in a low voice, “This could be bad: very, very bad.”

His English was good and Samir said that he’d translate for me as quickly as he could so that I was fully aware of what was going on and could answer when directed to.

The trial judge banged his gavel three times again, and all eyes followed his to the opposite side of the room as a side door slowly opened. The crowd gasped as a woman dressed in traditional garb led a small, young girl towards the table next to me on my left. I recognized her as the girl I’d tried to save by the cut on her forehead above her left eye. It had been closed with several stitches and she was dressed in an all black abaya and hajib and was handcuffed in the front as I was.

Our eyes met for the first time as she approached the table. She stood about four feet nine or so, very slender build (from my recollection of her nude form that fateful day) with large, brilliant blue eyes. She was weeping and the tears rolled down her cheeks as she silently walked to her seat. Even through her tears and our fleeting glance, I saw a glimmer of a smile of appreciation directed at me for my efforts. Her face was symmetrical with high cheekbones, a small mouth with pink lips and a small, straight nose. Even in painful distress she was absolutely lovely. From looking at her, I raised my estimation of her age to about eleven, maybe twelve.

As soon as I saw her, my heart was overwhelmed with joy that she was alive but that feeling was soon replaced with an ominous feeling of dread. I knew they were going to torment each of us as the other was tried, convicted and sentenced.

My lawyer leaned over and said, “They will try you both together. This isn’t normally done and it’s probably the work of the Special Clerical Court. The world is watching this case and its outcome. Somehow word got out that an American is being charged with a capital offense. It is rumored that a plot was averted to frame the girl to destroy her father and they didn’t anticipate a foreigner intervening. I will help you all I can, but things look very, very bad.”

I turned to him and said in an almost sardonic tone, “You’ve already said that once.”

He just looked at me and shrugged.

They did get the story out! I wonder if Hasan had anything to do with it?

The courtroom was abuzz with the murmurings of the spectators for several minutes as the mullahs shuffled papers between them. Once ready, the trial judge banged his gavel three times and said in Farsi, “Quite, this court will now come to order. We are here to prosecute these two accused of crimes against Islam and the state.”

“Narisa Assad, step forward.” ordered the judge.

The young girl stood with her escort and proceeded to slowly walk towards the bench and stopped, standing about four feet in front of the quorum.

Narisa… now I knew her name. It’s ironic that she’s the first Iranian I’ve seen with blue eyes.

“You have been charged,” the prosecutor/judge began, “with offending the public morality and committing acts incompatible with public chastity. How do you plead?”

“Not guilty, your holiness,” Narisa answered meekly.

“On July twelfth,” he continued, “were you not standing outside an open doorway on a public street, in full view of the public displaying yourself like a prostitute peddling her wares?”

“No your holiness,” she answered. “I was outside the doorway looking for my brother who was coming to take me home. I was not displaying myself.”

“Was an adult with you, watching with you for your brother?” the judge asked.

“No your holiness,” Narisa responded. “I stepped outside to check and see if he was approaching.”

“So,” he said as if having already proven his case, “you were standing outside an open doorway, near the street, alone, in full view of anyone walking down the street as a prostitute would show herself to be available to any man on the street.”

“But I wasn’t displaying myself. I was just looking for my brother!” Narisa pleaded.

“Enough!” he shouted, “By your own admission you were standing alone by the edge of a public street in full view of the public — is this not the truth?”

“Yes, your holiness,” she replied. “I was standing by the roadside outside my friend’s door looking for my brother.”

“By your own testimony,” he said with finality, “you have convicted yourself and we find you guilty of the charges of prostitution and acts incompatible with public chastity. You are hereby sentenced to fifteen lashes and death by hanging as is prescribed under Islamic law.”

Being held steady by her female escort, Narisa let out a heart-rending cry, started shaking and lost control of her bladder. As the puddle of wetness formed and widened around her feet, her knees buckled but she was caught and held fast by the matron. Narisa began sobbing and pleading, “Repentance, please I beg repentance!”

Pointing to the floor, “Your actions today only confirm what you have convicted yourself to be.” mocked the judge. “Only a prostitute would relieve herself in such a public display.”

I vowed not to let them see me cry, but the humiliation of the scene before me was too much to bear and I began to cry as I covered my face with my hands. Even a district police chief’s daughter received no mercy here today. It seemed that dirty politics and corruption would cost Narisa her life. I knew then that my parent’s reputation would be of no help to me and I would meet the same fate as the girl I’d tried to save.

“On the twentieth of July, three days hence,” the judge said as he finished, “at six a.m. you will be hanged in the public square until you are dead.”

The women in the courtroom wailed as if all were her mother. The matron had to practically drag Narisa back to her seat like a limp rag doll because she didn’t have the volition to stand on her own. She’d stopped crying but she now stared blankly into space as if catalectic.

After Narisa was seated, the court was called back to order after the floor was cleaned. The prosecutor/judge shuffled some papers as he whispered to the other two mullahs. When he was ready to begin again, he banged his gavel three times and called my name (or what I understood to be my name).

I wiped my eyes and with a composing sniffle, slowly stood erect and moved to stand where Narisa had stood in front of the bench with my lawyer. He stared at me with a venomous, evil look and said, “You are charged with obstructing officers of the Islamic Republic of Iran while discharging their duties in accordance with Islamic law, and interfering in the internal affairs of our sovereign nation. You are also charged with grievous sexual assault and defilement of a virginal, unmarried Muslim girl by lying upon and touching her nakedness as a man would with his wife, bringing shame upon her and her family. How do you plead?”

Samir raised his hand and objected saying, “I must object, your holiness. My client is a citizen of the United States and has no knowledge of Islamic law or the workings of the police in our country. It was not his intention to sexually assault or defile this young girl, only to protect her as would a fireman or a policeman in an emergency. As to the charges of obstruction, my client didn’t know those men were officers of the court.”

“Objection denied!” the judge ruled with a bang of his gavel. “Ignorance is no excuse of the law. If a blind man touches an electrical wire and knows nothing of electricity, does he not still get electrocuted?”

“Joshua Williams,” the judge said directing his stare at me, “In your American passport, does it not say to acquaint oneself with the laws of the countries you visit? And doesn’t it also state that while you are in a foreign country you are subject to its laws?”

“Yes, your honor,” I answered, “my passport does so caution its citizens.”

“How do you plead?” he asked leaning forward on his elbows.

“Not guilty. I stopped a murder, your honor, not an arrest.” I answered. “I did not sexually assault the girl; I only shielded her from further injury.”

“Do you know for an unequivocal fact that she was being murdered? Do you have any factual evidence of this perceived murder in progress to make such an accusation?” the judge goaded me.

“I have no concrete proof that she was being murdered, but it looked like she was being stoned to death, your honor.” I answered.

“Was she breathing when you laid upon her naked body and grabbed her by her bare, uncovered shoulders and wreathed upon her naked, virginal body?” he asked sarcastically.

“I did not wreathe upon her your honor and yes, she was breathing.”

“So,” he said like he was springing the trap, “in your expert opinion, knowing Islamic law and justice, she was being murdered and you were assisting this country by preventing a crime. Is that correct? Does the court understand this to be your testimony?”

“In my own humble opinion, your honor,” I qualified, “not from any expert knowledge of Islamic law. I truly believed in my heart that her life was in mortal danger. I was not the one to defile her person, your honor. I saw a girl defiled by a group of men by forcibly stripping her naked in public then assaulted with stones. ”

“Well,” he taunted, “if you felt this girl was being defiled, why did you aid in her defilement by accosting her lying on and grinding yourself upon her. And another thing, and the girl you defiled is sitting right here in the courtroom. Did she not walk into this courtroom unaided and under her own power? Does she appear to have any broken bones or life threatening injuries that can be seen?”

“No, your honor, she doesn’t;” I agreed, “but she does have a gash on her forehead that required stitches and if I hadn’t shielded her body and taken the majority of the blows intended for her, she might not be sitting here today.”

“Hmmm.” he muttered looking at some papers, “The evidence shows that she received her head injury as a result of you pouncing on top of her and the bruises unseen under her clothing are a result of you grinding her body into the ground as you lasciviously moved on top of her.”

“Someone must have been mistaken.” I replied. “Her head wound was a result of being struck in the forehead with a rock. I committed no lascivious acts or movements upon her, your honor.”

“Enough!” he said gruffly, “You offer no proof for your suppositions and your defense is contrived yet you admit to laying upon and holding a naked virginal Muslim girl by her bare shoulders. Did you or did you not lie upon a naked Muslim girl and hold her by her bare shoulders — answer yes or no?”

“Yes I did,” I admitted.

“And did you or did you not interfere with the officers of this court based on the immature, unknowledgeable and fabricated mental ramblings of a fourteen-year-old boy without any substantial evidence as a basis for your defense — yes or no?”

“Yes I did your honor. I believed with all my heart her life was in mortal danger.”

“By your own admission,” he said victoriously, “You have convicted yourself of the charges against you. You have just openly admitted to lying upon a naked girl in public while holding her by her bare shoulders and interfering with officers of the court in the course of their duties. You are hereby sentenced to ten years in prison and thirty lashes for obstruction of justice and interfering in the internal affairs of the Islamic Republic of Iran. After your prison term is served, you shall be hanged until you are dead for crimes against public morality and for the sexual assault and defilement of a virginal Muslim girl.”

I stood with my jaw locked tight, fighting back the tears and stood erect and motionless with my cuffed hands clinched tightly together in front of me as the verdict sunk in. Throughout the courtroom could be heard my mother’s deep guttural cry “Oh my God no! Please have mercy on him!”

I glanced around the courtroom and caught my parent’s painful, shocked gaze. I saw the pained expressions on the faces of my friends, Narisa’s family and spectators in attendance. I looked at our assailants who sat with leering, victorious grins. I then turned and looked over at Narisa and she had her head down, hands over her face sobbing. I took a deep sigh and turned to look the judge squarely in the eye as the corner of his tight, pursed lips just perceptibly curled upward.

I remained standing erect, not knowing what to do: should I turn and return to my seat? Should I remain standing here, or will I be led away to serve my prison term while Narisa is led to her death? My mind was in total shutdown.

In the background I could hear the room filled with the painful cries and tears of Narisa, my parents, our friends and sympathetic citizens. The judge just seemed to let this wailing continue and relished in his victory as he looked around the courtroom.

The presiding mullah: our prosecutor, judge and jury banged his gavel numerous times to quell the mournful cries of those present and although the crying subsided it didn’t stop completely.

He began, what I thought was his summation…

“Today, all present in this courtroom have borne witness to the conviction of those guilty of crimes against morality and chastity, of sexual assault and interference in the internal affairs of our country. They have been fairly tried and convicted by their own admissions and have been sentenced to the fullest extent of Islamic law.”

He paused for effect and continued, “But as we all know, Allah, all power and glory unto Him, is a great and merciful God. Being true believers of the faith, the execution of justice in Iran can also praise Him by being merciful.”

As I listened to the word “merciful,” my blank mind snapped back to reality thinking that our lives might yet possibly be spared.

“As a result of the interference by a foreign national into the internal affairs of our Republic and one of the accused is relative to an esteemed officer of the court, the Special Clerical Court has taken it upon itself and considered this case in conjunction with the Revolutionary Court using the holy precepts of Shana (Islamic law) as their guide.”

“Will the convicted prostitute Narisa Assad, step forward and stand before the court.”

We glanced at each other momentarily as she stood and moved to stand before the bench and came to a stop next to me about three feet to my left. The judge began to speak.

“Narisa Assad, you have been convicted of prostitution and crimes incompatible with public chastity. You have begged for repentance and will now be given an opportunity to repent. This court will grant you leniency, with conditions, if your act of repentance is deemed to be genuine and accepted. Do you now accept these conditions, regardless of what they may be to receive clemency?” he offered.

“Yes, your holiness,” she replied. “I accept the leniency of the court and its conditions and am thankful for the opportunity to repent.”

The judge nodded for her to proceed.

Narisa’s body visibly relaxed and she fell to her knees with her head bowed to the floor and began sobbing out her prayer, “Oh please merciful and loving Allah, I beseech you, please hear the heartfelt pleas of this wretched sinner’s supplications. Forgive me my sins, cleanse me of shame and grant forgiveness to your humble servant. All praise, honor and glory is yours oh merciful Allah, spare the life you have so graciously given me and I shall praise and worship thy name all the days of my life.”

Narisa remained on the floor sitting with her legs under her and her head bowed forward touching the floor in front of her sobbing.

The judge banged his gavel once and ordered, “Stand woman, your heartfelt repentance has been heard which this court believes to be sincere. Just remember the words of your supplication and fulfill them all the days of your life.”

“Joshua Williams,” he said as he turned and looked at me, “You have been convicted of interfering in the internal affairs of the Islamic Republic of Iran and defiling an Iranian Muslim woman. Allah extends His mercy to all the creatures of the earth, including infidels so that His presence is known in all men’s hearts. If you will make a taped, public and heartfelt acknowledgement of your crimes, stating the fairness of your treatment and trial and profess genuine remorse for wrongdoing, you too will be granted leniency with certain conditions. Do you now accept the clemency of this court and its conditions regardless of what they may be? Do you wish to make your profession of guilt and remorse at this time?”

I stood silent for a few moments thinking this wasn’t the end of it, there had to be a catch: something more he was holding back. What real choice did I have? I was facing ten years in prison only to be hanged…

I looked at Samir and he was shaking his head begging me to accept. I started to look back at my parents but the judge stopped me saying, “Stop! In this country, you are considered an adult man. Make your decision and make it alone with the conviction of a man without any outside influence. Let your decision be yours and yours alone.”

I took a deep breath, exhaled slowly and replied, “I accept the promise of this court for clemency with all its conditions. By accepting the good faith offer of leniency by this court, I am willing to now make a public statement and profess my guilt and remorse for my crimes.”

There were murmurs and whispers from the gallery as a video camera was set up behind the bench to record me full face while I made my taped confession. While this was taking place, I thought about what I’d say. I remembered taped confessions shown of TV of downed American pilots or captured soldiers and civilians in Muslim countries. Most of us in the west took them for what they were: coerced statements made only to save one’s life. It didn’t matter if what was said was heartfelt or not. The world knows that a person will make such statements to preserve their life.

When they were ready, the judge nodded for me to begin.

“I, Joshua Williams, a citizen of the Unites States of America, have committed and been convicted of interfering in the internal affairs of the Islamic Republic of Iran and defiling and shaming a female Iranian citizen and her family by a fair and just court under Islamic principles. In return for the fair treatment during my detention and trial along with leniency promised by this court, I wish to express my heartfelt sorrow for my crimes and I ask for the court’s forgiveness along with that of the girl, her family and also of the people of Iran.”

When I was finished, there was silence throughout the entire courtroom. The judge waved his hand and the camera was turned off.

“Now for your fates, according to all the conditions both of you have agreed to,” the judge said solemnly.

Narisa and I stood facing forward and I think we were both waiting for the hammer to drop.

“Under Islamic law,” the judge began, “there is only one means to absolve the defilement and shame inflicted on a virgin and her family by the perpetrator and one and only one by which that shame may be absolved.”

He leaned forward with his hands on the bench and continued, “Narisa Assad, the absolution of your shame that you’ve brought upon yourself, that same shame you prayed fervently for Allah to forgive can only be removed by one means.”

“Joshua Williams,” he continued as he looked at me, “that same shameful act of defilement that you seek forgiveness and absolution for from her, her family and this court can only be obtained by a man resolved to do what’s right and just to show his repentant desire to restore that girl’s dignity. You have lain upon her nakedness as a husband would and touched her bare body. The only fitting and right way to remove her shame is for you to marry the prostitute you have committed fornication with.”

Immediately one of our assailants stood and shouted, “I must protest! Under no circumstances according to Islamic law is a Muslim woman allowed to marry an infidel!”

While this man was shouting, Narisa and I looked at each other in total shock, disbelieving what we’d just heard.

The judge sat back in his chair, picked up several pages and while putting on his glasses responded to the man’s objection.

“In considering this unique case by the Special Clerical Court, they have considered and rendered a decision, based on the special circumstances of this particular case using strict interpretation of Islamic law.”

Interrupting his explanation to read from his notes, he continued. “The marriage of a Christian man and a Muslim woman although not specifically forbidden verbatim in Holy Scripture, that omission in the Qur’an has been interpreted to be deemed undesirable and thus not allowed. Now we have to remember that in this case, the Muslim woman in question is a convicted prostitute and not a moral, upright and chaste believer of the faith and as such, has no rights or protection under the law. Let us concentrate on the verses in question to understand the high court’s decision.”

He looked at his papers continuing, “The Qur’an states in Al-Baqarah 2:221, ‘And give not them (Muslim women) in marriage until the idolaters believe.’ And again in Al-Mumtahinah 60:10, “They (Muslim women) are not lawful to them (the disbelievers) nor are they (the disbeliever) lawful to them.’ A closer look at these verses taken in context, specifically relate to idolaters of a polytheistic religion. It has been accepted proper interpretation of the Qur’an by scholars that there are some aspects of Jewish and Christian beliefs that are polytheistic in nature. The usage of the term “Mushrik” in the Qur’an is a polytheistic person who ascribes partners and equals to the one true God. It is for this reason that the Qur’an, even though it has referred to some Jewish and Christian beliefs which according the concept of Taweed, amount to polytheism, the Qur’an has mentioned Jews and Christians as a distinct and separate group from polytheists. This fact should be clear according to scripture in Al-Baqarah 2:105, Aal Imraan 3:67, Surah Al-Taubah 9:1-33 and Al-Bayyinah 98:1.”

“The decisions and rulings by the Special Clerical Court are irrevocable and final,” the judge admonished the gallery.

Taking his glasses off and setting the papers on the bench before him he looked at both of us and said, “To grant the redemption and absolution for the sins both of you have confessed to and to remove your shame, do you both agree to marry, here, in this courtroom today as one of your conditions for clemency?”

Narisa stood silently waiting for me to answer while I stood stoically in shock at what I was being asked to commit to hit home. All within a matter of moment’s thoughts raced through my head. I’m fourteen for God’s sakes! How can I marry a ten or twelve-year-old girl? How? If any of the other conditions means prison, how can I support or protect her: will Mom and Dad be able to? Will this just delay her death once again if I’m jailed and unable to care for her? Will we be able to leave and go to the U.S. to live our lives? If I said no, we’ll both lose our lives. Somehow, by my instinctual empathy to protect her I had somehow joined our fates and lives forever. Here was that ripple in the pond of our combined histories: hers, our families and mine — and ours as husband and wife!

I calmed myself and began to conclude that this whole trial: this show of publicly convicting us and sentencing us to death was all a charade to get us to be partners to their scheme to sweep this whole thing under the rug. The Iranian government didn’t want any part of this or the backlash it would produce and wanted it to be over and done with. We marry and live, albeit convicted criminals and probably go home while they save face with the world all in the name of fair and merciful Islamic justice. I didn’t see any way out except to receive what I’d prayed for: acceptance to whatever fate God had in store for me.

At fourteen, I was about to take a bride.

The judge cocked an eyebrow at me as if to say, “Well?”

“Is she agrees, I will marry Narisa Assad and cherish her as my wife.” I stated with conviction.

Narisa relaxed as if she were holding her breath waiting for my decision.

“And you Narisa Assad,” the judge asked, “Will you consent to marry your defiler?”

She didn’t answer but gave a perceptible single nod.

“Your honor?” I asked humbly.

“You may speak,” he replied.

“How old is my intended bride?” I asked.

He nodded to Narisa and she looked at me and smiled meekly then replied, “I am thirteen years and one month.”

As I leaned down and heard Samir’s translation, I nodded and gave a sigh of relief. At least she was just a year younger than I. He quickly added, “I will walk you through the ceremony. Just repeat what I say, okay?”

I nodded agreement

The judge looked over the gallery and ordered, “All unmarried girls and women are hereby ordered to leave the courtroom and bring her mother forward.”

(Iranian wedding custom is that an unmarried girl should only hear the ceremony for the first time at her own wedding.)

Samir told me that the judge will ask both of us three times if we take each other as husband and wife. The bride will remain silent twice but you are to answer. She will declare her intentions on the third request. This indicates that you seek her and that she has considered and married of her own free will before consenting.

I think I’ve got the jist…

After the courtroom had been emptied of all unmarried females and Narisa’s mom stood next to her daughter, the judge said, “Let’s begin.”

After several readings from the Qur’an, he asked, “Do you Joshua Williams seek the hand of Narisa Assad in marriage?”

“Yes, I wish to marry her.”

“And you, Narisa Assad, do you wish to be joined to Joshua Williams as his wife?”

Narisa’s mother replied, “The bride is thinking.”

“Again,” the judge asked, “do you Joshua Williams seek the hand of Narisa Assad in marriage?”

“I do seek her hand in marriage.”

“And you, Narisa Assad, do you wish to be joined in marriage to Joshua Williams as his wife?”

“I’m sorry, you holiness, she has gone to pick flowers.” her mother replied (Note: this is a traditional response).

Pick flowers???

“Again, Joshua Williams do you seek the hand in marriage of Narisa Assad as you wife?”

“I do seek the hand of Narisa Assad as my wife.”

“For the last time Narisa Assad, do you wish to be joined in marriage to Joshua Williams as his wife?”

Narisa began to speak and said, “Your honor, I stand before this court and declare my intentions. Being of legal age and the only virgin daughter of Nazir Assad, I have given myself in marriage to Joshua Williams (although it sounded differently) of my own free will.”

Samir told me that my next response has to be verbatim: “I have accepted her as my wife.”

“What of a dower?” someone abruptly shouted from the gallery.

“This woman is a convicted prostitute and isn’t entitled to a dower,” the judge responded striking his gavel on the bench.

He then looked at me and asked, “Do you Joshua Williams accept Narisa Assad as your wife?”

I answered, “I have accepted Narisa Assad as my wife.”

“I now pronounce you husband and wife. What God has joined together let no man put asunder. Come forward and sign the Nikaahnama (marriage license)”

How convenient: he just happened to have it with him!

Like that, I was a married man. After Narisa and I signed the document and the three witnessing mullahs signed, we returned to our positions before the bench.

“Now for the last condition of your clemency,” the judge said, “Joshua Williams, do you vow to allow your wife the right to practice her Muslim faith all the days of her life, allowing her to fulfill her plea of repentance and agree to permit her to raise your children in the precepts of Islam?”

“I do,”

“Now…” he added.

What now? There’s more?

“To the issue of punishment and your final fate.” he revealed.

Now the hammer is really about to drop!

“Narisa Assad,” the judge said commandingly, “You will be given fifteen lashes and have the rest of your sentence commuted then set free to reside in your husband’s house. Joshua Williams, you will receive thirty lashes and the rest of your sentence commuted then set free to your temporary residence. This court will expedite and provide all the necessary documents and a passport for you to take your wife and return to the Unites States, neither of you to ever return. You will be permitted to go to the Swiss embassy to obtain permission and travel documents from your government for your wife to be admitted to your homeland to reside in your house. If the U.S. government refuses entry to your legal wife, her sentence of death with be commuted to life imprisonment.”

He banged his gavel once and ordered, “Take the prisoners away and administer their sentence!”

“Wait your honor!” I quickly interjected.

”Do you wish to confess another crime?” he asked sarcastically.

“If it pleases the court, your honor,” I asked, “may I receive my wife’s fifteen lashes in her place?”

“Why do you insist on taking her punishment for a second time?” he asked surprised.

I raised my cuffed hands pleadingly and looking at my bride said, “Isn’t it the duty of a husband to cherish and protect his wife from injury or harm?”

Narisa covered her mouth with her cuffed hands and started to cry openly.

He just stared at me with anger. He probably thought I was doing it to make a fool of him and look like the better “man.”

“So be it!” he retorted in a huff. “Release the woman. Take the prisoner away and give him forty-five lashes with the cane! This trial has been concluded!”

With that, he banged his gavel once with authority and the quorum rose and exited the room.

I was led through the door I entered by and taken downstairs to a room in the basement that had rings embedded in the wall about six feet high off the ground. I was told to remove my shirt and my hands were bound to the rings and my caning began.

THWACK!

THWACK!

THWACK!

I think I lost count around ten. I could hear the whistle of the cane swing through the air before impact. When the cane landed, I felt a sharp, searing, burning sensation on my back. I just thought to float out of my body and let it happen.

When it was over and my hands were unbound, I slumped to the floor in agony. My whole back felt as if it was on fire and I could feel the coolness of the air against the wetness on my skin. Whether it was blood or sweat, I wasn’t sure and didn’t really care: I’d survived and it was now over!

I sat on the floor for several minutes to muster the strength to stand when the man tossed me my shirt. I slowly rose to my feet and gingerly put my shirt back on. He then led me back upstairs the way we came, opened the side door to the courthouse and pushed me out the door that I’d entered through hours before. Disoriented, I walked by memory back the way I was driven in and standing on the courthouse steps were my parents, in-laws, our guides and my friends, and with my mother’s arm around her, stood my lovely thirteen-year-old bride. There was also the press and curious onlookers trying to get close to the convicted infidel and his prostitute bride.

When my parents saw me turn the corner, they wanted to rush to me but I held my hand up motioning for them to stop. I didn’t particularly feel like getting mauled or hugged, I just wanted this ordeal to just come to an end quietly.

I started to push my way through the crowd, but they courteously parted as I walked towards my family and my blue eyed bride.

When I stood in front of my father, his tears flowed as he gently hugged me around the neck and kissed my cheek. I winced in pain and Mom just stood on tiptoes taking my face in her hands and kissed me tenderly on the lips. I looked at my trembling wife and smiled softly. Her tears were falling down her cheeks and she smiled at me timidly. Still smiling, I ran my finger over the closed gash on her forehead with a feather touch of my forefinger and smiled at her as if to tell her, “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

I think she understood because she took my hands in hers, brought them to her lips and gently kissed them.

Now I was crying!

I looked to the side and saw what I thought was Narisa’s family. I recognized a smiling Rafi, his tearful, smiling father and the very tiny woman crying in court as Narisa’s mom. No wonder Narisa’s so small: she’s no bigger than her mother!

My mother made the introductions as I shook my father-in-law’s hand and did the same to Narisa’s mother. Rafi had a cheese-eating grin on his face and said, “Hey brother, you still suck at football! And to top it off, I have an American infidel pig for a brother!”

Hasan touched my arm and quipped, “I guess Doe Eyes will have to stay “married” to Omar, huh”

We three guys just laughed. Everyone else couldn’t believe we’d found something to laugh about.

“Why don’t we all go back to our house,” Mom suggested. “We can get better acquainted there where it’s more comfortable.”

Nazir, my father-in-law, said that it wasn’t possible. He discreetly pointed down the street and we saw a parked car with two men sitting inside.

”We’re being watched.” Nazir revealed. “I will contact you tomorrow about Narisa’s documents.”

Sadly, we agreed it was probably best if we parted ways: no sense in tempting fate twice. Nazir handed Dad a sheaf of papers then her family took turns kissing Narisa farewell. Nazir then turned with his wife and son to leave.

It was a tight squeeze in the minivan with Narisa, my parents and our guides, but Narisa sat quietly as I sat on the floor next to her. I could smell the faint odor of urine on her clothes as we drove and I got a spine tingling shudder as I remembered all too well the sounds of those words, “You are hereby sentenced to death…” I just rested my head against her knee silently all the way home.

On the ride home, feeling the jostles of bumps and turns I tried to picture our future together. What was to become of us? Is it possible for this pretty, tiny wisp of a girl and I to have a real, happy marriage or would it simply be our vehicle out of here only to be annulled back in the States? Do I want to be her husband? Does she want to be my wife? What of our futures? School? Careers? In her culture, it’s normal for a girl her age to be married, take care of a husband and possibly kids but not me. This is all so foreign and disconcerting.

I sort of chuckled out loud when I thought, Hell, I’ve never even felt a bare boob: what am I going to do with a wife lying in bed with me! I don’t have a freaking clue??

Mom asked with a smile when she heard my laugh, “What?”

I just smiled back and said, “Nothing. Just thinking is all.”

I smiled inwardly at another thought: my dream of seeing Cindy Molten nekkid is history. God! I’m even starting to think like a married man! Jeez.

Once home, I sort of rolled to my side and out the side door and waited for everyone to get out. Narisa and I stood by the front steps waiting for everyone to exit the vehicle. Holding Narisa’s hand, I gave it a gentle squeeze as we started inside and she smiled shyly and gently squeezed back. I looked down the street and there were our “observers.”

Once inside, Narisa and I sat on the sofa with Mom next to her. Dad sat in the armchair while our guides pulled the chairs from the dining room. Hasan volunteered to be the official interpreter.

I was having what I’d describe as flashbacks of the events of the trial and asked my Dad, “What really happened today?”

Looking down for a moment shaking his head he looked up at us and began, “Nazir explained that this whole ordeal was a plot by Haseem Hussein to take over his job as district police chief. Hussein thought that if he could kill Narisa under the pretext of prostitution, shaming her name and her family’s, Nazir would lose his job and be imprisoned. What Hussein didn’t count on was a foreign national intervening and causing an international incident. When it was learned that an American citizen was arrested for interfering in Iran’s internal affairs, the Special Clerical Court investigated and unveiled the plot. They had to save face with the pretense of administering an appropriate and harsh sentence yet preventing an American from being executed. The Judicial Council held Nazir in high esteem because they sought to protect his reputation and Narisa’s life while saving the life of two world-renowned professors’ son.”

“Crazy!” Hasan said shaking my head in disbelief.

“Mom, what happened to you and Dad after I was arrested?”

“We are confined to the apartment until today,” Mom answered “We were then permitted to attend the trial. With today’s verdict and the instructions regarding your fate, they were discretely telling us that we are free to travel with our escorts to take care of any necessary arrangements to take Narisa with us back to the United States.”

Turning to Narisa, Mom asked, “How do you feel about going to America?”

Narisa looked down at her hands on her knees and began to cry,

“What’s the matter, Narisa?” I asked as I gently took her hand.

“Will they arrest me as a prostitute?”

Dad was translating as she spoke and I chuckled. She looked at me angrily thinking I was mocking her. I smiled at her and answered, “If you’re a prostitute then I’m Ayatollah Khomeini!”

I humorously answered that question.

Dad touched my arm and asked, “How do you feel about being a husband with a wife, Son?”

Narisa looked at me with curiosity when she heard the translated question. I looked at her and said, “Responsible: responsible for this whole ordeal, responsible for probably ruining your careers and now I feel responsible for Narisa.”

“You haven’t ruined our careers.” Mom sloughed it off with a slap on my arm. “You did the right thing, Josh. You saved a girl’s life and her father’s reputation. But I never want to go through that again! When I heard you being sentenced to death, a part of me died when I thought that you’d be killed.”

Grabbing Narisa’s hand with a smile she said “We’re a family now and we’ll get on with our lives and go after our dreams, right daughter?”

Narisa smiled and nodded as she peered at me somewhat uncertain.

“Great!” Mom exclaimed as she slapped her knees with her hands, “Now, after all of us have had our death sentences commuted, how about something to eat? I’ve suddenly regained my appetite!”

“Do you feel like going out to eat?” my dad asked.

“Going to prison for four days and being caned has tapped every ounce of energy out of me. I’m famished, but I’m too sore to go out. I think Narisa and I would just rather spend some quiet time here at home away from the public, don’t you, Narisa?”

Hasan translated, Narisa nodded agreement then he and the others stood then politely said goodnight and left. Mom took off her hajib and looked at Narisa. Narisa timidly looked at all of us and slowly removed hers also.

Mom explained to Narisa that she and Dad spoke fluent Farsi but that I didn’t. Either one of them would automatically translate for her but when we were alone, we’d have to find our own way to communicate. We both looked at each other and blushed.

With her hair was fully on display, I just shook my head in wonder at her luxurious, thick, curly blue-black mane. Even dirty, her hair was beautiful!

When I reached up my hand, she timidly pulled away momentarily then let me touch it. I slowly combed my fingers through her tresses and said, “I would just love to brush your hair.”

When she heard Mom’s translation she blushed six shades of red, covered her face with her hands and silently nodded approval.

To ease her embarrassment Mom said, “Well, daughter, shall we make our husbands some dinner?”

Narisa nodded with a smile and the two women rose for the kitchen. I told Dad that I was going attempt to take a hot shower to release some of this tension and pain. He patted my knee and said, “Go ahead, Son. I’m just going to watch the women of the family for a while.”

The hot shower felt great even with the terrible pain of the water hitting my striped back but it was worth it. I felt more relaxed and refreshed as I dressed for dinner.

The meal was a simple one of lamb, rice with some tomatoes but it tasted as good as a restaurant prime rib to me. It was about nine pm when we’d gotten the table cleared and dinner dishes finished. We sat in the living room talking for a few minutes when Dad said, “I think we’ve all had a long, emotionally exhausting day: especially you two. Maybe it’s best we retire and begin tomorrow by going to the Swiss embassy to make arrangements for Narisa to go back with us. We only have two weeks before our scheduled flight leaves for Washington.”

Narisa and I looked at each other and she suddenly had a look of apprehension. I think I understood that maybe she thought that now was the time of her deflowering. I slowly stood and smiled gently down at her as she looked up at me with a child-like vulnerability. I held out my hand and she sat silent and motionless for several seconds looking at my hand. She then looked at me and managed a slight smile as her eyes filled with tears and gently laid her tiny hand in mine.

I took a very slow step back pulling her hand with me and she slowly stood and looked up at me as a tear spilled over her bottom eyelid and trickled down her cheek. I gently pulled her to me in a comforting embrace and she laid her head against my chest with her hands on my waist. I whispered to her, “Sushhhhh, everything’s okay”

I think she understood “Okay” because she perceptibly nodded against my chest.

Mom said to Dad, “Steven, don’t you think---“

“Quiet, Marie,” Dad cut her off, “they have to work this out at some point, might as well be sooner than later.”

I put my arm around her tiny shoulders and slowly walked her to our bedroom.