The weather on the eastern slopes of the Zagros rarely had been hotter and drier this early in the summer. All but a few of the normally full runoff streams were now dry or slowed to a trickle. Sparse vegetation at this elevation offered little resistance to the searing mid-day sun, with reflected glare burning-out even the shadows cast by the rocky overhang bordering the rutted trail. However primitive, this twisting road through the mountain range was the shortest passage connecting the village of Deheq in the north with the trading center at Najafabad, more than a days journey southeast.

The rocky prominence bordering the right side of the road began to flatten as the wagon rounded a long bend. Gradually dropping to road level it revealed a panorama of fertile valley extending to the east as far as the eye could see. Rocky slopes sparsely tufted with green gave way to a stand of broadleaf timber, then rolling pasture and, disappearing in the distant haze, the quilted contrast of planted fields. Passing his favorite lookout, the old man stopped, as had become part of his regular routine, to admire the beauty and stark contrast of his world. Below, in a hillside clearing, he spotted sheep and goats and heard the shouts of two young shepherds as they herded their flock down a steep wash.

Until now, he had led a very uneventful and colorless life, probably influencing no one. What Husein el Sadiq could not know was that in less than five minutes he would start a chain of events that would forever alter the history of the world.

Persia: Chapter ii

The two boys were paying little attention to their charges. Achmed leaped over a slab of rock as he darted between two sheep to the far side of the gully. He roared with laughter and then yelled again at his cousin Mohammed, who had stumbled and fallen. It seemed no matter how hard he tried, Mohammed could not master these tricky slopes that were his cousin's playground. More than anything, Mohammed wanted just once to out-jump and out-run Achmed. He may be almost a year older, Mohammed rationalized to himself, but he can outrun me through these rocks only because he's spent most of his life up here with his smelly sheep and goats. Things would be different on the streets of my city. Besides, he smiled, being able to run like a mountain animal isn't as important as other things - his sisters all say I am more handsome, particularly Katarina.

Big for his age at twelve, Achmed outworked most of his father's hired hands, and was proud that his father considered him a man and gave him much responsibility. He loved his family and his home, but, even though he would not admit it to anybody, he was jealous of his visiting cousin .He was envious because Mohammed not only lived in the city in a big house with servants, but his father was the leader of the frontiersmen, the Cossacks, and everybody knew he was the most important and feared man in the province.

Despite his nagging envy, Achmed looked forward each year to early summer when his uncle brought Mohammed to spend the holiday. Even though his uncle stayed only a few hours, he came with gifts for the entire family and, before leaving, would pluck Achmed from the ground and take him for a whirlwind ride through the valley on his giant white stallion.

Besides his veiled resentment of Mohammed, Achmed had another perceived problem; being the youngest of six children. The other five were girls. Since he was after all his father's pet, this bothered Achmed only when his sisters persisted in treating him like a child and, worse, when they doted on Mohammed and told him how cute he was. But because he could physically intimidate his cousin, envy notwithstanding, he secretly enjoyed having Mohammed around each summer. By taking great pride in showing Mohammed how to gather and drive the sheep, and how to tend the other animals, it enabled Achmed to brag to his sisters that he was certainly somebody special, definitely not their little brother. And because many people said they looked more like brothers than cousins, he also loved to show everybody how he could outwit his little brother and beat him in games such as they were now playing.

Mohammed could not keep up and had disappeared from sight. Probably fell again, thought Achmed, or was he hiding on the other side of the gully? As Achmed scanned the rocky slope his attention was caught by something near the top of the rise; a wagon stopped up on the high trail, the driver apparently watching him. Suddenly, a wheel collapsed, sending the rear of the wagon down over the edge of the rise. The driver jumped to the ground and tried to halt the slide of the wagon with his body. Mesmerized, Achmed watched as the man and his mule strained to stop the wagon's backward motion, only to have the rim of the road crumble and break away. The traces snapped, the animal lurched forward, and the wagon slowly toppled over the edge, the driver disappearing beneath it. In an instant a cloud filled with dirt and rock grew until it seemed the entire upper slope was cascading down the wash directly toward him. Achmed knew he was trapped; his only hope was to get beyond the far crest of the gully. His screamed warning to Mohammed was lost in the thunderous roar.

Mohammed, exhausted and out of breath, had been hiding behind a huge slab of rock when the deafening noise started. The ground began to shake and, before he could react in any way, his feet were swept from under him, causing him to fall beneath a rocky outcropping just before the avalanche roared past. In the lee of the sheltering ledge he escaped the main rockslide, but was caught in the spreading dirt and rubble. Quickly covered, he panicked at the thought of being buried alive and kicked and clawed with all his strength. Finally freeing his arms, he pushed the dirt from his face and gagged as he spit the choking grit from his mouth. Crying, the tears caking the dirt in his eyes, Mohammed kicked even harder to free his legs. His shame at crying quickly turned to anger - anger at himself - when he realized what his father would say, and how he would be teased by Achmed and his uncle, if he was seen crying.

Hearing a cry and thinking it was Achmed, he grabbed at the ledge in front of him and scrambled upright. He heard the cry again, but then realized it wasn't human, it was a half-buried sheep just a few feet away. Thankfully, the deafening roar had stopped and the sun could be seen again through the settling clouds of dust. Squinting through the haze he yelled Achmed's name again and again, but the only sound came from the few surviving animals on the far side of the gully. Mohammed retched when he realized that most of the flock was probably buried under his feet, and his cousin might be with them. His first reaction was to run - run to his uncle's farm, about three kilometers down the valley. But the thought of his father stopped him; I must at least try to find Achmed. Father must be proud of me!

Still sobbing, he wiped his face and mouth on his sleeve and stepped carefully through the fallen rock. Moving toward the bottom of the wash he saw some splintered wood and a broken wagon wheel protruding from the rubble. Totally confused and not knowing where to begin, he began pulling at pieces of wood. He stopped when he thought he heard his name being called. Nothing. He screamed Achmed's name again and again, and then listened. From almost below his feet he heard a faint voice, "Mohammed, Mohammed, I'm here...under the wheel. I can't move. Be careful...I'm hurt bad."

"I'll be careful, don't worry. Keep talking so I know where you are."

But silence from beneath his feet led Mohammed to scream his cousin's name repeatedly. Digging with a piece of broken wood, he exposed a cavity below the wheel, in which he saw Achmed's ashen face. Seeing his closed eyes Mohammed yelled over and over, "Oh no, no, don't be dead, don't be dead!" For what seemed an eternity Mohammed dug and pried and pulled. His hands were bloody when he finally made an opening large enough to drag Achmed through. Eyes now partly open, and obviously in great pain, Achmed mumbled that he couldn't move his legs, and then lapsed again into unconsciousness. Mohammed shook Achmed in panic when he realized his cousin might really die before he could get help.

A strange animal noise caused him to look up, and he was surprised to see a large mule angling down the rocky slope toward them. Not having seen the incident that started the avalanche, Mohammed had no idea where the mule came from, but shuddered with relief when he realized that the mule might help him save his cousin. If only he could grab the dangling reins. Remembering a piece of leftover lunch bread in his pocket, he offered it and found the animal to be quite friendly, and easily led by the broken harness.

Mohammed was drenched with sweat when he finally succeeded in wrestling Achmed's lifeless body onto the mule. He lashed him in place as best he could with part of the reins and, shaking with fear and exhaustion, grabbed the mule's collar and began the long descent to the valley below.

Persia: Chapter iii

Before reaching the road that led to the farm, the mule and boys were spotted by a farmhand who had been working on a perimeter fence. Having talked with both boys early that morning, the farmhand knew something was wrong when he saw the limp figure on the back of a strange mule. Minutes later he intercepted them in his horse-drawn tool wagon. After a quick look at the unconscious boy, without a word to Mohammed the farmhand untied Achmed from the mule and carefully lifted him into the back of the wagon. With a thankful Mohammed clutching both Achmed and the bouncing wagon, they sped at a full gallop toward the farm. Achmed's mother became hysterical when she saw her son.

His father screamed at the farmhand, "Get the big wagon, and hitch-up my four best horses. Now! Hurry!" He then ran through the house like a madman, tearing a mattress from a bed, gathering blankets, bandages, and canteens of water. Within minutes they were on their way to the hospital at Isfahan. The farmhand drove the team and Mohammed and his uncle rode in the wagon with Achmed, who now lay wrapped in blankets on the mattress, his head cradled in his father's arms. It would be yet another hour before they would arrive at the hospital.

Even though it served the entire province whose name it bore, the hospital at Isfahan was small and poorly staffed. The small oscillating wall fan did little to offset the stifling heat in the room. The lone doctor on duty in the emergency ward was sweating profusely. He and two nurses had just spent more than two hours attending Achmed's injuries, more the result of intimidation than dedication - Achmed's father had not left his side. The boy had sustained a broken leg, a fractured skull, at least three broken ribs, and numerous cuts and bruises. The doctor expressed concern about severe shock, about which he knew very little, and the fact that Achmed had not regained consciousness.

It was now well past sundown. Mohammed and the farmhand, uncomfortable with the heat and sickening odors inside the hospital, had returned to the wagon some time ago. After they both stretched out on the mattress, Mohammed, for at least the third time, was relating his terrifying experience in finding and rescuing his cousin. During their wild ride to the hospital Mohammed had told the story to his uncle, and was disappointed and angry when his uncle seemed too preoccupied with Achmed to listen. He would now be equally upset if he could see the sleeping farmhand. Mohammed's voice trailed off in the darkness as the excitement of the day finally caught up with him and, he too, fell asleep.

Inside the hospital, Achmed's father paced the dimly lighted corridor like a caged animal, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the hospital's director. Outraged when the staff doctor had been reluctant to discuss his son's chances for survival, he had demanded that the director be summoned from his home.

After what seemed like an interminable wait, the door to the outside flew open and the director stormed into the waiting area. He barked a reprimand and slapped an orderly dozing at the front desk. The staff doctor watched through an open doorway and mumbled to himself as he quickly ducked from sight - tonight's going to be a nightmare, the bastard will make us all pay for having his dinner interrupted.

Even though he had been furious when told that someone was at his door with a message from the hospital, occurring just as he was slicing the lamb roast, the director's anger quickly turned to fear when told the patient's name and the demands of the patient's father. He had left immediately for the hospital, knowing full well what the consequences would be should he ignore the summons.

The director apologized effusively to Achmed's father for his delay in arriving, all the while mopping perspiration from his florid face and bald head. He yelled for the absent staff doctor and then directed the orderly to fetch cold drinks for he and his guest. When the staff doctor finally appeared he was greeted with a profane tongue- lashing for not summoning the director sooner and was ordered to immediately produce the boy's chart and x-rays. Twenty minutes later, after scanning the records and examining Achmed himself, the director led Achmed's father into his office. Closing the door behind them, he motioned to a visitor's chair and then retreated behind his cluttered desk, as if it offered him protection. "Sir, your son should survive his ordeal, but the next forty-eight hours will be crucial. I guarantee that he will have the best medical care available, and I, sir, will not leave the hospital until the crisis is past - on this you have my word." Again mopping perspiration from his face, the director looked like he was about to have a coronary. "I suggest you go home now and return tomorrow..."

"No!" Achmed's father shouted. "I, too, will stay here. He is my only son...everything I have is for him! He cannot be allowed to die. I will stay here until he is out of danger. I will watch over him - and I will watch you!"

Persia: Chapter iv

Four weeks later, Mohammed's father and mother arrived at the farm to attend a feast in celebration of Achmed's recovery. The only visible evidence of Achmed's injuries were a leg cast and crutches. The entire family was there, together with neighbors and friends from miles around. A pig and a lamb were roasting in an open pit, and tables were piled with mountains of food and sweets. There were dancing and games and singing and toast upon toast. But the highlight of the festivities came when Achmed's father lifted Mohammed to his shoulders and, signaling for everybody's attention, toasted Mohammed as the hero who had saved his son's life. Mohammed flushed with embarrassment when the people applauded. He was even more thrilled when later his father shook his hand, congratulated him, and told him that he never had been as proud as he was that day of his only son.

Even Achmed treated him differently now. And when Mohammed left for his home at the end of the summer, Achmed tearfully told him that he owed him his life, and such a debt could only be repaid in kind. Little did he know.