[In a letter to Farida, Haidar Salman expressed his wish to release Farida of her bond to him so that she might be free to remarry. Three days later, he sent her a long letter telling her about his new life with Tahira, who was, he said, his last chance to get back to Baghdad. Although he wasn’t completely happy, he enjoyed his strolls along Tehran’s wide boulevards and his visits to breathtaking parks where ancient cypress trees had provided shade and exuded fragrance since the times of the Qajars. He also admired the magnificent mansions with their large grounds and coloured windows. In another letter, he told Farida about his visits to the most important sights of Tehran, such as the Caravanserai market with its passages and low rows of domes. With Tahira he also visited the peaks of the snow-capped Kallus Mountain and the beautiful resort of Kelardasht and together they swam in hot springs at the coastal resort of Ramsar. They toured the monuments of ancient Masule, strolled through the markets along the Caspian Sea, and visited Persepolis and the inscription at Naqshe Rostam. Then they stood in front of Hafez’s grave, its dome rising high as a symbol of the soul soaring up to heaven.]
The intimacy between Haidar and Tahira was at its strongest during this period. They would spend whole mornings hanging out on Tehran’s streets, either strolling on foot or cruising in Tahira’s car. The time they spent together allowed Ismail al-Tabtabaei to turn his attention again to his business, instead of being the constant companion of his daughter. Haidar therefore became important not only for the daughter but also for the father’s business. As far as Tahira and Haidar were concerned, their outings represented almost a sacred ritual. They would start their walks from north of Reza Pahlavi Street, with its congested traffic, cars and motorcycles. They would then move on to the middle section of the street where the statue of the sage, Al-Firdawsi, the writer of the epic Shahnameh, stood. They would walk in front of the great gate to Tehran University which was designed by the French architect Godard as an extension of the Dar al-Funun, itself established by the first Iranian reformer of the nineteenth century, Mirza Taqi Khan Amir Kabir, in an attempt to import Western science into Iran. They would also go to the Talar-e Rudaki theatre, which was built in the shape of a tulip and named after the Persian poet Abu Abdullah Jafar Rudaki of the fourth century of the Hijra calendar.
It was at this theatre that Haidar Salman gave a concert a year after his marriage to Tahira, thanks to the good offices of the influential merchant Ismail al-Tabtabaei. Haidar gave a solo performance of Henri Vieuxtemps’ Opus 4 in D Minor, which he played with absolute brilliance, precise phrasing, soaring melody and unparalleled genius, earning him the admiration of Tehran’s upper echelons and the approbation of the aristocratic families who attended the concert.
Haidar Salman wrote several letters to Farida at this time, telling her of his adventures and his exploration of that beautiful city. Tahira was his constant companion on these trips. His letters overflowed with a marked fascination with mosque architecture, sparkling blue domes and gilded minarets. He was captivated by silver and wooden decorative patterns and mirror-encrusted ceilings, which were also found in wealthy homes. But the question that perplexed me was whether Haidar Salman became a true Muslim in his heart. Or was he just a Ricardo Reis, who believed in Greek gods despite living in Christian Europe? It was certain that Tahira was filled with instinctive religious faith and wholehearted acceptance of Shia rituals. But was his own complete identification with the persona of Haidar Salman motivated by religion or by art? He later made countless comparisons between elevated art, on the one hand, and the visual and graphic vulgarity of politico-religious propaganda, based on total superficiality and crudity, on the other.
I don’t know why, but from the time he arrived in Tehran he insisted on talking about a painting by Andy Warhol. This painting by the master of kitsch showed Shah Mohammad Reza Pahlavi sitting on the throne, the very throne that had been stolen by Nader Shah when he invaded India. Known as the ‘Peacock Throne’ and inlaid with thousands of jewels and precious stones, it was the seat of Iran’s emperors in coronations and formal ceremonies. There the Shah sat, in Warhol’s painting, wearing his Shah-of-Shah’s suit and giving his distinctive look. The emperor sat on the plundered Peacock Throne itself, wearing the crown of former emperors and surrounded by their jewels and gold objects. But at that time I wasn’t aware of all those things. It was clear that he made frequent comparisons involving art. This tendency may be traced to his first persona when he first visited Moscow and stood in trepidation and apprehension in front of the Russian conductor, waiting to hear the advice of the bearded man whose face was as red as wine, urging him to find in his people the inspiration he sought for his art. It may also be traced back to the statement made by the local Muslim broadcaster with his dark, Jewish-looking face, who complimented him on embracing classical art. But the most significant change no doubt happened later in the sphere of politics, with the increased use of kitsch as a tool of political propaganda both in Tehran and Baghdad.
The key question that preoccupied me at that time was when had Haidar married Tahira Ismail al-Tabtabaei, for he never mentioned the date in his letters. There was a letter from a later date, however, which he sent while on one of his trips to Europe, and where he told Farida that he’d married Tahira and had had a son Hussein from her. This question puzzled me until Faris and I went to Tehran.
Faris Hassan and I landed at Tehran Airport on 3 May 2006. The Elburz Mountains were still snow-capped despite the warmth of spring. The airport was very busy. We left the terminal building at night, took a cab and went straight to the city centre. At that hour, it was virtually impossible to find a room at any cheap hotel or khan, so I asked the driver to go straight to Sarjashma. I had no idea why I told him that we were staying there. I imagined that the Sarjashma Hotel, where Haidar Salman had stayed in the fifties, was located in the Sarjashma neighbourhood, and had no idea that there was also a popular district in the southern and more deprived part of Tehran with the same name. When we got out of the cab, of course we didn’t find the hotel we were looking for. Instead, we found a number of cheap hotels and small khans all along the main street. We started knocking on the doors of the hotels and khans, one after the other, but we received only rejections or apologies. Because our hair was dishevelled, our clothes creased and our faces sullen, our appearance didn’t encourage anyone to offer us a room.
After much trouble we found an extremely shabby hotel, barely adequate as a stable or barn. Still, we slept in clean but uncomfortable beds. The room lacked furniture and the toilets and bathrooms were communal. The place was also extremely noisy. When the sunbeams began to penetrate the room, I woke Faris. After washing our faces and brushing our teeth, we picked up our bags, paid the bill and left.