In the majesty of what is rightfully called "that mountain range in Iran," the Alborz hides many secrets for the secret-hunting secret-gatherer. One feels humble, grateful, servile in this strange world of mountains in Iran. I mean, who knew there were mountains in Iran? You could've knocked me over with a feather. Next thing you know there's going to be telling me they get winter weather in Australia!
An hour or so drive from Tehran leads you to Shemshak, a humorously named ski resort where Gentle Face wears his mask of shame. The undisputed master of a dying Persian martial art, Gentle Face has undisputed strength (as far as I know), but has never been known to kill anyone. Not knowingly, with malice aforethought. He has been known to kill a fifth of bourbon on an occasion, but is that a crime? I think not!
In the dizzying heights of the Alborz, you feel willing, like a child, & innocent, like an angel, & you start to imagine that you, too, came from this wilderness. What you're feeling actually is something called hypoxia, & it happens sometimes where the air is thinner. Just rest a bit. Have a drink of water. That's it. Feel better? Good.
Life for Gentle Face has been hard, though he never showed anything but the purest love. He would not say, though it is true, that selfish people, people on antidepressants & mood-enhancing drugs, spoiled his purity with their fucked-up priorities. He does not complain & he will not cry. Not Gentle Face! He ambles slowly on his one good toe to the shack behind the goggle rental stand & warms himself on a stick of incense - truly, all he can afford. He's been whipped, kicked, hounded - although they used poodles since the hounds were sleeping. They say you can see fear in his eyes, though not tears. Never tears!
Gentle Face's unbroken spirit - or his bizarre stubbornness - has made him the perfect foil for competing political interests in that volatile region. He started out as the Shah's butt-boy. Then, when the dust settled, it turned out he was the Ayatollah's catamite. A revolution later, he found himself as Ahmadinejad's "gentleman friend." More recently, with possible invasion looming, he's found himself the homosexual lover of George W Bush. & in all this time, was Gentle Face ever a pitcher? No! No! He's always been a catcher!
Taken for granted, living a simple, intricate life, giving of himself yet asking for nothing, Gentle Face disappeared this past week from the small shack in which he lived. Is he alive or dead? Has he betrayed both his masters & fled to another? Did he just pop out to the store & is foolishly waiting in the longest line? No one knows. & boy are both the Iranis & the Americans pissed off!
Gentle Face did not write anything down - what is important, he would say, is transient, &, as if to make a point, he'd urinate some important thought in the snow. But he did leave a rich tradition of anecdotes from those who knew him. He also left nearly every bowel movement he made in his adult life, in small boxes, lined with ineffectual scented tissues, buried behind his hovel. Strangely enough, no one has claimed them. (I also note that I said "nearly every" bowel movement; he did not save them all! He only saved the ones he thought were perfect. & he had mostly perfect shits.)
Gentle Face sightings have begun, but I believe that, though he's still alive, he's fallen & he can't get up, so he'll wait patiently for someone to help him up. & then he'll move on. I think his time has passed, & he's now looking for that thing we look for our entire lives: some peace & quiet before we die. Or maybe just a small pub with cheap beer & cheese fries. One of the two, anyway.
