The Ayatollah
& Ripov
by Albert Russo
Irked and saddened by the
plight of the American hostages, Ripov decided he
would pay a visit to Iran's holy man. Unlike the
Commission of the Five Sages though, Ripov couldn't
hope to be granted an entry visa. What business
had an obscure person like him in Teheran?
Another imperialist spy! No thanks, the Iranian
authorities had enough problems on their hands.
So, using the services of Witches, Broomsticks
& Company, Ripov flew over to the Ayatollah's
hideout.
The black-robed saint,
resting in an armchair showed himself barely
surprised at Ripov's apparition. He stopped
fingering his prayer beads and said: “Somehow
I knew you would come. My heart is ailing, and
sooner or later I'd have to contend with what you
Judeo-Christians call 'the bad conscience.' But
my hour hasn't come yet,” added the
Ayatollah sarcastically.
“God forbid, your
Holiness, that I should allow myself to judge you.
I'd rather have my tongue cut - gulp! - or my
toes chopped off.”
The Ayatollah grinned.
“You do favor our methods after all. They're
more, should we say, humane than the guillotine
or the electric chair. But you did not come here
to discuss such routine matters.”
Ripov, who had just taken a
sip of Turkish coffee, probed an answer over the
tantalizing plate of Oriental delights placed at
his feet.
“I understand, your
Holiness, that you hold no personal grudge
against the American people.”
“Of course not,”
said the Ayatollah reassuringly. “As a
matter of fact, I've thought of extending our
friends at the US Embassy permanent residence.”
“But they want to go
home, your Holiness, they have family, friends
waiting for them, anxiously.”
“You have raised a
very important point, dear Ripov. Family, a most
sacred institution!”
“Oh, your Holiness, I
knew you had an ailing ... but generous heart.”
“Indeed, Ripov, the
Family. It should always remain man's first
preoccupation, in all circumstances. Take the
Pahlavis, the Shah and his ilk, just as an
example. My subjects are chasing every single one
of them, until eventually they will catch his
Imperial Lowness. As for our not-so-innocent
American guests, I'll make a gesture. How about
bringing their folks over here? My young adepts
would only be too happy to look after them. And,
by the same token, they could brush up their
English. An interesting language, English.”
Ripov nearly swallowed his
honey cookie and had to drink water to wash down
the emotion. “I'm afraid, your Holiness,”
resumed,Ripov, “that I have failed to convey
my thoughts clearly.”
“It couldn't be
clearer to me,” answered the Ayatollah with
a wide grin. “You are a man of justice,
Ripov. And you shall be rewarded for your bravery.”
A glimmer of hope swept
through Ripov’s eyes. “Do you mean it,
your Holyness?”
“Haven't I already
proved myself to the world?”
“Indeed, your Holiness,”
said Ripov, a trifle less enthusiastic.
“This is what I have
in store for you, my sweet friend. First, you
will learn the Koran, then Arabic and Persian.
You are too righteous a man to waste your life in
the West. Once you are fully acquainted with the
precepts of Islam I shall name you Professor
Emeritus and give you a home in my holy city of
Qom. It will be your duty and privilege to reform
our American guests ... and their relatives.”
The events, though, did not
turn out quite in the manner advocated by the
Ayatollah. We know how, ultimately, the hostages
were released. As for Ripovmeiny, he
became a highly respected figure in his adoptive
land.
Having nationalized the
local branch of the corrupt Witches, Broomsticks
& Company, Ripov became chairman of Magic
Carpets Inc., and was entrusted with the
honorable task of propounding the Ayatollah's
tightrope philosophy to the infidels of this
world.
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