‘Let’s go, then … You know, I really wish you hadn’t told me that story about those pigeon-fanciers … it was horrible. Ready, soldier?’
‘Yes, sir!’
* In old Persian, anaam means ‘human’ — this is not a name and sounds nonsensical.
† The qibla(h) is the direction in which Muslims must face during prayers, defined by the position of the Ka’aba, the sacred cube-shaped structure within the Great Mosque at Mecca.
‡ Refers to tashahhud, a portion of the prayer recited at the time of conversion to Islam. It is also chanted before martyrdom to ensure passage to heaven.
§ Farsi, meaning ‘little’ or ‘little one’.
‖ A female name, meaning ‘Moon-like’. Mahi is a nickname for Mahsa.
a Koochik-kameh and Kehtar respectively mean ‘one who has little ambition’ and ‘lesser’ in Farsi.
11
‘THIS IS BAD! Very bad indeed, Major. You’ve entered my head, got inside my mind and created the most dreadful confusion. I was on the verge of finishing my work. The scene was there, right in front of my eyes. Everything was crystal clear. I could picture my characters, and understand their every motive. In my mind, I’d rehearsed everything that needed to happen. A small symbolic truce, avoiding the humiliation of either side, starting with a white shirt tied to a stick. It was simple, very simple. The two prisoners would leave the trenches holding white flags. They would descend the hill from either side, followed by the soldiers and their commanders, unarmed, and they’d all walk towards the water tank. They were all thirsty, they would drink water, greet each other and converse. They would wash the dust off their foreheads and sit for a little while in each other’s company. They would see each other with their own eyes, not through the distorting lens of war, and they would realize that they felt no particular hostility towards each other. In that frame of mind, they would all be their real selves. They wouldn’t be soldiers anymore. You’ve disrupted a small truce, Major, a symbolic peace. Isn’t it the case that every war ends in peace? I was going to make this happen sooner. But you, Major, have entered my mind, penetrated my consciousness and thrown my thought process into disarray. You’ve thwarted my creativity! Why won’t you let a person at least live in his own mind according to his own will!’
‘You shouldn’t have returned to your homeland, Abu Alaa, I do wish you hadn’t. They wouldn’t accept the suggestion I made with regard to you. I pleaded for leniency, in view of the friendship that has grown up between us during the time we’ve spent together. But they didn’t approve of the idea. I tried to impress upon them that you needed rest. Rest in an asylum. If they’d seen things my way, you could have escaped with your life. You could have stayed there for some time and you’d have had plenty of time to reflect on your profession and your life. At the same time, it would have been an excuse for you not to write this report, which we now have to deal with. Or conversely, you could have made up your mind to write it after all, and then you would have been reprieved, and that would have been the end of it! But now … it’s a different story. I have a message for you from the palace of the caliph Abu Ja’far: a short and clear message. Plus a gift — a pen, and a sidearm as well! A dossier, a copy of the dossiers of those three prisoners is still waiting on your writing desk. The message is very short, clear and concise. Either you write the report about those three prisoners or you will become a dove, by your own hand! I don’t have permission to stay here any longer, Katib, and I’m not allowed to chat or discuss this with you either. The message is clear and all my attempts to convince them that you’re suffering a nervous breakdown and need to be admitted to a mental hospital for a spell have fallen on deaf ears. I wish you good health, good mental and physical health. God keep you, Abu Alaa!’
‘God keep you too, sir. God keep you!.. But I can’t even hold a pen with these weary fingers and withered wrist, Major, let alone a gun!’
‘So just keep hold of it for self-defence!’
‘I can’t do it. I’ve never done military service. And even if I could hold a weapon, I wouldn’t anyhow. How could I shoot another person? Even in self-defence! I just can’t conceive of such an act!’
‘Well, that’s all we can do for you! You might find it comes in useful. Once again, may God keep you!’
12
EVERYTHING IS CLEAR until clouds suddenly blot out the sky. Surely not in this season? Dark, roaring clouds, growling. Under a duvet of dark grey and black clouds, Jamoo turns on his side and spontaneously presses the palms of his hands to his ears, as if he is unaware that he has rolled over and is not lying on his front anymore, but on his back, looking at the sky from the base of his machine gun. Not looking … rather staring at the low ceiling of the sky. No, not staring, but drowning in the rumbling duvet of the sky. A sky that growls and roars in whichever direction you turn. Sometimes the roaring is fleeting and sporadic, while at other times it seems to reverberate all around; worse still, it has no specific origin. From all the points of the compass, these sounds, the roaring and the explosions, course and flow. The last time he had the lieutenant, the soldier and the captured man in sight, they were ascending the slope of the hill with tired and heavy footsteps. But then the sky had suddenly exploded and instantly turned black. Now he realized it was clouds of smoke that had sullied what had been a clear sky. From the lowest possible altitude at which aircraft could fly, a huge plume of smoke had billowed up, which grew so dense so quickly that it seemed as though it might darken and befoul the whole world. They were military aircraft, no question. Aircraft that were capable of bringing down a black rain, and that’s exactly what they were doing. They rained down an infernal shower upon the entire valley of hell, setting off explosions. One after the other, a series of explosions, intermittent, near and far! What was it that was buried in the heart and shoulders of that valley of hell from whose depths smoke and black flames now belched, rising up to touch the remainder of the tattered duvet spread across the low dome of the sky? Up they billowed, obscuring the rocks on the flanks of the slopes, blackening everything as they went; and as they licked up, it seemed as though the tongues of fire were turning the hillsides into a furnace, whose intense heat could be felt as it reflected down upon the heart of the earth and on the stones and the trench, that same hand-dug ditch in which Jamoo had by chance ended up. And now that he had recovered his power of speech, he was screaming. With each scream, his mouth filled with acrid smoke, but he kept on screaming anyway, not knowing whether he was alive or dead. He didn’t have a clue what had happened all of a sudden, and what was happening now. Round and round and round his head and his eyes swivelled … as if the world were spinning around the head of this young man who had fallen into the depths of that ditch and who knew nothing, who could only scream; and the only way he could stifle his screaming was by grinding his face into the dirt and yelling into the earth … until all his breath was exhausted and all he could do was wait for time to pass, for the earth to spin round, and for this unknown something, which was unlike anything he had ever known, to come to an end. Maybe it will resound in the ears and heart of the earth, that blood and ash-drenched scream of a teenager who from the bottom of his being yelled his anguish into the ground: Oh Gooodddd …