Atiq Rahimi: A Thousand Rooms of Dream and Fear

“Father?”

“Fuck your father!”

Have I got my eyes shut or is it dark? I can’t tell. Maybe it’s night and I’m dreaming. But then why would I be thinking like this?

No, I am awake, but my eyes are closed. I’m sure I’ve been asleep. I remember having a dream where a child cried out, “Father.”

What child? I’ve got no idea. I didn’t recognize his voice. Maybe it was me when I was a child, looking for my father.

“Father!”

The same voice! So it wasn’t a dream. The voice seems to be coming from somewhere above my head. I must open my eyes.

“Who are you?”

Trying to speak is absolute agony. A violent pain shoots right through my temples. Darkness descends. Then total silence.

What has happened to that child? His voice is shaking with fear, and his breath is foul. It’s as though he’s calling to me from a cesspit or from the bottom of a dried-up well.

“Father!”

It sounds like he’s fallen down a well and he’s trying to get his father to save him … But what well? Aren’t I at home? I must be at home. I’m home in bed, asleep. I’m asleep and I’m thirsty, so I’ve had this dream about a dried-up well.

“Father?”

But no, that voice isn’t coming from the bottom of a well. I can’t possibly be dreaming. That voice is coming from directly above my head.

I can actually feel it. I can feel its vibrations. I can feel the hot, anxious breath spilling its words on my frozen skin.

But why can’t I see him?

“Father!”

“Be quiet! Go inside!”

And now whose is that other voice? Is it my mother?

“Mother!”

My own voice chokes in my throat. I am still in a dream. Not a dream, a nightmare. A nightmare where you scream but can’t make a sound. A nightmare where you think you’re awake but you’re unable to open your eyes or move a muscle. Where you’re completely paralyzed.

My grandfather used to say that, according to Da Mullah Saed Mustafa, when you’re asleep your soul leaves your body and wanders around. And if you wake up before your soul has come back to your body, you get trapped in a terrible nightmare where you’re paralyzed and totally powerless. Struck dumb. Petrified, abandoned. And you stay like that till your soul returns. My grandfather used to say that my grandmother had a heart attack because she tried to get up before her soul returned to her body.

I mustn’t get up! I have to stay here in bed till my soul comes back. I mustn’t open my eyes. I mustn’t allow myself to think about anything other than this. The only thing you’re supposed to do in bed is say your prayers. It’s forbidden to think about anything else. In bed, Satan can take over your thoughts. That’s what Da Mullah Saed Mustafa told grandfather, and grandfather told me. I will stop thinking. I’ll do nothing but say the Kalima till my soul comes back home. In the Name of Allah …

I’ve collapsed. I’ve been kicked into a ditch by two jackbooted men.

They’ve cursed and sworn at me.

“Fuck your father!”

Before falling asleep, I must cross my arms over my heart and recite one of the ninety-nine names of God one hundred and one times. Al-Ba’ith, one. Al-Ba’ith, two. Al-Ba’ith, three … My grandfather used to say that Da Mullah Saed Mustafa told him that by reciting the ninety-nine names you can tame all the creatures in a nightmare. Al-Ba’ith, four. Al-Ba’ith, five. Al-Ba’ith, six …

I can smell stale shit and fresh blood.

“Father!”

But how can I possibly be having a nightmare? That child’s voice is as real as the stench of shit and blood.

“Who are you?”

But the words die in my throat. I’m too weak to think straight. I must open my eyes … but I can’t see a thing.

Darkness … nothing but darkness.

No, I can’t be asleep. I’ve been taken over by the forces of darkness. The djinn have come, they are squatting on my chest. My grandfather used to say that, according to Da Mullah Saed Mustafa — who was more important than ten Mullahs put together — the djinn live in those rooms that don’t have a Koran. And when you’re asleep at night and your soul has gone wandering about, they come and take over your body. They sit on your chest. They pin down your arms. They blindfold your eyes. They gag your mouth. Then they insult you and curse your family. But you must ignore them completely. Otherwise they’ll have got you forever. Your only hope is to say your prayers. Call out the name of God! If you don’t pray, the djinn will stay squatting on your chest, and your soul will never come back.

“Brother!”

That’s not my mother. It’s my sister, Parwaneh.

“Parwaneh, my love, is that you? Parwaneh, little sister, please get these djinn off my chest! Parwaneh, can you hear me?”

No, she can’t hear me. The djinn have imprisoned my voice in my chest.

If only she could see them!

But how could Parwaneh see the djinn? She’s not important enough. My grandfather used to say that only Da Mullah Saed Mustafa could see the djinn. He was so powerful he’d even cast a spell on them and they were at his command. The djinn were his informers. Everyone had to speak well of him, even behind his back, otherwise the djinn … Maybe these really are Da Mullah Saed Mustafa’s djinn. The djinn my grandfather said were watching us all the time at home, so we’d get found out if we were naughty. But I used to curse the djinn. At night, when I was outdoors with my cousins, we used to find a big tree in a corner of an abandoned orchard behind a ruined wall, and we used to piss there, hoping we had pissed on Da Mullah Saed Mustafa’s djinn. Tonight those djinn have come back to piss on my chest.

If Parwaneh sees the djinn she’ll be possessed.

“Parwaneh, little one, please go away, don’t stay here!”

The djinn have stolen my voice from my throat.

The officer shot me a look of pure hatred. He bawled at me:

“The commander’s going to fuck your fucking sister hard!”

Then I felt the Kalashnikov butt thud into my guts. Everything went black. Vomit shot up my throat and sprayed out all over the officer’s uniform, all over his gun, all over the photo of Hafizullah Amin dangling from the mirror of the jeep … The jeep stopped. Two jackbooted men hauled me out. They kicked and kicked me until I fell into the sewer by the side of the road.

They swore and shouted at me:

“Fuck your father!”

“Brother!”

Parwaneh is still here by my bed.

“Parwaneh, little one, is that you? If it’s you, stay and say the Kalima with me. Recite a verse from the Koran and get these djinn off my chest. Dear Parwaneh, my soul got lost in the backstreets of the city and it was captured by these two men wearing jackboots and now the djinn have taken over my body. My soul has been kicked into the sewer. My soul is hurt, dear Parwaneh, please stay with your brother, please read me the Koran … Cast the djinn out so my battered soul can come home to my poor damaged body. Parwaneh?”

Parwaneh is gone. She has left me. She thinks I’m asleep. She has no idea the djinn have possessed me.

It’s not that long till morning prayers. And then after prayers my mother will come and sit by my bed. Gently and quietly. As always, under her breath, she will whisper a prayer by my side. Tenderly. She will protect me with her prayers. Gentler than the breeze, the djinn will melt away. My eyes will open. And instead of grumbling, I will smile at my mother. I will kiss her hands. I will prostrate myself before her. Around my neck I will wear the talisman my grandfather got from Da Mullah Saed Mustafa. I will believe in heaven and in the heavenly host of angels, I will think continuously of my soul. Every night, before I go to sleep, I will wash and then I will pray. I will not masturbate in bed. I will cross my clean hands over my heart and I will repeat the name of God a hundred and one times, Al-Ba’ith, Al-Ba’ith, Al-Ba’ith …