Kader Abdolah - My Father's Notebook

“To the mountains,” the woman signed and she hurried over to the approaching bus.

It’s hard to tell whether they’re

animal tracks or footprints.

Darkness had fallen and Akbar’s house was abuzz with activity. Neighbours kept dropping in. They were all sure that Golden Bell was one of the escaped prisoners, though they had no official confirmation.

They told each other that Golden Bell had been preparing her escape for months, knitting warm clothes out of Akbar’s yarn and hoarding a supply of nuts. Still, it was hard to believe.

Tina, surrounded by family and neighbours, was beside herself with worry. Marzi and Enzi tried to reassure her.

“There’s no need to act as if Golden Bell is dead, Mother,” Enzi said to her. “I have the feeling she’s still alive. She might even have reached the top of Saffron Mountain by now.”

“The top of Saffron Mountain?” Tina wailed. “She can’t have escaped. I know my daughter. Would somebody please go and ask what’s happened to her? Would somebody please find out?”

“She might have escaped,” Marzi said. “Everyone knows that the guards have been out all day searching the mountains. Try to pull yourself together, Mother. Even if they’ve been cap—”

“Stop!” cried Tina, putting her hands over her ears.

There was an abrupt silence. Suddenly Tina noticed that Akbar wasn’t there.

“Hasn’t Akbar come home?”

“Maybe he’s gone to the shop.”

The neighbours whispered among themselves. “Do you understand what it means if they really have escaped?” said one.

“Let’s hope the guards don’t catch them,” said another.

“I wonder if they can survive in the mountains. It’s freezing cold and Golden Bell isn’t an experienced climber.”

“Oh, but she’s tough! My guess is that they had outside help. They’d have to be crazy to head for the mountains. Maybe there was a car waiting for them outside the prison.”

“They say that Golden Bell put on a black chador, then simply walked out of the gate and disappeared.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Why not? Didn’t she say she was weaving a magic carpet so she could fly away?”

“Just thinking about it makes me tremble.”

“Marzi! Enzi! Where are Bolfazl and Atri?” Tina asked. “Would somebody please go see if Father’s come back from the prison?”

The next-door neighbour was making soup and the woman from across the street was making tea. She poured glasses for everyone and took them around on a tray. Marzi put on her chador and went to see if Akbar was in his shop.

Bolfazl and Atri, the husbands of Marzi and Enzi, arrived a little while later. They’d gone to the imam in the hope of finding out what was going on.

“Well?” Tina cried, as she leapt to her feet.

“Nothing,” said Bolfazl. “Every door in the world seems to be shut. We haven’t been able to reach anyone.”

“Here, have a cup of tea,” said Enzi. “We’ll just have to wait. There’s nothing else we can do.”

The door opened. Marzi came in and said that Akbar wasn’t back yet.

“Not back yet? Oh, my God,” cried Tina.

She grabbed her chador. “I’m going to go look for him. I’m afraid he’s fallen again. Bolfazl, Atri, will you come with me?”

“Sit down, Tina,” said Enzi. “Don’t get excited. The men will find out where he is.”

“You see?” Tina cried. “I’ve told him a thousand times to take the bus, but he never listens.”

“Maybe he stopped off at a friend’s,” Enzi said. “Let’s phone a few people first. If he isn’t there, the men can go and look for him. Sit down, everything will be all right.”

Three men — Tina’s sons-in-law and one of the neighbours — put on warm coats, grabbed a couple of lanterns and went out into the darkness to look for Akbar.

They walked towards the prison, scanning the snow to see if he’d fallen. They asked every person they ran into if they’d seen him.

“Excuse me, have you seen Aga Akbar?”

“Aga Akbar?”

“Yes, the carpet-mender. You know, the deaf-mute.”

“The Akbar who walks to the prison?”

“Yes.”

“I often see him, but not today.”

They went on, until they ran into an old farmer, pushing a cartload of wood through the snow.

“Salaam aleikum,” they said.

“Good evening, what are you gentlemen doing out in this cold?”

“We’re looking for Aga Akbar, the carpet-mender.”

“Oh, the man with the cane who walks to—”

“Yes. Did you happen to see him today?”

“No. I’ve been inside.”

In the distance they saw the bus coming down the mountain. They held up their lanterns. The bus came to a cautious stop at the side of the icy road.

“Aren’t you going to get in?” the driver called out of the window.

“No. We’re looking for Aga Akbar.”

“Which Aga Akbar?”

“The carpet-mender.”

“You mean the deaf-mute whose daughter is in prison?”

“Yes, have you seen him?”

“I think so.”

“Where? When?”

“I’m not sure. This morning? This afternoon? Maybe around eleven, or was it twelve? Anyway, I think I was heading up the mountain when I saw him, but I don’t remember where.”

He turned to his passengers. “Has anyone seen the deafmute carpet-mender today? No?”

The bus drove off. The men went on looking.

“Something must’ve happened to him,” said the neighbour. “Maybe we ought to contact the police.”

“The police! Do you think they would help us?”

“Let’s go on for a couple of miles,” said Atri. “There’s a garage just outside the next village. We can ask there. Somebody must have seen him!”

A cold wind blew down from the mountains and brought the snow along with it.

“I don’t understand how a sick man like Akbar can walk all this way,” said the neighbour.

“He’s strong.”

“Yes, but he’s sick.”

“He walks very slowly and doesn’t push himself,” said Bolfazl. “He rarely takes a bus or a taxi. He may be sick, but he’s stronger than I am.”

“It looks like the garage is closed,” said Atri. “Nobody’s out on these icy roads tonight.”

Still, they went on walking until they reached the garage.

“Oh, good, there’s a phone box,” Bolfazl said. “I’ll call home. Who knows? Maybe he’s returned by now.”

Marzi answered the phone.

“It’s me, Bolfazl. Has he come home yet? No? We’ve looked almost everywhere. OK, we’ll keep on looking. I’ll call if we find him.”

“The garage owner lives in the village,” said Atri. “He must have seen him. Let’s go to his house.”

They walked to the village. At the grocer’s, they asked where the garage owner lived. “A few streets away,” said the grocer, “in a house with a big iron door.”

The doorbell was broken. Atri picked up a rock and banged it against the door. A dog barked.

“Who’s there?” a woman called.

“Sorry. Is the—”

The door opened and the garage owner himself appeared.

“Excuse me for disturbing you so late at night,” said Atri, “but we’re looking for the carpet-mender who walks to the prison. Do you know who I mean?”

“Sure. Aga Akbar. I know him well. He mended one of our carpets. He always waves when he walks past on his way to the prison. Why? Has something happened to him?”

“He walked to the prison this morning, but he hasn’t come home yet. He’s got heart problems, so we’re worried about him. We’ve been searching all along the road. Have you seen him today?”