Mahmoud Dowlatabadi - Thirst

‘But you asked me to read this page, Major.’

‘And now I’m asking you to turn the page and read the passage about Abu Ja’far Budavaniq, dear friend!’

‘… And so it was that Khorammeh, daughter to Faezeh, fled Madaen …’

‘Further on! I want to hear about Abu Muslim’s assassination!’

‘… when Abu Ja’far Budavaniq, in Baghdad, assassinated Abu Muslim in the year of one hundred and thirty seven after the Hijra of Muhammad — Peace Be Upon Him — a chief there was in the city of Neishabur, his name Sunpadh, who with Abu Muslim had of old the right to converse and serve, and Abu Muslim had raised him and helped him advance to the level of commandership. After Abu Muslim was murdered, he departed and from Neishabur, with an army, descended upon Rey and stayed in Rey and as his forces became stronger he demanded vengeance for Abu Muslim’s blood and proclaimed thus that he was Abu Muslim’s envoy to the people of Iraq and Khorasan, bearing the message that “Abu Muslim is not dead …” ’

‘That’s the passage! I wanted to show you the sort of people we’re fighting against. These are the real children of the same Zoroastrians who have stolen our clothes and proclaimed themselves Muslims, while all the time trying to depose us!’

‘But this is just a short account of a brief moment of history that has been turned into a story, and even this story clearly departs from the historic aspects of the wider narrative in this text. Imagination, this is pure imagination. The conclusion of this story is even more interesting than what you just heard. Our neighbours are imaginative people, listen! That man of Neishabur starts a rumour that Abu Muslim has not been killed and spreads it among the people. Listen to this!’

‘I have to go, Katib! Didn’t you hear the sound of the jeep’s engine? This folder contains the dossier of those three prisoners. An appalling and tragic accident has taken place in the prison camp I’m commander of, and it’s crying out for you to write a report about it, which will be much more interesting to read than the tales of our storytelling enemy! Write your report on the basis of those documents if you like; if not, feel free to content yourself with the fabrications of our enemies. I am a soldier, Katib. When I put on this uniform, I swore an oath beneath the flag of our Arab homeland to remain steadfast to certain principles.’

‘Coffee, Major? The coffee’s ready! Two cups. Shall we drink together? Will you listen to me as I read the ending?’

‘OK, read away and have done with it!’

‘… he proclaimed vengeance for Abu Muslim’s blood, the same Sunpadh, and let it be known that Abu Muslim had not been killed, [meaning that] when Mansur intended to kill him, Abu Muslim had chanted the great name of God and had turned into a white dove and flown out of his hands. And now he abides within an enclosure of copper, with his wives …’

‘That was delicious. Great coffee. Better brewed than the first cup we had last night. Do you mean to say Abu Muslim turned into a dove in the hands of Caliph Mansur?’

‘That was the very claim that Sunpadh of Neishabur used to assemble a group of followers who swore to follow in the steps of Abu Muslim …’

‘Very well, Katib. In those days they … but let’s not dwell on the question of the flag under which they fought us, my friend. My final word is to ask whether our katib is going to write a documented account or does he wish to turn into a white dove in the hands of Caliph Abu Mansur? Ultimately, that must be your decision, Abu Alaa! I sincerely hope and trust you won’t turn into a dove! God be with you!’

‘Farew — …’

I DIDN’T WANT TO HUMILIATE HIM, and I still don’t. Our literature is filled with the humiliation of Arabs, all stemming from the frustration of defeat. So what was important to me in this situation was victory. I had to conquer, conquer the enemy’s trench. I could kill him, right there in his trench. With a bullet, or my bayonet, or this wire loop hanging at my waist that was designed for strangling adversaries. But instead I handed it to that soldier to tie our captive’s wrists together and then ordered him to remove his cartridge belt and tie it around his elbows, to pin them to his chest and back. He made me furious! But I couldn’t just kill him in cold blood. The sun had just risen, but the small of his back was bathed in sweat. Sweat poured from his brow and ran down his neck. Evidently there was still some water left in his body, even though all the flasks in his trench were empty and his hip flask too. His eyes! His eyes tormented me. His gaze, that gaze … it was with those eyes that he had spotted my five men before riddling them with bullets. If I were an executioner I would have plucked those eyes out of their sockets, only I lacked the callousness. It was thanks to my ability to turn into a dove that I had been able to descend the hill light-footed, crawl across the narrow valley between the two hills, and in ascending the far side turn into a serpent … All I did was call him Saad ibn Abi Waqqas! And since I was certain he would never tell me his real name, from that moment onwards, Saad was what I would call him!

‘Blindfold him, soldier! Tie a cloth over the prisoner’s eyes. His crime is in those eyes and those fingers. Now make him walk down the hill and hold your white flag up, and if there are any flasks around take them and tie them together around your neck. I think I forgot to ask your name … I did, didn’t I? What did you say your name was?’

‘Anoom, *sir!’

‘Did you say Anoom?’

‘Yes sir! I’ve taken his first-aid kit too … with your permission.’

‘Anoom?’

‘Yes sir!’

‘What’s your unit?’

‘Anoom, sir!’

‘Which battalion?’

‘The same, sir!’

‘Regiment?’

‘Same, sir!’

‘Command centre?’

‘I just mentioned it, sir!’

‘Dispatched from?’

‘Same, sir!’

‘Surname?’

‘Same as before!’

‘City, province, region, village, place of birth, etc …’

‘Anoom, Captain sir!’

‘I’m not a captain, boy! Were you captured alone?’

‘No, Lieutenant sir! The other soldier was killed in the middle of the night. He’d gone mad from thirst.’

‘Shouldn’t you have been evacuated back behind enemy lines by now?’

‘The enemy’s reserve units were routed. He was confused. He’d lost his men and … maybe he wanted to keep us hostage. What’s going on down there, sir?’

‘Doomsday!’

‘I’m serious, sir. Why are we going down to the base of the valley? Wouldn’t that be a fatal error? This Saad could shoot our boys so easily from up there. It’s a trap down there. It’s been three years and seven months since I joined the army. Down there it’s a trap, sir!’

‘Death and water. We won’t stay long. Water, the water tank is down there. We’ll take some water, see to our boys and then try to break out. I’ve positioned someone behind a machine gun up there too, if he survives until water arrives.’

‘Did you say a water tank? Water? Water! Water! Where is the water? Where?’

‘Under the brow of this very hill we’re climbing down. You can’t see it from this side.’

‘You’re right, sir!’

‘Saad should walk two steps ahead of you. Pull the blindfold up from his eyes, just enough so he can see his feet. Otherwise he’ll fall over, and dragging his carcass along will become our responsibility! We’d probably have to call a bone-binder for him as well! We’ll make him wait at a distance of about five paces from the water and … When you’ve filled the first flask, pass it to me. Maybe our boys are still alive?’