Mahmoud Dowlatabadi - Thirst

‘What a dreadful crime … how ghastly!’

‘I was very small when I heard about this. I didn’t cry. But I wanted to go with someone to the pigeon-fanciers’ hangout. I wanted to look into the eyes and faces of each and every one of them and find out which wicked bastard had had the heart to do such a horrible thing. But my family wouldn’t let me. They told me they were all cutthroats to a man. That same evening, late at night, word spread that the rivals had brawled and knifed each other, cut each other open. There was a policeman in our neighbourhood; his name was Nabi Sebil. He brought the news from the police station. “See?” said my family on hearing this, “We don’t belong to that world.” I see I’ve drifted away from the matter in hand, Lieutenant sir, but … they called them pigeon-fanciers. As in, they loved pigeons. Then how is it possible that someone who is in love with pigeons can bring himself to decapitate about eighty or ninety pairs of them in a couple of minutes?’

‘Madness! Excessive love is a hair’s breadth away from madness. There have been lovers who have killed their loved ones out of sheer love! Greed, greed and avarice are vile motives that can sometimes lead — indeed, often have led — to bigger crimes as well. Did you fill the flasks, all of them? Okay. I’ll take that spade, too. Give the giant some more water, and call him Saad! He won’t tell us his real name. We don’t need to know it, anyway. He’ll tell us everything when the time comes. I’ll take the flasks, these weapons, this spade and anything else that might be useful. You carry one of the two remaining bodies and Waqqas will carry the other one. There’s nothing else left here. Right, let’s get moving!’

‘Yes, sir! But just to satisfy my curiosity, please, I know it’s very forward of me to ask, but that’s the first time I’ve ever heard that phrase, that word.’

‘Which phrase?’

‘Besmel!’

‘Okay, up the hill we go. Saad first and you after him, but keep your distance and don’t walk immediately behind him. We don’t know if he’s mad enough to suddenly turn on you, hurl himself and what he’s carrying on you and set you all rolling down the hill. I’ll walk backwards in front of him and point his own gun at him, so he knows I can send him to hell with no chance of missing. Still, you shouldn’t walk directly behind him. Walk parallel to him! How long did it take you to get up the hill the previous time?’

‘Less than fifty minutes when I was carrying a body. This time it might take about an hour. The first time, when I went up with no load, it only took me seventeen minutes to go up and come back down again. But from Saad’s expression, I don’t think he’s capable of turning and moving nimbly. His hands are tied too. It’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t tumble down while he’s climbing anyway. I’m ready … but …’

‘I understand. Alright! Once we’re up there, out of this valley of doom, there in the trench I will tell you all about besmel . We’ll probably have to stay in the trench for the entire day and at nightfall find a way to break out, walk under cover of darkness and get ourselves to a friendly base. I’m not concerned on that score. Many’s the night I’ve stared at the stars, and I know how to navigate by them, like the caravan leaders of old. We’ll have all day in the trench for me to tell you the story of besmel , the story of becoming a dove, and the story of that lioness who has breasts filled with milk, who scours the desert for the lost ones who are dying of thirst and hunger. Immediately, without any delay or expectations, she feeds them her milk and shows them the way. Have you heard about that lioness? No! But … if we don’t manage to get out of this valley of hell, or if dark clouds come and cover the sky and the stars are no longer visible, and if clouds of fire rain down upon us, then we’ll see with our own eyes the meaning of the word you are seeking to understand. Right then, lift the body up onto his shoulders and fasten his legs to his neck with the cartridge belt. That way this Saad will know he’ll be in even more trouble if he tries to shed his load and do a runner. Anything else to report?’

‘Same as before, two or three petrol tankers parked beyond that bend in the road and no doubt there are other booby-traps concealed or buried all over the place! We didn’t have time to investigate thoroughly. This pass is known as the Pass of Hell and it’s been in enemy hands for months. Perhaps they’ve planted gunpowder in every grain of dirt. How can we tell?’

‘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.

‘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!’