Atiq Rahimi - A Curse on Dostoevsky

“Allah-o Akbar!” The call to prayer startles Rassoul, pulling him from the wall of his sleep. Here he is, on the ground, his hands and feet bound in chains.

The hoarse voice of the muezzin fades away and everything drowns in the silence. Except the song of the fly, which is still playing peacefully and religiously inside Rassoul’s head, Tat, tat, tat… tvam, tvam… asi…

It no longer disturbs him.

Nothing disturbs him anymore, not even the sound of footsteps stomping up the passage and stopping outside his door; not even the door that will never again open for anyone except death.

They open the spy hole only. The guard says, “Stand up, you have a visitor.” Rassoul doesn’t move.

“Rassoul!” It is Razmodin. Rassoul stands up slowly and looks through the hole at his cousin’s horrified eyes. He walks up to the door. “What have you done now?” Rassoul shrugs his shoulders, as if to say nothing serious. But Razmodin is waiting for a word, a voice. As usual, there is nothing. His cousin loses his temper. “Say something, damn it!” His words ring out in the corridor. “Hey, calm down!” exclaims the guard. “I was in Mazar,” says Razmodin. “I brought Donia and your mother back here. We went straight to your house. You weren’t there. I took them to a hotel. I’ve been combing the city for you. No one knew where you were, not Sophia, not Yarmohamad… Everyone is worrying. In the end, some of Parwaiz’s guys told me where to find you…” He stops, hoping to hear Rassoul say something for once. In vain. He continues: “Why make up this crazy story? Have you lost your mind?” Rassoul is impassive. “Do something before it’s too late, for the sake of your mother, your sister, for Sophia…” He moves away from the door to speak to the guard. “Let me into the cell, brother.”

“No, you’re not allowed.”

“Please. There’s something in it for you. Here!”

“No… but… well, just for a minute, then.”

“I promise.”

The door opens and Razmodin enters. “I can’t tell my aunt anything. You know how she’ll suffer if she hears about your arrest.” He grabs Rassoul by the shoulders and shakes him. “How can I tell them? Do you want your mother to have a heart attack? Do you want Donia and Sophia to lose their minds from grief? How can you be so selfish?” Everything is over, Razmodin, everything. Rassoul has no ego left, no pride. He is abandonment itself. “Tomorrow, you will be hanged!” The quicker the better, so Rassoul can move on to other things! “Why are you laughing at me?” He is not laughing at you, just laughing. He is laughing with the angels of death. “Why won’t you take life seriously? You’re behaving like someone from Aliabad!” More seriously, then? Tomorrow will be a great day for him; you’d better believe it. Everyone will be there, everyone. A beautiful death!

Yes, I want to live my death at last. Lightly.

Razmodin gets to his feet, discouraged by Rassoul’s laughing eyes and cheerful silence. “I’m going to bring your mother and Donia. Perhaps they will change your mind.”

Rassoul stands up in protest. He shakes his head, eyes pleading, as if to say: “No, Razmodin, leave them in peace!”

They stand staring at each other. “If they don’t find out today, they will tomorrow.”

When I’m dead, I won’t care.

“But why? All this because you killed some stupid madam?” asks Razmodin, taking a step forward. “Look around you: people are murdering each other every day. Parwaiz’s men were laughing as they told me your story.”

So much the better if I’m making people laugh at last—and with my murder, too!

Razmodin drops to his knees. “So you still think that a trial can change this fucking country? You’re dreaming, my cousin. Dreaming…” He swallows a sob, stands up, takes Rassoul by the shoulders and shakes him again. “Wake up, that’s enough, wake up! Let go of these crazy dreams!” Rassoul shuts his eyes. His hand moves, hesitates, then clasps his cousin in an embrace.

I’ve woken, Razmodin.

They stand there hugging for a long time, until the guard arrives. “You must leave now, brother. It is time for his dinner.”

Razmodin abandons Rassoul. They look deeply into each other’s eyes one last time. “I won’t abandon you,” he says. “I’ll go and see the judge, I’ll see everyone. I won’t let you destroy your life.”

He leaves the cell, determined but anxious. The guard shuts the door, and then the spy hole.

A fly lounges on the wall.

TAT, TAT, tat… tvam, tvam… asi…

Where do these paltry words come from? He’s probably heard them somewhere before. In an Indian film, perhaps. It doesn’t matter. The noise is soothing, it makes the filthy fly seem more attractive.

Rassoul whistles the tune to block out the world.

And he hears nothing. Not the engine of a car as it stops next to his window. Not the men’s footsteps entering the corridor and approaching his cell. Not the key in the lock, the door opening, or the gruff voice ordering: “Stand up!”

He remains sitting.

Light floods in, revealing the forbidding face of Amer Salam. He asks for the two of them to be left alone for a few minutes. As soon as the others leave, Amer Salam grabs Rassoul by the neck, insults him briefly, and asks him what he has done with the money and jewels that he stole.

Rassoul shrugs his shoulders to indicate that he doesn’t know. Amer Salam insists, swears that he will cut them out of his mother’s stomach if he has to, and presses his gun into Rassoul’s belly. Rassoul gazes at him without fear and then points to his throat, groaning to indicate that he cannot speak. Out of his mind with rage, Amer Salam yells for a pen and paper. He will give Rassoul five minutes to write down the location of the jewels and the money. “And if you don’t, I’ll use that paper to set light to your girlfriend’s pussy!” With that, he stalks out of the cell.

Rassoul is brought pen and paper. He writes: “Leave my family alone. I will give you everything at the foot of the gallows.” He hands the piece of paper to the guard.

Five minutes later the guards return. They take Rassoul out, his hands and feet still bound in chains.

Before they get into the van, one of the guards asks Rassoul if he has performed his ablutions. He nods yes, smiling. The van drives out of the Wellayat gate, onto the road, and accelerates. Rassoul is hunched over when he hears his name being shouted from a distance. He looks up to see Razmodin running down the empty street, shouting and waving at the vehicle to stop. Rassoul gazes at him serenely.

The van drives along. Rassoul looks at the few pedestrians hurrying in the same direction, toward Zarnegar Park.

Lately, the sky has never been so blue, or so distant. And the sun has never been so clear, or so close.

The van stops in the park, and everyone gets out.

Rassoul is absorbed by the birdsong. He gazes at the branches of the trees, looking for the birds so he can hum along with them: Tat, tat, tat… tvam, tvam… asi…

“Rassoul!” A woman in a sky-blue chador rushes toward them, lifting the corner of her veil. It is Sophia, in tears, and the armed men push her away on the instructions of the new clerk. They prod Rassoul forward. He is apathetic, indifferent to everyone watching him, even to Farzan who nods a greeting with his usual sad smile.

“Don’t take him there!” It is Razmodin again, shouting from the back of the procession, out of breath. “Yes, Commandant Sir!” sniggers one of the armed men as he stops him from coming any closer. Razmodin desperately repeats the same words, over and over: “Listen to me, this is awful, awful!”