Da (Mother) 114

The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni

Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
Translated from the Persian with an Introduction by Paul Sprachman

2024-9-9

Da (Mother) 114

The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni

Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni

Translated from the Persian with an Introduction by Paul Sprachman

Persian Version (2008)

Sooreh Mehr Publishing House

English Version (2014)

Mazda Publishers

***

There was a lot of arguing back and forth, but we finally returned to the camp. After a meal and a nap, we went back to the jetty in the late afternoon with the sun’s fury gone. Five of the commandos in Yaddi’s group had already flown off on the noon helicopter. Two of the commandos told me Yaddi and another man stayed behind trying to get  passes for the rest. As we were standing there, I noticed the commandos who had fought with us at the War Room were on the jetty. When they saw us, the men we were supposed to surrender to took the others aside and spoke to them. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but from the expressions on their faces I assumed they were going to pull something on us. I said to the girls, “They’re ratting us out.”

Zohreh said anxiously, “I hope to God the other commandos don’t believe them and decide not to take us.”

“Meaning what?” I asked. “It isn’t like this is the first time Yaddi and the others have seen us. They know us from before. Besides, if all it takes is one word from them to keep us from getting passes, we might as well not get them. God willing, we’ll find a way to go to Abadan.”

Several minutes later the two commandos returned. Although we were dying to know what the others had said about us, we remained quiet. They were the ones to speak first, asking, “Do you know those two?”

“No. We saw them for the first time yesterday.”

“How did you get to know them?” they asked.

We explained what happened. They looked at each other and laughed. “Do you know what they told us about you?”

“No.”

“They asked what we were doing with you. They said you’re Hypocrites trying to bring down the Revolution. You were under surveillance and you’d be arrested and tried in some desert court. You had insulted the leader of the country.”

“What did you say to them?” we asked.

They laughed and said, “We’re not children. We didn’t believe a word!”

We all had a good laugh and said, “They’re happy now, but if they stick around they’ll really get a surprise!”

Yaddi returned happily with a handful of passes, but told us we would have to go to Abadan by hovercraft at night, so it wouldn’t be seen. This was the first time we had heard the word “hovercraft.” We thought it was like “Chinook” or “Cobra,” a kind of helicopter. The commandos explained it was a vehicle that goes both on land and water at high speeds, so fast it sometimes flies over the water. I was so happy I didn’t know what to do. We were going back to Abadan— as soldiers! Yaddi explained the hovercraft was only for military.

We had a long, boring wait until 8:00 when the hovercraft was due to leave. To kill time we walked along the jetty, which was surrounded by water on three sides. We stood facing the Gulf. The water stretched out to where the horizon met the sea. To our right the setting sun was a red ball with a dazzling reflection on the water. At Khorramshahr the level of the water was much lower than the shoreline, but here the waves lapped over the land. It was only at sunset that the level went down, revealing the sandy banks along the jetty. But it didn’t take long for the water to rise again. With the call to prayer we went into a building on the jetty. We did our ablutions and said our prayers on a blanket spread on the floor. Then we returned to the staging area.

Personnel, most of whom were military, kept coming on the jetty. Among them were some regular army people. There were about two or three hundred of them. Most of the incoming groups carried munitions boxes of various sorts, which they stacked on the jetty. I knew cartridges and pistols were in the wooden boxes, and mortar shells were in the metal ones. I asked one of the commandos what was in the large wooden crates the size of coffins. “Those are for rockets,” he said.

It was now past the time they had promised the hovercraft would leave, and I got more nervous the later it got. Five girls in a military zone stuck out like a sore thumb. Everybody was astonished to see us there. We tried to act in way that blocked all conversation, but I still had a strange feeling of uneasiness. “How could we be sure,” I asked myself, “the hovercraft operators were not Fifth Columnists delivering us right to the Iraqis?” I had heard stories about a number of traitors turning their fellow countrymen into prisoners of war. Living under wartime conditions and having to deal with strangers had made us extremely wary. I wished Leila had stayed with mother and not with me. Then, if something were to happen, it would happen to me alone. That would have been easier for mother, and give Leila a chance to live out the rest of her life, but she refused.

At 10:00 the water got choppy, and there was a faint buzzing sound. The monster hovercraft gradually came into view, and the closer it got, the more imposing it became in my eyes. It didn’t have an identifiable, geometric shape. Rather, it was a square-ish brown or black blob with round edges. It was about the size of a Chinook helicopter. Two things looking like locusts were on the roof. It docked very gently at the jetty. In the darkness I couldn’t make out what it was made of. A few powerful military-issue spotlights lit up the area.

They told people to step aside while munitions were being loaded. Men formed a chain and put the boxes on board quickly. Then a uniformed man read the passenger list, which was compiled from the passes issued at the jetty office. For some reason my hopes were not high. Were we ever going to get to Abadan? Then they read out our names, and we boarded. They led us to a corner of the hovercraft where there was a bench and, next to it, soldiers’ packs. We sat and examined the interior, which was darker in color than the outside.

It didn’t take long for the entire craft to fill up with the rest of the passengers sitting on the deck. I felt as if we were in a military tent. The concave sides of the hovercraft kept us from leaning back. I looked at the girls, who were as happy as I to be aboard. Then I thought of mother, how she would be concerned about us by now. At that point,  Zohreh, as if reading my mind, said to Leila and me, “If only one of you had stayed behind with your mother.”

“I couldn’t,” I said.

“I didn’t mean you,” Zohreh said.

“So, I should have been the one to stay?” asked Leila very put out.

“God knows,” said Zohreh with a laugh.

Zohreh’s comment only made me more upset about mother. It bothered my conscience to leave her and the kids alone. I felt I had behaved rottenly, ignoring what was their due and only considering what I wanted. But then I thought, “Father had left them, and Ali took his path. Why should I be the only one to stay behind with the kids? If martyrdom was a good thing, why shouldn’t I want to be a martyr too?” Seeing no end to the self-criticism and justification, I left it up to God. In my heart I said, “Lord, if I’m doing the right thing, help me. If You’re not pleased, just let me come back alive.”

Putting my trust in God was some relief. While we waited for the craft to leave, the men prayed out loud and repeated, “God is great.”

Then the personnel in charge of seating announced there was no more room, and they closed the doors. Due to the lack of space, it was standing-room-only for many. The rumble of the motors gradually got louder, and I wondered how the craft would be able to move loaded as it was with all the personnel and munitions. Contrary to my expectations, it slipped off very easily. The only hitch came when the things rose and started to hover.

The thrill of gliding over the water didn’t last long, however. The air suddenly filled with acrid smoke, burning our throats. There was some anxious talk, as people wondered what was happening. One fellow with an earpiece said, “Everybody stay calm. We’ve got to go back. It seems one of the motors is on fire.”

Panic surged through the crowd. Terrified, someone screamed, “It’s going to go up any minute, and we’ll be burned to death with all this ammunition on board!” Someone else said, “Why should it catch fire? I hope to God they didn’t fire a torpedo at us!” The other one said, “Do you really think this is some kind of submarine they would torpedo?”

Frankly, I was a little afraid. “See what happens?” I said to myself, “How God punishes you for upsetting mother? He won’t let you leave.

And now you’re going to die without even getting to Abadan. You’re going to have to explain why you went without permission. Explain why you broke your mother’s heart. Worst of all, you’ll have to tell father why you broke your promise to take care of the kids.” This wasn’t the afterlife I had in mind, spending eternity ashamed to look father in the face.

As the smoke got thicker, we kept our eyes fixed on the munitions. The hovercraft returned to the jetty in less time than it took it to reach the open water. Men charged the door before the gangway opened and the craft docked. From all sides people were shouting, “Don’t panic. We’re putting it out now. Let the women off first. Don’t push.” They opened a path for us, and we saw several people with fire extinguishers rushing toward the cabin. We jumped from the hovercraft, landing in water up to our waists. Several soldiers were wading toward the bow of the craft. Locking arms, we trudged through the water and mud and, giggling all the way, managed to get out of the water; but we were still unsettled by what had happened. Safely on shore everybody had something to say. Sabah, who had suggested we wait for a different and better way to get to Abadan, said, “What did I tell you? We shouldn’t have been in such a rush. But you wouldn’t listen and look what happened!”

I got sore at Leila and said, “It’s all your fault. If you had stayed behind with mother, this wouldn’t have happened!”

I also let Sabah have it, “You and your bellyaching jinxed the whole thing.”

“Get off it, will you. Why are you always starting fights?” Sabah said.

Zohreh said, “What bad luck! After all that running around to get passes!”

After finally agreeing it was God’s will, we went to help unload the munitions. They didn’t let us get too close to the fire, so we just waited in the background. We couldn’t see the burned part of the hovercraft, only the reflection of the flames on the water. After the fire was out, engineers got busy repairing the craft. We couldn’t go until it was fixed. It was now past midnight, and the hovercraft that had arrived when we had gotten underway was being loaded. It wouldn’t be going back that night.

To be continued …