Da (Mother) 118

The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni

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

2024-10-6

Da (Mother) 118

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

***

Leaving the helicopter, we saw water on one side of us, and a desert flat with a road running down the middle on the other. Launches were moored by the shore where many people were waiting to board them. They were carrying as many of their household belongings as they could. Most were from families that had already been evacuated but had returned to rescue their possessions from the fires and falling debris. We started walking with Yaddi and his companions down the deserted roadway. Our throats were parched not just from the heat, but from the dust stirred up by the helicopter. Vehicles speeding by added to the grit we had to swallow. It took only a few minutes before we were covered head to foot in dust, and our throats were raw. Yaddi and his companions had large duffel bags with them to carry the documents they had been ordered to retrieve. “Will you and Leila come with us to collect the papers?” they asked. “No,” I said. “We’re going to the hospital.”

They flagged down a white pickup near a traffic circle and we got in. The driver stuck his head out the window and asked if we had passes. “Yeah,” we said. “I don’t mean just a helicopter pass,” he warned. “There’s a checkpoint up there, and they’ll want to see your permits for Abadan.”

“Just take us there and leave the rest to God,” we said.

They stopped us at the first checkpoint, but after a little pleading, they let us pass. They warned us we would never be able to get past the next checkpoint. We went another kilometer, and Leila and I got out by the Abadan gate. Having been instructed never to let us out of their sight, Yaddi and his companions also got out. They spoke with the guards, trying to convince them to let us come with them, but to no avail. Yaddi told them, “Don’t worry. We’ll get passes for them and be sure to bring them to you.” “That’s impossible,” they said. Finally Yaddi said, “If they don’t come back with passes, you can detain us. Here’s the address of our base.” I was embarrassed to be such a nuisance to Yaddi and his companions, but I found their support gratifying. In the end, two things convinced the guards to let us through: Yaddi’s guarantee and my teary speech about having come this far, only to be denied entry. But even then they warned, “There’s another checkpoint up ahead. They’ll never let you stay in the city on your own.”

“I don’t know what to do. We came to work in the hospital,” I said. One of Yaddi’s companions said, “If you think it’s all right, I can take you to the home of my wife’s family. We had decided I’d bring them back to Mahshahr when we went back. You can wait there while we try to get passes for you.”

We had no choice but to accept. They brought us to the house, which was in the Ahmadabad neighborhood. An old man opened the door. His daughters, who were around thirteen and seventeen, were dressed and ready for their brother-in-law to take them out of Abadan. In addition to the bundles of possessions, one of them had—of all things—a birdcage. Yaddi’s companion asked his father-in-law, “Can these sisters stay here until we come for them?” The old man politely offered them lunch, but they said “Thank you. We’ll eat at the base.” We sat on the old man’s porch, which overlooked the rear compound. I had a nagging sense of being out of place there. I was also upset we had intruded on the family at a time like that. The several hours we spent there seemed to go on for ages. Finally because Yaddi and his men failed to get passes for us, we only had to go back to Chu’ebdeh.

We boarded the helicopter. During the return trip, the pilot, who had traveled back and forth between Chu’ebdeh and Mahshahr several times that day, testily said to Leila and me, “There’s a war going on and you two are taking helicopter rides? This isn’t a taxi service, you know!”

“What choice do we have? It’s not our fault. They wouldn’t let us into the city,” I explained. The commando’s family members were also on the helicopter. The two girls, who weren’t happy about leaving Abadan, were still carrying the birdcage. “It’d be a sin to leave the poor birds there to die,” one of them said. During the flight I kept thinking, “Why is it that no matter what we do to get to get back to the war, we fail?” Later I comforted myself, thinking it was what God intended. After reaching Sar Bandar, we went to the camp clinic and got back to work.

End of Chapter Twenty Nine

To be continued …