Daughter of Sheena 61

2015-12-21

Daughter of Sheena-61

Memories of Qadamkheyr Mohammadi Kanaan

Wife of Sardar Shaheed Haj Sattar Ebrahimi Hajir

Memory writer: Behnaz Zarrabizadeh

Tehran, Sooreh Mehr Publications Company, 2011 (Persian Version)

Translated by Zahra Hosseinian

With red and baggy eyes, friends, families and relatives arrived from Qayesh by several minibuses tomorrow morning. Samad's friends came and said: “Samad’s body has been transferred to Revolutionary Guards’ office.” We all got ready and went to see it. They had put my Samad’s coffin in a big refrigerator truck. It had come with other martyrs. The door of truck was open. Coffins were stacked. My brother-in-law, Teymour had stood next to me. I said: “Samad! Please bring my Samad. We haven’t seen each other for long time.” Mr. Teymour climbed up to the refrigerator part and lifted down several coffins with the help of a few other people. Samad’s coffin was not among them. Mr. Teymour placed a coffin in front of my feet and said: “this is my brother.”

Samad’s brothers, sisters, father, mother and also my father gathered around the coffin. I wished Sheena was with me and I was crying into his arm. She wasn’t feeling good recently and couldn’t come out of the house. There was no room for me and my kids beside Samad’s coffin. I sat down at his foot and said crying: “always, my share of you was this; the last one, the last look.”

My father-in-law and mother-in-law showed restlessness. It had just passed two months of Sattar’s martyrdom. This was the second martyr in his family. Samad’s brothers raised his coffin and put it into ambulance. I wanted to ride the ambulance, they didn’t allow me. I insisted that they allow me to be in ambulance, all the way toward the Bagh-e-Behesht[1]. I wanted to talk with him alone, but they didn’t let me. They forced me to ride another car. The ambulance moved off and we followed it. It was like Samad’s coffin would go quickly ahead. And we followed him calmly and slowly. Sometimes it went away and we lost it. I don’t remember who the driver of car was; just remember I said: “please go faster. Let me see him full in these last moments.”

The driver couldn’t follow the ambulance and lost it. Finally, I and Samad still were apart at the last moment. I had missed him. I had a lot of unsaid. I wanted to open my heart for him after nine years. I wanted to tell him my nostalgias, saying how many days and nights I cried of his separation. I wanted to say finally I fell in love with him badly.

I ran as we arrived to the Bagh-e-Behesht. “I want to tell him my last words,” I said. What a population had come! As I reached, the coffin moved above people’s hands. I ran after it. I saw the coffin is in front of crowd and wait for the prayer. I stood in the queue of prayer. After the prayer, Samad again moved above crowds’ hands. He always belonged to the people. They were taking him without performing ritual immersion and shrouding, just with the very green and beautiful military uniform. “Bring my kids, please.” I said, “From tomorrow they will miss their Dad. Let's them to see their Dad has gone and never come back.”

Bagh-e-Behesht had filled with the sound of crying and moaning. Coffin was put down. My Samad had lain down calmly into it.

I went ahead. I took Kadija and Masumah too. I calmed suddenly, although I was so impatient. I remembered my father-in-law, who said: “Samad has written in his will that tell my wife to live like Zeinab after my martyrdom.”

I sat down beside his coffin. One bullet had been shot on his left cheek. His beard was bloody. The rest of his body was safe. He had slept calm and relax with the very his green military uniform. His face had been beautiful and bright, just like that day when had come out of bathroom and dressed that white and blue checkered shirt.

He laughed and his white teeth glistened. I wish nobody was there. I wish that clad in black and crying people, who had stood around us, weren’t there. I wanted to lean and kiss his forehead in memory of our last visit. I muttered: “Goodbye,” Just this. There was no more time for talking. Several people came and took my Samad. The Samad I loved him. They took him and separated from me. I suddenly froze, when they buried and dusted soil over him. The flame of fire that had burst into flames last night was extinguished. My legs were numb. My heart froze. My hope was disappointed. I felt that I’m all alone, helpless, and without a companion and soul mate, among all the people. I felt like I had suddenly flung into another world, between a group of strangers, without support and anchorage. I had no back anymore. I was falling to the bottom of a deep valley from a height.

Shortly after, I had sat down by his grave with my five little kids. I couldn’t believe that Samad is down there, under a pile of dirt. I insisted my family to let me to sit beside his grave a little, but they didn’t. They took my hand and forced me to ride the car. Reaching to the house, I saw many guests gathered. Friends of Samad would come and related their memories of him. I would see no one. I would hear no sound. I couldn’t believe that my Samad is that one they would say. I wanted all of them go faster. House emptied. I would stay and my kids. I would nurse Mahdi; kiss Zahra; braid Khadija’s hair; sit Masumah on my feet; sing lullabies in Somayeh’s ear. I wanted to smell my kids; they smelled of Samad. Each of them had signs of Samad into their faces. All went. I was alone, all alone. We all were alone. Three-years-old Mahdi became the man of our home.

But no, Samad was still there, every moment, every minute. I would see him, feel his smell.

I ironed that beautiful shirt which Samad had brought from Mecca and hung it in wardrobe, beside our clothes. Coming from outside, children touched their Dad’s shirt; smelled and kissed it. Samad’s odor was always along with our clothes. Samad was always with us.

Children would hear his voice: “study my sweethearts. Be kind with each other. Take care of your mom. Do not forget God.”

Sometimes he would come very close to me and say in my ear: “Qadamkheyr! Hurry up. Grow up our kid soon. Help them to settle down. Hurry up. How much you take a long. We should go from here. Be quick. I'm just waiting for you. Swear to you, Qadamkheyr, this time I don’t go alone even to heaven. Be quick. I’ve sit here too long. I'm waiting for you. Look, our kids have grown up.

Give me your hand. Our children know their way. Come ahead. Put your hand in my hand. Loneliness is enough. We must go together the rest of way...

The End