The Days without Mirror (Part 15)

2019-2-26

The Days without Mirror (Part 15)

Memoirs of Manijeh Lashgari; The wife of released pilot, Hossein Lashgari

Edited by: Golestan Jafarian

Translator: Zahra Hosseinian

Tehran, Sooreh Mehr Publications Company

‎2016 (Persian Version)‎

Chapter 7

Next night, I had sat beside the phone from 8 pm. Each time it rang, I picked receiver by the first ring, hoping it would be Hossein. It was 9, 10, and 11 pm, but Hossein didn't call. I got nervous. I kept phoning the battalion up, but nobody picked the receiver. It was impossible nobody was in the battalion, but the phone was not answered.

I didn't sleep until the morning and walked in the room. ‘Calm down my daughter!’ my father said, ‘sleep a little; maybe he’s sent on a mission in another city; maybe he had no access to phone.’

‘It's impossible, dad... it’s impossible that Hossein says, ‘I call,’ and he doesn’t. I'm sure something bad has happened.’ I said.

The next morning, the phone rang at eight o'clock. It was the air force; they asked to speak with me. I got the receiver. My father, mother, and Haj Khanm had sat next to me. ‘Are you Mrs. Lashgari?’ I was asked.

‘Yes! Did something happen? What happened?’ I said.

I was scared. ‘No, Mrs. Lashgari,’ he said, ‘nothing happened; Mr. Lashgari’s gone to a mission we can’t tell you on the phone. Give me the address of your father’s house in order we meet you in person.’ I gave the exact address and put the receiver.

As soon as I said, two people from air force would like to meet me, my father became upset. He got up, went out in the yard, and began walking. It was not long before a colonel and a major of air force arrived. Some bad thoughts came to my mind: he’s had an accident; he’s fallen ill... These thoughts spun in my head, when the two men began talking, ‘You know that border conflicts have been intensified. Iraq’s aggressing against our borders. Yesterday, the captain was in mission on the other side of Iraqi border, when his aircraft was shot down. His aircraft has fallen in Iraq territory.’

My son, Ali, was in the arms of my sister. She was walking in the room. The colonel, who was speaking, looked sadly at Ali and said, ‘he’s your son?’

‘Yes.’ I said.

‘Don’t worry; everything will be fine.’

‘What will be fine? Has Hossein passed away?’

‘He hasn’t. The frontier observers have seen that his aircraft has caught fire; and at the same time a parachute opened; the Captain's parachute has opened. He’s been captured in Iraqi territory. But since the two embassies of the two countries are now closed and there is no political relationship, it takes a little time to release him. Put your mind at ease, he’s alive.’

I burst into tears and said, ‘what will be fine, I’m doomed... I’m done.’ My mother and Haj Khanum sat next to me to calm down me.

The two men got up to go. I followed them out of the room. ‘I want to go to Dezful.’ I declared.

Both men turned and asked with astonishment, ‘Why?’

‘I want to go to my home... I have to go to see my home.’ I replied.

With all my heart I wanted to go and see my house. That moment, it was the only thing I wanted and I felt that it calmed me down.

My mother and father, and anyone else who thought that had influence, advised me not to go to Dezful; even the commander of the Air Force, whom I do not remember his name and who died as a martyr, phoned to my father’s house and talked to me. ‘My daughter, why do you want to go?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know, don’t know why... but I have to go.’ I answered.

‘Well, I’ll send you to Dezful tomorrow morning by the first flight.’

I, my son, my mother, and my sister's husband who is my cousin too, went to Dezful with the first flight. In the airstrip, all the friends of Hossein in military uniforms had welcomed us. They all were upset and grim, and I also cried and mourned.

One of the pilots, who was a friend of Hossein, came forward and consoled me and said, ‘Mrs. Lashgari, you shouldn’t go home.’

‘I’ve come here from Tehran to see my house.’

He hugged Ali and said, ‘Ok. My wife has prepared lunch, let's go for lunch, then I myself will take you.’

We went to his house and ate lunch. I asked Farah, the wife of Hossein’s friend, to take care of Ali. Along with my mother, my cousin, and Hossein’s friend, I headed to my house. I had a key. I unlocked the door. First, I went to the kitchen. One or two half empty cups of tea had been left on the table. Inside the sink there were dirty dishes. I looked at all of these while crying. Hossein's friend came next to me and said: ‘Manijeh, there’s no reason to cry. Hossein is a hero. He’s done very well. He’s shot a few Iraqi tanks, and his operations were excellent. He’s just luckless on the way back. His aircraft’s been shot by a missile. It would go well when he goes free... he’ll be promoted to a higher rank...’

I listened to him. I wished to believe him, but I couldn’t... I did not calm down... I went to bedroom and collected the clothes of mine, my son and even Hossein’s. It struck me that they could not release him within two or three days; but one or two months later, when he is freed, he will come to Tehran not here and some clothes should be prepared for him. I took our identity cards and documents. We were accompanied by an air force soldier. When all of us came out of the house, he locked and sealed the door.

It was late September, 1980. The wind was almost cool. I turned and saw the tree swing which Hossein had made for me on thick branches of a lote tree in our villa, slowly was swinging. I said to myself: remember those good days when I sat on this swing and Hossein swung me! How happy we were! I could not believe that my good life has come to an end so soon. I turned away quickly; I did not want to see the swing. Everyone cried hidden from the others. We all returned to the house of Hossein's friend.

We ate breakfast in the next morning. Farah insisted us to stay for lunch too, but I did not accept. I cried constantly and spoke with her about the memories we had in our family gala dinners. Farah was two months pregnant. Hossein's friend bought ticket for us. He said that because the airstrip was so crowded and everyone knew what happened to Hossein, we came later to board, so that they did not ask if I were captain Lashgari’s wife. Airstrip was near to the base.

We were busy packing when suddenly I was shocked by a loud noise which I had not heard in my life; it was like severe thunderstorms. Ali had slept on the floor. Everywhere began to shake. First, I thought it was earthquake. Mahmoud, my sister’s husband, ran and hugged Ali, and cried out: ‘go out! Iraqi aircrafts attack.’ I, my mother, and Farah ran toward the yard. I could not believe what I saw. Through branches of the trees I could see a few giant aircrafts. They were flying so low that I saw the pilot of one of them. The loud noise continued until a quarter; then ended.

We all had fallen in a corner without any energy. My mother dissolved some sugar cubes in cold water and gave to Farah who was pregnant. She told me that you can’t breast-feed anymore. Hossein’s friend came and said that Iraqi aircrafts shot planes in the airstrip; even the one with which we were supposed to board and returned to Tehran. It was constantly announced through loudspeaker: ‘Residents of the base, evacuate the houses as soon as possible. The region is insecure.’ Electricity and water were cut off. We quickly packed up and set off towards Andimeshk. We wanted to go to the house of Farah's mother. That day was the worst and hardest day of my life. With a bag in hand, some traveled on foot and some traveled on a vehicle, all were wandering in roads. Smoke and dust were seen everywhere. Arriving the house of Farah's mother, we saw it was dusted too and Farah’s family cried and mourned.

Mahmoud left us and went out. He returned one or two hours later. He could buy three bus tickets with so difficulty. We quickly set off towards the terminal and get on the bus. The bus moved all the way with lights off, until we arrived in Tehran at 11 am, so exhausted.

The war had been openly begun. The next day, more than 100 Iranian aircrafts flew to the Iraq. A number of them did not return; the aircraft of Farah's husband was one of them.

To be continued…