The Days without Mirror (Part 17)

2019-3-12

The Days without Mirror (Part 17)

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)‎

One year before Ali's school started, my older brother talked to my father, ‘It's not good for Manijeh and Ali to live more with you. How long these conditions last is unclear.’

It was difficult for my father to compromise with this issue; he declined. But my brother spoke with him at different times. ‘Manijeh has to stand on her foot.’ he said, ‘she should live in her own home. It helps to accept her life as it is.’ Finally, my father was convinced.

In 1985, there was a four-storied building in the Mehrabad Air Base. In each floor, there were two flats. A flat in the third floor was given to me. We took out my household goods from storeroom of my father’s house, where they gathered dust. Many of dishes were broken; some things were worn out over time, or the mice had eaten them. I brought everything that was intact and put it in this flat. I did not go to my place early; I was indifferent to it. I was still in my father’s house. But my brother was right; my apartment played gradually a motivation role. One day I went to buy a curtain. Another day I went to buy some dishes and kitchen utensils, a refrigerator, a desk for my son. With the help of my sister, Fatemeh, I gradually furnished my flat.

One year passed. It was Ali’s school time. I enrolled him in a school where located at the same area my apartment was. I took him school every day and I was waiting him until noon. Then I picked him up and we went together to my father's house. We had lunch there; Ali did his homework; and late at night, we returned home either along with my father’s wife or my sister, Fatemeh, in order to take Ali to his school on time the next morning.

The silence of house was annoying. I went to my father’s house in holidays and feast days. I tried to start studying and continuing my education, but I couldn't. I had no concentration. I could not regain my nerve. Among the family and relatives, many people had not yet gotten married, but my life had reached to this point!

Eight years passed; eight years of unawareness and waiting. ‘Hossein Lashgari is alive’, the air force said. ‘It’s fifty-fifty’, the Foundation of Martyrs and Veterans believed. As Hossein’s name was not yet on the list of the Red Cross, I was sure he was alive, but waiting and loneliness was annoying me. After four years of unawareness, the foundation of martyrs sent a written announcement to the wives of the untraceable, which read they could get married.

Everyone in the family who met me, said, ‘how long waiting! Who knows how long this war will last or Hossein is definitely alive! Get married.’

I did not get upset or acted on the defensive by hearing these words. I even thought that perhaps those who were outside of this life, could better see what is good for me. On the other hand, I still loved Hossein. I did not want Ali to have a stepfather. Ali was the strongest motive for me. I was dedicated myself to Ali. I wished Ali to be raised well and to have university education. Ali was good in his study and his teachers knew him a smart student that after finishing his first grade, he went to school in summer too; three days in a week. And I also worked with him in his lessons at home in a way that he skipped the second grade and in new school year he went to the third grade.

Our house was at Mehrabad base. I enrolled Ali at the Sport Club, located in Pasdaran Street, in swimming, karate, and basketball. I took him to the club every day with my car and waited about until his class was finished; then we got back together. He had learned swimming well. His coaches recommended me to ask him to choose either basketball or karate, in order to exercise in focus in order to get to better teams. I did not care about the team; I just wished Ali to be happy and, like me, not always to think about what happened to his life and where his father was. I think that I was successful; he was a joyful and spirited boy. He saw my condition, understood his and my loneliness, but he did not suffer. He did not suffer himself with useless thoughts. I had almost succeeded to protect my son from what had devastated me and taken my willpower for studying and doing any serious work.

In our neighborhood there was a sport club. Ali insisted to enroll him in body-building class. Ali had become all my world. He went to guidance school; he had grown up. His face, tall, and manly behaviors were all like Hossein’s. ‘Mommy, do you need anything I buy?’ he said when wanted to go out. My interest and 24-hour thoughts of Hossein were dimming. I had filled Hossein’s place with Ali. But the talks of people continued. They kept saying, ‘How long you want to wait for him?’ Everything was repetitive and tedious to me, except Ali and my family. I did not care about the talks, but in feasts and ceremonies when I saw couples, who were side-by-side, I emotionally crashed but I didn't bat an eyelid. I was proud. But at nights, in my privacy and unbeknown to Ali, I shed bitter tears.

Ali had reached puberty. I enrolled him at Alborz High School. I did not like him to go to Shahed schools[1]. In my opinion, it was better to study beside children who lived in normal family conditions. He was reserved and taciturn. He did not like me to go to his school and to attend parent-teacher conferences, because fathers often participated, but I had no choice.

What helped me and Ali to tolerate the conditions easier was that we were among a lot of families whose father were captive, martyr, and untraceable. In each 4-flat building, at least two families had the same conditions as us. Of course, the conditions of the untraceable's family were worse than all; they were in an uncertainty situation.

Ali had grown up. Our house had just one bedroom and located in the third floor. With hands full of shopping, it had become hard for me to step up and down the stairs every day. I went and requested an apartment with two bedrooms in the first or second floor, which was agreed upon and I moved to a new building.

If I wanted to think about the past, I would go mad. Sometimes I said to myself, ‘Hossein, you’re not here to see my condition. You, who did not allow me to go to the supermarket and wanted to make everything for my life by your own, now I have to go after everything; changing the house; moving to a new one; breaking down of the car; going to repair shop; and...

I was relying on myself. The feeling of relying on a man was dead in me. For years, I did not even allow myself to think why I had to take my car to repair shop by myself. Everyone who came to my home, noticed my loneliness and sorrow, and sometimes they mentioned. I was proud; I did not want to accept that my life was empty and I was alone.

To be continued…