The Days without Mirror (Part 22)

2019-4-30

The Days without Mirror (Part 22)

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)‎

During ten years of living with Hossein these nightmares continued and never ended. I was using sedatives since I was thirty-three, but Hossein refused to use it; instead, he sought help of smoking. Sometimes, I woke up at midnight and saw that he has sat on the edge of the bed and was busy smoking. He got up a few times during the night and repeated it.

After several tests, medical imaging, and complete check-up, the Foundation of Martyrs and Veterans announced that he was a 70% disabled war veteran. His joints were much damaged; he suffered osteoporosis, severe headaches, and heart disease. After returning home, he was taken leave of absence for six months to rest, but, for one month, we could not go anywhere in order Hossein enjoyed the nature. In the afternoons, when we went to park, people suddenly saw and knew him and came forward, shook hands with him, respected him, and kissed his face. I never got upset of people's kindly behavior; on the contrary I felt how much people appreciated Hossein, but their kindly behaviors made it difficult for Hossein to get out of the house.

Our flat located at the third floor of a building which had no elevator, so climbing up and down the staircases was difficult for him. Little by little, I familiarized with his behaviors. His military good order had heightened. It was strange for him that I slept until ten or eleven o’clock in the morning. He usually did not sleep after performing morning prayer; he read book and wrote his memoirs. His shoes were always clean and polished, and his clothes were ironed and hung in the closet. He was careful about discipline and cleanness of his appearance. Many things were unknown to him. He felt strange in the city. ‘Why girls and boys dress like this?’ he asked.

He did not know the currency. I explained him all of them: ‘This’s one thousand Toman, that one is two thousand Toman. We no longer have one-Toman or two-Toman.’

When we went to the supermarket, for example, I paid twelve thousand Toman, he asked, ‘Wow! Why’re you spending so much money?’ I replied, ‘Hossein, the value of money has decreased. Now two hundred thousand Toman has no value even as much as twenty thousand Toman at the time you left Iran.’

He did not know some fruits, like some nectarines and kiwis. One day, when I bought some kiwis, he asked, ‘Why did you put potato in the fruit basket?’

He kept reminding phone numbers in five digits. I told him that the phone numbers changed to seven digits. Like a child, Hossein asked about everything he saw, and I constantly had to explain. Some of his actions annoyed me. When I peeled fruits, he protested, ‘Why’re you consuming wastefully?’ I explained, ‘Hossein, I have stomach problem; I can’t eat fruit without peeling. This’s my doctor’s recommendation.’ Each day I ate fruit I should give the same explanation. Finally, I got tired and ate fruit unbeknown to him. He collected the peel of fruits I threw away and put them in the refrigerator. ‘You don’t know how valuable they are;’ he said, ‘I myself eat them.’

I said, ‘Hossein, there’re many fruits; have them, why do you want to have their peel?’ During his captivity, he was kept in so much desperate strained circumstance that he saw any of my work as wastefulness. It took a long time to convince him to eat the fruit itself not its peel, and allowed me to throw away the peel of the fruits.

Hossein was sick. Most of the time I cooked meet soups, or boiled chicken. His taste for food was different from Ali. I usually made two or sometimes three kinds of foods. Early he protested, but later he did not say anything. He served and ate one kind of meal and always ate the last remaining of his food in the plate with bread. I thought that he was still hungry. I stretched my hand to serve him more meal, but he did not allow me. He said he was full.

His driving was great. He got upset of some people who did not observe traffic regulations. Only in this case I heard he said, ‘You know why people are so respectful to the rules in the West? And they don’t run a red light even at two of midnight; because, it has been culturized.’

From his youth, he still had a strong attribute, and that was his strong power in communicating with everyone; with each age group; old folks, young people, and even children. He was so well-spoken that at each ceremony he gave a talk, people requested extra time to hear his words. He spoke so well that attracted everyone.

After his return, when we got his first salary, he only took a small amount of it and gave me the rest. He was no longer in mood for going to the supermarket and carried list of shopping. In accordance with the salary we received, domestic economy was my responsibility.

He would not comment if I dressed stylishly and did makeup. If I was quite ordinary, again he did not say anything. He did not notice when I changed the color of my hair. He was no longer that Hossein who said ‘I love you” ten times in a day and went to shopping to buy dress for me based on his taste, or commented that which color and style my hair should be. I did all these not for Hossein, but for myself, because I liked it. Perhaps Hossein liked it too, but, unlike those other years, he did not speak. I felt that he suffered so much pain that attention to these things was not important to him anymore.

The form of his affection was changed; he did not speak, but it was quite clear in his behavior. When he found out I was interested in a dress, he did not do some shopping during the month in order to save more money and I could buy my favorite. He did not say, ‘Well, you have so many clothes, why do you want to buy another?’ And that was valuable to me.

Whenever I felt ill, physically or mentally, he was completely disturbed, went mad, and did not know what to do. Therefore, he smoked one cigarette after another.

In one of the television interviews, the host asked, ‘Sir, do you have a male or female-dominated family?’ Hossain replied, ‘Male-dominated... But I’ve given it to my wife.’ The host asked: ‘So, it’s female-dominated!’ Hossein said, ‘Ninety percent of my life runs by my wife. After God, I really rely on my wife. My home manager is her.’

I cried when I heard his words. ‘Hossein,’ I said, ‘Why did you say in the TV interview that our life is running by me?’ he replied, ‘I told the truth, Manijeh. It’s really running so.’

I knew that it was impossible he say something and then declared, ‘oh, Manijeh, I wish I did not say it!’ He totally spoke thoughtfully and carefully considered. He really relied on me, and this was valuable to me.

I did not attend television interviews. He liked I were with him, but it was difficult for me. After a while, he pushed me to wear chador. I performed prayers, recited the Qur'an, and the Quran was my only tranquilizer when I was distracted, but I did not wear chador.

‘Hossein, when you selected me as your wife,’ I explained, ‘I didn’t wear chador. You didn’t wish I wear chador. I’m the same Manijeh, and haven’t changed.’ But it was in vain, he insisted on wearing chador. ‘Trusting in God and being faithful,’ he said, ‘I could survive and resist against Iraqis for eighteen years. Now that I've returned, I wish my wife to wear chador; this’s my request.’

He told the truth; Hossein had become seeker of the path of God during eighteen years of captivity. He had become a self-made and a really devout man. That's why he wished I wore chador. It did not matter to him how the society might think about him.

I said, ‘Hossein, I understand what you say; you’ve become pure, a devout man, so you want me to wear chador; but, I’m not devout, I have so many problems that wearing chador is very tiny against them. If I do, I feel that I pretend… hypocrisy, and this makes me sick.’ But it was useless. He said, ‘If you love me, I want you to wear chador.’ Finally, I said firmly and seriously, ‘I don’t wear chador. I don’t want to be like some people who wear chador in some places and occasions and they have no hijab elsewhere. Hossein, I'm the same everywhere; even in parties I don’t take off my manteau and head scarf. But, know that there’re bigger problems in our life that needs to be resolved. Wearing chador is a tiny manner against them.’ as he heard my words, said, ‘I’ll never let this life to be broken up. Well, dress as you wish. But only try to have a complete hijab without wearing chador.’ I said, ‘sure.’

To be continued…