Da (Mother) 64
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
In the early morning of the tenth day of the war word came that Iraqi tanks had advanced to Railroad Circle and the Slaughterhouse Circle. There was a fierce battle going on and the wounded they brought in by droves kept us extremely busy. I worked, but my mind was on other things. I was busy with bandaging and taping, but my eyes were fixed on the door. I had been expecting Ali since morning.Da (Mother) 63
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
The soldiers and the men standing nearby echoed his cry. I fired the mortar exactly as he had told me. Then the men said, “God is great!” The blast was so loud it made my ears ring. Despite this I felt something novel and strange. I had never felt this way before. Wanting to know where the shell would land I watched as it flew through the sky. “Do you want to fire another?” I heard the lieutenant ask.Da (Mother) 62
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
Nothing I said convinced them. I didn’t have the stomach to stick a rifle in their backs and force them out. I took an old woman by the hand and begged, “For God’s sake, leave. My family members are all in the mosque.” One old woman with a southern drawl said, “Where am I going to go with my son here? Is my blood redder than his? I spent a lifetime raising him, making him somebody, and now I should just get up and go?Da (Mother) 61
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
The men in the mosque tried to calm them. They did not want the shouting cause a panic, but it was no use. These boys were spent. They said, “We have been at it at the front for a few days. By day we push them back, but at night the forces are so tired that they do not have the strength to fight. Then the Iraqis see their chance to retake all of our positions and, what is more, they advance even farther.Da (Mother) 60
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
The old couple’s faces put them in their sixties, and their eyes seemed glassy either from old age or cataracts. The man was tall and thin. He had a ragged turban on his head and was dressed in a faded grey and wrinkled dishdasha. His hands were unusually large, and I could tell from the calluses on them and his stubby fingers along with his sunburned face he had farmed the date groves all his life.Da (Mother) 59
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
On the ninth day I awoke early in the morning to the sound of a man giving the call to prayer in the yard. The explosions and shelling, which had been going on all night, had intensified. The intervals between explosions seemed to be getting shorter; it was as if the Iraqis were using everything they had to grind the city to dust. I woke up the row of sleeping bodies for prayer and went into the yard myself for ablutions.Da (Mother) 58
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
Around 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. I was awakened by cries of “Hold him! Do not let him hurt himself!” I raced into the yard and saw that Mr. Najjar was already there with a syringe in his hand. I realized they had given the man another sedative. I stepped forward and saw that two of the people around him had his arms pinned. They were trying to get him to lie down. The blood flowing down his face glistened in the moonlight. Startled, I asked, “What happened?”Da (Mother) 57
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
I was depressed. I went to the back of the prayer room to think. If he is not a traitor and really cares about the people, why does not he join the crowd? Why go to the municipality and not the mosque? Why did not they let anybody see him? Father must have seen something to make him say Banisadr was a traitor. He was not the kind of person to say things off the top of his head. But why would the people at the mosque, people I respect, why would they take Banisadrs side?Da (Mother) 55
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
After a good cry, I felt better. I began to stroke the babys head and neck and massage his belly and legs. This seemed to work, as his crying jags became less frequent. He was overtired and could not keep his eyes open. His head kept burrowing in my chest searching for milk. The futile efforts of his tiny lips tore at my insides. It was clear hunger has brought him to the end of his tether.Da (Mother) 55
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
She approached me with a look of apprehension on her face. She probably doubted she could do such a thing. Finally politeness overcame her reluctance, and she wrapped her chador around her waist. She bent down and took Shahnaz by the legs. I tried to lift her by the shoulders, but that was impossible. I was forced to take her arms. I looked at Mrs.Vatankhah and signaled to her that we should lift the body together. But her arms were trembling. “Scared?” I asked.1
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