Daughter of Sheena (48)
2015-09-13
Daughter of Sheena-48
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
Arriving near the company houses, we saw some worried and anxious men were walking around. Seeing us, they ran toward us. One of them was Samad, with a tired and dusty face. We asked about barrack’s condition without any other word. It was clear that the barrack was almost razed to the ground and many had been martyred and wounded. Several cars were parked in front of the entrance gate. Samad pointed me to get into. I asked: “Where do we want to go?”
“Hamadan.”
He helped kids to get into the car. I said: “Our things! Wait a minute; I want to bring kid’s clothes.”
He sat behind the wheel and said: “We don’t have any time. It’s an emergency. Hurry up! I must take you to our house and come back soon.”
“At least let me bring Somayeh’s clothes. My Chador ...” I said, as I got into the car.
It was clear that he is angry and choked. He said: “Get in the car.” I said: “The situation is dangerous. Barrack might be bombed again.”
I closed the door of car and asked: “Why didn’t you come to follow us? Where were you from morning till now?”
As he shifted gears one after another, stepped on the gas and went forward. “If you knew in what situation we are…” He said, “I learned Iraqis are going to turn barrack upside down, almost with the second bombing; so I decided to take my battalion out of barrack. One by one I passed my soldiers under the barbed wire and sent them to one of the surrounding valleys. Thank God, all of them are safe and sound. All three hundred of them are healthy, but other battalions are martyr and wounded. I wish I could have saved other battalions too.”
It was night, and we were going forward in a deserted and dark road. Suddenly I remembered the boy whom I had seen that night at front line. “Where are your boys now, Samad?” I asked heavy-hearted, “They have anything to eat? Where do they sleep at night?”
He was looking to the dark road. Shaking his head he said: “They are in the same valley. Their location is safe, but they have nothing to eat. They must endure until morning.”
I felt pity for them. I said: “I wish you stay with them.”
He turned and looked at me in surprise and said: “Then who does take you?!”
I said: “Can one of your fellow warriors take us? May we go with other families?”
I saw in darkness that he had been close to tears. “It’s impossible, no.” he said, “Cars are small. They have no room. They’ve taken other families with themselves as far as they could; otherwise I really wanted to stay here. You can’t win. I myself must take you.”
I had choked up. I said: “What about the wounded and martyrs?”
He didn’t answer.
I said: ‘I wish I know how to drive.”
Again, he shifted the gear and stepped on the gas more. “To God, we go.” He said, “God willing, I'll be back tomorrow morning.”
On that darkness, I felt giddy. The face of that boy was in my mind every moment. I thought where he was then? What was he doing? On that cold valley, how those three hundred young soldiers had spent the night without food. What about other battalions? The wounded, martyrs!
The next day, Samad returned to Abouzar barrack as we arrived in Hamadan; and didn’t come back home until Nowruz.
To be continued…
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