Daughter of Sheena (33)

Behnaz Zarrabizadeh

Daughter of Sheena-33
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

Almost every day there was a state of red alert. Iraqi aircraft would break the sound barrier of the city two or three times a day and terrify people, and the glass windows of many houses and shops had broken. Masumah and Khadija would run toward me with horror and hide themselves in my arms, as soon as the red alert would occur and hearing the sound of sirens. Tappe Mosalla was in front of our house and the air defenses were based there. Our house would shake whenever they would begin to work, and it would brighten as the bullets were fired. The landlord would insist that we go to his house whenever the state of red alert occurred; but it was a hard situation and I couldn’t do it comfortably. That night as I lay down, the red alert happened and immediately air defenses began to fire. This time the noise of their gunfire was so loud that panicky Masumah and Khadija began screaming and crying. I didn’t know what to do. They didn’t calm whatever I did. Landlord’s wife came to our house because of babies screaming and crying. She felt sorry for me. Forcibly she hugged Khadija and stroked her. I myself took Masumah in my arms. “Qadamkheyr! Aren’t you afraid?” Landlord’s wife said when she saw the shaking of house and the firing of air defenses.
I said: “What should I do?”
It was evident that she was scared as well. “God knows you are very patient. With two babies and absence of you husband, God knows you are very brave. Let's go to our house. These babies deserve sympathy.”
I said: “But we might be disturbing you.”
She insisted and forced us to go to her house. There was less noise in her place. So, babies calmed.

Mondays and Wednesdays of each week, there were martyrs’ obsequies. All my pleasure was that to participate in it once a week. Khadija was then two and a half years old. She would clutch my Chador and follow me by her small steps. Masumah was in my arms too. Subconsciously I would burst into tears when I would walk in the middle of population. It was like I would bring all the hardships and sorrows of a week behind the coffins of the martyrs to share them with martyrs. I would walk among population from Shohada Street to Bagh Behesht cemetery and all the way I would cry out. Reaching home, I was lightened and gain fresh vigor.
It was mid-Esfand , but snow on the ground still had not thawed and it was very cold. Women were busy spring-cleaning and washing. But whatever I did, I was not in the mood for any work. That day, I had returned from obsequies of some martyrs, left babies at home, gone to the bakery, queued, and as usual, I was dropping in on them every several minutes. The last time I came back home, I was transfixed, as I reached to the foot of stairs. I heard the sound of babies’ laughing. Someone was in our house and was busy playing with them. I climbed up the stairs quickly. A pair of worn-out army boots was behind the door. I said myself: “It must be Shamsollah or Teymoor who came to look in us. Maybe it is Sattar." Opening the door, I was astonished. It was Samad. He had hugged babies, spun around the room, and sung for them. The babies also enjoyed themselves and laughed.
Our eyes met at a moment and without saying anything we looked at each other a few seconds. We saw each other again after four months. I was closed to tears. Again he said hello to me first. He said: “Where were you, my lady? Where were you, my darling? Where were you lady Qadamkheyr?” as he had made his voice like children and sang for them.
I shed tears of joy and wiped them with my Chador. He stood in front of me and said: “Crying?” as babies were in his arms.
I had a lump in my throat. He laughed and said with the same childish tone: “Oh, I knew. You missed me, very… very much. It means you love me, Very… very much!”
The more he spoke, the more I wept. He held babied in front my face and said: “Kiss mommy. Caress mommy.”
With their small hands, babies caressed my face gently.
He asked: “Where were you?”
I said crying: “I had gone to buy bread.”
He asked: “Did it?”
I said: “No. I was worried about babies, so I came back to look in them.”
He said: “Well, now you stay before them and I go.”
Again I wiped my tears with my Chador and said: “No, don’t bother. It’s almost my turn. I go myself.”
He put babies on the floor, took off my Chador and hung it on the clothes rack and said: “As long as I'm home, shopping for house is my responsibility.”
I said: “You must go and queued at the end of the line.”
He said: “I’ll go, it’s my right. Serve my right. If I want to eat bread, I should queue at the end of the line.”
Then he laughed.
He was wearing his army boots that I said: “Then at least let's change your clothes. Let me polish your shoes. Take a shower.”
He smiled and said: “Count to twenty, I’ve returned.”
I laughed and came into the room. I washed babies’ face, changed their clothes, and cooked lunch. I tidied the room out and tidied myself up. When Samad came back home with some bread at his hand, everything had been changed. The smell of food had filled house. The sunshine beamed at the center of room. Everything was delightful.

To be continued…