Daughter of Sheena (37)

Behnaz Zarrabizadeh

Daughter of Sheena-37
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

Chapter Fifteen
Mahdi had been a rotund, chubby and forty days baby. He had just learned how to laugh. Masumah and Khadija would sit next to him for hours, play with him and express their joy for his laughing and floundering. But we all were worried about Samad. We would send message for anyone whom we guessed might possibly be in touch with him, perhaps to be aware of his health. They said Samad involved in operations. That's it.
Sheena would grieve for me when she saw my state. She said: “Don’t give milk to your baby in the state of grief. You’ll make him sick.”
I couldn’t help it. I was very worried. Every moment I thought that they would bring bad news for me.
That day I had sat in the room and breastfeeding Mahdi and thinking awkwardly. Suddenly the door opened and Samad came in. Few moments I looked at him perplexed. I thought that I might be dreaming. But it was him. Babies happily ran toward him and threw themselves into his arms.
Samad kissed Masumah and Khadija and hugged them. Kissing babies, he looked at me and greeted continuously. I did not know what to do and how behave on that moment. Meanwhile, I had said to myself many times that if he came, I would say this and do that. But at those moments I was so happy that I did not know which treatment was the best. Later, I regained my sense and answered coldly.
He laughed and said: “Again you aren’t on speaking terms with me!”
I myself had felt like laughing. It was always the same. He surprised me. “No, why I should be angry,” I said, “Your son has been born. Your wife has been delivered a child healthily and is living in her home. Her husband has thrown party for his son’s birth. Babies are growing up in our own house, by our own spread. On what ground I should be angry and not speaking with you. Am I crazy to nag about all these happiness?!”
He put babies on the floor and said: “Taunt me?”
I was angry. “Since you've gone,” I said, “I think that if this war is just for you and me and our innocent babies. There are a lot of men in this village. Why the war has been the source of troubles for my life?”
He got upset. He frowned and said: “You’ve thought wrongly all these times. War isn’t just for you. It’s for other women too; those whose husband, house, lives, and children have been taken by war one-night. A mother whose unique son has martyred in the war and now she is nursing people’s sons behind the front lines. Also war is for men who have left seven or eight children without maintenance and come to the front; seventy or eighty-years-old elders, a groom, fourteen-years-old teenager. I dislike myself when I see them. What I’ve done for this people and revolution, nothing! They are fighting and killing, so that you sleep here comfortable with your babies; otherwise Iraq had ruined the country altogether long time ago. If they are not, can you hug your baby so easily and give him milk?”
Mahdi woke up by Samad’s voice and began crying out. He hugged Mahid, kissed him and said: “Sorry, if I was late. We had operations.”
My sister came into the room and said: “Mr. Samad! Reward me for bringing good news, this time it’s a boy.”
Samad laughed and said: “I give reward, but not because it is a boy, because both Qadamkheyr and baby are safe and sound.”
He then gave Mahdi to me and went toward Masumah and Khadija. He held them in his arms and said: “God knows my daughters are more valuable for me than him. I’m only glad that after me they will be under a man’s shadow and he’ll protect them.”
I bit my lips. Uncomfortably my sister said: “Mr. Samad! Heaven forbid. Why don’t you say good words?”
Samad smiled and said: “Now what's my son’s name?”
Masumah and Khadija came toward Mahdi, sat down next to him, kissed him and said: “Mahdi.”
We stayed in Qayesh four or five days. They were good days. As always we went to parties together. We lunched at my sister’s house and dined at my brother's. Although I had seen all family in my son’s banquet, before Samad came back, but going to party with Samad was another thing. All of them treated me and my babies with more honor and respect. Parties were held more formal. This was recognized even by the using new porcelains and new steel spoons.
At the fifth day Samad said: “Collect your things, we want to go to our house.”

To be continued…