Da (Mother) 43
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra HoseyniSeyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
Translated from the Persian with an Introduction by Paul Sprachman
2023-05-02
Da (Mother)
The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni
Translated from the Persian with an Introduction by Paul Sprachman
Persian Version (2008)
Sooreh Mehr Publishing House
English Version (2014)
Mazda Publishers
***
For his part father looked after her. Because mother’s last name was Shah Pasand, meaning “lantana,” father planted the bushes in our little garden, and you have no idea how carefully he looked after them. Whenever Mother’s Day rolled around, he would take some time thinking about what to buy her. He gave us money and told us to buy presents for her. I don’t know where he got the idea that an expensive necklace would make her happy, because she had never said anything about it. I noticed that he struggled to put a little aside each month in his savings account, and one day there it was—that grand necklace. Although she was overjoyed, she rarely wore it and later sold it to buy a gas-operated cooler that made the summers bearable. Father was very upset but mother insisted.
I stayed there for half an hour as she grieved for this man. When I started to leave, she said, “Stay.”
“I’ve got work to do,” I said curtly.
“Don’t go away like that,” she pleaded. “I know you. You’ll just rush some place dangerous. But think of me; I can’t go through this again. One death is enough.”
“It’s not like that,” I said. “I’ll be working at the Congregational Mosque caring for the wounded. Then I’m going to Jannatabad to look in on Leila. Don’t worry.” I said this knowing full well I had every intention of going to the front. I wanted to see the spot where father had died.
I hadn’t gone far when I saw the Reza’s mother, our across-the-street neighbor, who was on her way to our house with a plate of food the children. I asked her to look after mother and the children. She said, “God bless your dad. When I look at little Zeynab, the one he loved so much, my heart just breaks. Your mother is going through hell; she hasn’t stopped crying since last night. God help her, she’s had quite a time of it. Wish you could be with her.”
I headed for the Congregational Mosque. In the yard I bumped into Mr. Soleymani. Though I was aware of where they kept the food and how much there was, I wanted to get his permission to bring some to Jannatabad. I said, “I’m on my way to Jannatabad. Do you have anything for them?”
He said, “Take some bread and watermelons,” and I went to where the food was and grabbed some bread and choice melons, which had come from Esfahan. There were no bags around, so I pulled a woman’s blouse from a pile of clothes in the yard and wrapped the food in it. I tied the sleeves together and carried the bundle on my back like a pack. The heavy load dug into my back, and I felt I didn’t have the strength to make it. The streets were empty and dark. Not a creature was around. As I slinked along by the walls, I heard the whistling of the mortars. Soon I was good at telling which ones were far away and which were close. I crouched down often and cradled my head in my arms, waiting for a shell to find me. Then I got up and continued walking. The dogs growling in the empty alleys robbed me of the nerve to go on. I saw cats darting in every direction terrified by the sounds of explosions. I was so familiar with the way to Jannatabad that I could find it with my eyes closed. As I passed our house, the thought that father would never return brought tears to my eyes. If I hadn’t had my hands full, I would have stopped. My heart beat faster the closer I got to Jannatabad. My connection to the place was stronger now that father was buried there. I prayed to God that I wouldn’t see anyone so I could go straight to his grave. My longing to visit him had grown since that afternoon. But as luck would have it, everybody was congregated in front of the body washers’. I called out to Leila, who was sitting next to Zeynab in the pale moonlight. She got up and walked reluctantly to me. Something had changed in her; she was more withdrawn, and, as she approached, I sensed she did didn’t want me to see her face. She greeted me and I asked, “Everything okay?” She said nothing. It was clear that she had been weeping. She looked at me furtively. Zeynab came from behind her, and I could sense that she wanted to comfort me, to tell me that I wasn’t alone.
I greeted Zeynab and she said, “Hello, little mother. Welcome back. Look at the trouble you’ve gone to, bringing food for us.”
She took the bundle from me and, trying to lighten things, joked, “Watermelons again? How much time do you want us to spend in the restroom? We’ll never thaw out with all the cold food you’re feeding us!”
Then we joined the others. When I said hello, everyone stood out of respect. Maryam hugged me and said, “Girl, I really miss you when you’re not around.”
I thanked her and said, “I want to go to father’s grave, if you don’t mind.” But she grabbed my arm and wouldn’t let go, demanding, “Sit down. You’re tired. You can go later.”
I sat on some carpeting that they had put down, not bothering to take my shoes off. Zeynab, Maryam, and the older woman started talking to distract Leila and me from thinking about father. Leila didn’t say a word. I knew that she was on the verge of tears, but wouldn’t cry in front of me. I thought that if I cried she would follow suit, but I knew I mustn’t let that happen. Why inflict that on the poor body washers? They were just trying to relax after hours of preparing the bodies for burial; it wouldn’t be right to show them how miserable we were.
I tried to break the silence and speak normally with Zeynab, Maryam, and Khadijeh. The old men would occasionally join in our conversation, analyzing what was going on. The minutes did not pass quickly for me; the atmosphere had become heavy. I didn’t want to be there, pretending everything was normal. I wanted to escape from their talk about how things were going. The telephone rang, coming to my rescue. When one of the men got up to answer it, I saw my chance to leave; but just at that moment, the man called out to me saying, “They want you down at the Congregational Mosque. You’d better get there as quickly as you can.”
This came as a surprise. I didn’t think that they knew me well enough to summon me personally. As I was leaving I gestured to Zeynab, telling her to look after Leila. She nodded, assuring me not to worry on that score. I bent down and hugged Leila and kissed her face, saying softly, “Don’t worry. It was an honor for father to be martyred. It’s a credit to us.”
I said goodbye and desperately wanted to visit father, but they had said I had to get to the mosque as quickly as possible. I walked by the grave just to say a quick hello behind the sign so nobody would see me. Even the sign that father had pounded with his fist had become dear to me. I kissed it and stood by the grave in the darkness. In the past when he had been away for only a few days, I missed father. But now, after a few hours away from him, I couldn’t bear it. I recalled the times I played the brat, deliberately not listening to him, and felt miserable for doing it. More than anything I craved his forgiveness. But I managed to put all those thoughts out of my head, paying my respects and berating him at the same time: “Hello, Father. Why did you break your promise? How could you leave us in the lurch like that? How did you have the nerve to abandon little Zeynab? Didn’t you promise mother you wouldn’t let her suffer any more? She’s worse off than ever now. You could have at least waited until Ali had returned before abandoning us.”
With tears streaming down my face, I continued, “You wanted to go, but think how long Zeynab will be an orphan. Whose knee will she sit on now? Who will give her piggyback rides? Who’s going to get the hugs and kisses you hungered for? Now that you’ve gone and left us, beg God not to abandon us.”
I ran my hand across the sign. There was no more time. “Now Ali’s back in Khorramshahr,” I said at last, “tell God I want to join you; beg Him to let me be with you.”
Then I raced from Jannatabad, which had become mired in grief for me, and headed for the mosque, all the while trying to figure out what was so urgent they had to summon me by name. I hadn’t quite reached the entrance when one of the men said, “Sister Hoseyni, they’re hysterical again. You’ve got to do something. Maybe you can get them to calm down.”
He was referring to three or four shell-shocked women and their children. In those days people didn’t know about such things and couldn’t figure out why women were behaving so abnormally. This was why their first thought was that there was something wrong with them mentally, but now it was dawning on people that the blasts were the cause of the problem. The women and children had come in by themselves from various parts of the city, except for one girl blind from birth, who was brought in by her grandfather.
That evening the blind girl began to race around the yard, shrieking with every explosion. I ran out, grabbed her, and asked, “What is it? Why are you screaming? Don’t be afraid.”
“I’m scared,” she said.
“Don’t worry. Nothing’s going to happen here. Everybody’s safe here.”
“No, the Iraqis are coming,” she said.
“They wouldn’t dare take children from their parents. I’m here, don’t worry. Go inside the mosque and whenever you need something, tell me.” This calmed her and she said, “Please stay with me. Don’t go. I’m not scared when you’re here.”
“I can’t stay here now,” I said. “There’s other work for me, but whenever you need anything, just let me know and I’ll be here for you.”
Having seen how I had handled the girl before, the people at the mosque summoned me from Jannatabad when they couldn’t calm her. When I arrived, I went inside the prayer room. The cries from the yard had the poor people inside at their wits end. The girls tried everything but were unable to calm the people. Zohreh Farhadi, Ra’na Najjar, and Maryam Amjadi were furious. They told me that the first person to start shouting was a victim of shell shock, a young light-complexioned woman who was a few months pregnant. The others started in after her. I looked at the woman and it seemed impossible from her appearance that anything was physically wrong with her, but she was in a bad way nevertheless. She was shrieking and trembling terribly, saying, “They’ve killed everybody, cut their heads off! Now, now they’re coming to get everybody here!”
To be continued …
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