Daughter of Sheena (42)
2015-08-01
Daughter of Sheena-42
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
The same day, our third daughter was born at midnight. Next day I was discharged from the hospital. Samad had hugged Somayeh. He danced for joy; laughed and said: “This one is like me; pretty and cute.”
My mother, sisters, and sisters-in-law had come to help me. Sheena had suffered a stroke recently and couldn’t walk. She had sat next to me and kissed my hands all the time. My sisters were busy cooking in the kitchen. I looked about, but I didn’t find Samad. Calling my sister, I said: “Bring me a glass of tea.”
When she brought tea I whispered in her ear: “Samad isn’t at home?”
She smiled and said: “No. they informed us that Mr. Sattar’s wife is delivering of a child, when you were asleep. Mr. Samad went to take her to the hospital.”
With a box of pastry, he came back home at night and said: “God granted a daughter to Sattar too.”
Also, he had bought some kilos of pomegranates. He went to the kitchen and with a bowl of pomegranate seeds came and sat beside me and said: “Thanks God, this time I was punctual. Of course, our daughter was a good girl. If she is born tomorrow, again I’ll be unpunctual this time.”
Giving the bowl of pomegranate to me, he said: “Eat it, it’s good for you.”
I didn’t get the bowl from his hand. He said: “What? Are you upset? Take it; I’ve bring it for you.”
I took it and said: “So soon, you want to go?”
He said: “I have to. They’ve phoned. I must go.”
I said: “Can’t you not to go there? Please stay. This time I like that you stay at least a month.”
He laughed, whistled and said: “... a month!”
I said: “Samad! For the sake of me, please stay.”
He said: “You’ve forgotten your promise. What did you say the last time?”
I said: “No, I’ve not forgotten. Go. I accept. But stay at least one week this time.”
He lost in reflection. Playing with loose stitch of quilt, he said: “It’s impossible. I like to stay, but what should I do with my comrades?! Their mothers have trusted me and sent their children to the front. This isn’t fair to leave them alone there and stay here idly.”
I begged: “Samad, honey! You don’t idle about. You are with me and your children. Stay.”
He looked down and again pulled the stitches of quilt. TV was on. It showed the scenes of war; destroyed houses and displaced women and children. Somayeh woke up and cried. Samad hugged her and gave her to me to breast-feed. As Somayeh began to suck, Samad stared at her and suddenly burst into tears. I said: “So, what’s wrong?”
He turned his head to the wall and said: “At the beginning of the war, one day I heard a child’s crying. My friends and I looked everywhere, so that we reached to a ruined house. The bomb had destroyed it. The baby cries were heard from there. We entered and saw the mother had martyred, while her baby was in her arms and was sucking. The baby still was sucking his mother’s breast. But because there was no milk to suck he was crying.”
Hearing this story, I got very upset. He said: “Now, you look how comfortable breast-feed your baby. You must thank God a thousand times.”
I said: “Thank God you are here and protect me and our children.”
He took the bowl of pomegranate from my hand and he himself put them in my mouth spoon by spoon and said: “Qadamkheyr! I pray that Hazrat Zahra protects you. What you do is harder than my fighting, I know. Please forgive me.”
Pomegranates were still in my mouth that I heard the sound of car horn from alley; and then doorbell’s ringing in hallway. He got up, wore his clothes, and said: “They’ve come pick me up, I must go.”
Pomegranate seeds had been stuck in my throat. Whatever I did, I couldn’t swallow them. He kissed my forehead and said: “I'll be back soon. Do not worry.”
To be continued…
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