Earth and Ashes - Atiq Rahimi [13]
Your hands tremble. Your heart flutters. Your sight goes dim. You roll down the window of the truck to refresh yourself. The air isn’t refreshing. It has become thick, heavy, and black. It’s not your sight that has gone dim, it’s the air that has grown dark.
“Dastaguir, what have you done with my scarf?”
It’s Murad’s mother. You see your wife at the base of the hills, running at the same pace as the truck. You untie the bundle and let the coal-apples fall out. Then you let the scarf blow out of the window. The cloth dances through the air. Murad’s mother runs after it, dancing as she goes.
“We’ve arrived.”
The image of Murad’s mother reflected in the pools of your pupils is lost to the ripples of Shahmard’s voice.
You open your wet eyes. The truck is nearing the mine. You sense that Murad is close. Your chest tightens, your heart swells, your veins constrict, your blood freezes … Your tongue has become a piece of wood, a charred piece, half-burned, an ember, a silent piece of coal … Your throat is dry. Water! You swallow your naswar. The smell of ash fills your nostrils. You take a deep breath. You smell Murad. You fill your lungs to their utmost with his scent. For the first time, you realize how small your lungs are and how big your heart is—as big as your sorrow …
Shahmard slows the truck and turns to the left. He comes to a halt at the entrance to the mine. A guard appears from a wooden hut, just like the one at the start of the road. He asks for papers from Shahmard, looks them over, and begins a conversation. You sit silently. You don’t move a muscle. Actually, you wouldn’t have the strength to do so if you wanted to. You hold your breath. For a few moments, you’re nothing but a hollow shell. Your lifeless gaze falls through the grille of the mine’s large iron gate. You sense that Murad is waiting for you beyond the gate. Murad, don’t ask Dastaguir why he has come.
The truck passes through the gate and enters the grounds of the mine. At the foot of a large hill lies a line of concrete workers’ quarters. Which of them is Murad’s? Men with blackened faces, wearing metal construction helmets, come down the hill as others climb up. You don’t see Murad among them. The truck heads toward the small concrete buildings and stops in front of one. Shahmard suggests you get out and ask the mine’s foreman about your son.
You experience a moment of confusion and don’t react. There isn’t enough strength in your hand to open the door. You are like a child who doesn’t want to be separated from his father. You ask Shahmard, “Is my son here?”
“Of course, but you’ll have to ask the foreman where.”
“Where is the foreman?”
Shahmard points out a building to the right of the truck.
Your weak, trembling hand has difficulty opening the truck door. You put your feet on the ground. Your legs are of no use. They don’t have the strength to hold you up. But your body is not heavy. It’s the heaviness of the air that’s pressing down on your body. The air is weighty and thick. You rest your hand on your waist. Shahmard passes your bundle through the window and says, “Father, I’m heading back to town between five and six. If you want to come, wait for me at the gate.”
Bless you. You say this to yourself. To him you only nod. Your tongue doesn’t have the strength to move. Words, like the air, have become heavy … The truck moves off. You remain nailed to the ground in a cloud of dust. A few black-faced miners walk by. Murad? No, Murad’s not among them. Come on, go to the foreman and ask.
You try to move. Your legs are still tired and weak. It’s as if they are sunk into the depths of the earth, all the way down to its molten center … Your feet burn inside your shoes. Wait a while. Take a deep breath. Calm down. Move your legs. You can walk. So walk.
You reach the foreman’s building and stop outside the door. It’s an imposing door. Like the