Earth and Ashes - Atiq Rahimi [14]
You place your hand on the doorknob. It is burning hot.
Dastaguir, what are you doing? Are you going to plunge a dagger into the chest of Murad, your only remaining child? Can’t you keep your troubles to yourself? Leave Murad alone! One day he’ll find out. It’s better if he hears it from someone else’s lips.
What should you do, then? Go and disappear from his life? No! What, then? You can’t tell him today, you’re exhausted, turn back! You’ll come back tomorrow. Tomorrow? But tomorrow it’ll be the same story, the same anguish. Knock on this door, then! Your hands have become heavy. You step back.
Where are you going, Dastaguir? Can’t you decide? Don’t abandon Murad. Take the hand of your son like a father and teach him about life.
You walk up to the door. You knock. The door creaks loudly. The shaven head of a young man peers out. He is blind in his right eye. A fine web of red blood vessels worms over the white of the eye. With a gesture of his head he asks you what you want. Gathering your resolve, you say, “Salaam. Murad, the son of Dastaguir, is my child. I have come to see him.”
The man opens the door wider. The inquiring expression has left his face. Taken aback, he turns his head to a man who sits writing at a large desk at the far end of the room.
“Foreman sir, Murad’s father is here.”
On hearing these words, the foreman freezes. His pen drops onto his desk. His eyes bore into yours. A weighty silence fills the space between you. With all your strength, you draw yourself up and enter the room. But the silence and the strange expression of the foreman gradually burden your shoulders. Your legs tremble. Your body begins to stoop again. Dastaguir, what have you done? You have asked for Murad. You are going to kill Murad … No, may all be well. You won’t speak to him. If he asks you why you’ve come, you’ll say something else, an excuse. You’ll say that his uncle visited the village, and you returned together by car to Pul-i-Khumri. Taking advantage of the opportunity, you came to the mine to get news of Murad. That’s all. Afterward you’re returning to the village … Stay well, Murad!
The foreman stands and limps toward you. He places his heavy hand on your tired shoulder. It’s as if the mine, with its big hill, its coal, and its square cement buildings, rests there on your shoulders. Your body stoops even further. The foreman circles around you. He’s very tall. It’s his left leg that makes him limp. He is a mountain next to you. His mouth is open. As if he’s about to devour you. His big black teeth are concealed under a dirty moustache. He smells of coal.
“Welcome, brother. You must be tired. Sit down.”
He directs you toward the wooden chair in front of his desk and then limps back to his place on the other side of the table. You sit down, keeping your bundle pressed against you. On the wall in front of you, just above the foreman’s chair, hangs a large framed portrait of him. He wears a military uniform and, under his black moustache, a victorious smile.
The foreman, sitting in his chair again, starts to speak, slowly and carefully.
“Murad is down the mine. It’s his shift now. Would you like tea?”
In a quavering voice, you reply, “God protect you, sir.”
The foreman calls to the man who led you inside and sends him for two cups of tea.
You are relieved that Murad isn’t available right away. It’ll give you some time to come up with coherent answers and words of comfort. Maybe the foreman can help you. You ask, “When will he be off work?”
“At about eight this evening.”
Eight this evening? Shahmard will be returning at six. Where will you go till eight? What will you do? Could you spend the night here? And what about Yassin?
“Good brother, Murad is fine. He has received news of the incident that has stricken his family. May God absolve them and give their souls peace …”
You don’t hear the rest of the