Da (Mother) 58

The Memoirs of Seyyedeh Zahra Hoseyni

2023-8-13

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

***

He said, “He’s in a bad way. We can’t bring him in because his screams will wake the others.”

After about an hour, the soldier pointed his hand to the sky and held it there. I told him to lower it several times, but he didn’t respond. I followed his finger and could barely make out something faintly glowing in the distance. “Spotting enemy aircraft?” I asked.

He showed no reaction and kept pointing. I had hoped reciting the verses would make him feel better, but all of a sudden he went into convulsions and shouted deliriously. Before Mr. Najjar could get there, he had raised himself up and then slammed himself hard against the ground. Several people came running and grabbed his arms and legs, but he was very powerful, and they couldn’t hold him down.

Mr. Najjar injected him with a sedative, but it took a while for it to take effect. The young officer finally fell asleep. When I was sure he was out, I got up and went inside the mosque. I sat with some of the girls who were still awake and talking.

The moon was out, and I could see everything clearly now. The girls were stretched out on the carpeting in the infirmary with their shoes off. The curtain around the enclosure gave me a sense of security. Leaning against a wall, I tried to sleep, but although I was dead tired, I couldn’t. As I listened to the girls talking, my eyes started to droop.

Around 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. I was awakened by cries of “Hold him! Don’t let him hurt himself!” I raced into the yard and saw that Mr. Najjar was already there with a syringe in his hand. I realized they had given the man another sedative. I stepped forward and saw that two of the people around him had his arms pinned. They were trying to get him to lie down. The blood flowing down his face glistened in the moonlight. Startled, I asked, “What happened?”

“He smashed his head against the wall,” they said. Mr. Najjar was bandaging the man’s head. I was about to help when he said, “You go back inside. It’s dangerous; he’s liable to attack at a moment’s notice.”

At that point a few more people came by and headed straight for the officer. He didn’t respond to anything they said. The men asked the newcomers, “Do you know who he is?” “Yeah, he’s from our town, a friend. We were sent to the front from up north.”

“Do you know why he’s acting this way?”

They said, “We’ve been together at the front since morning. We were under constant bombardment, and the blasts have gone to his head. Otherwise he’s as normal as any other man. He’s the model soldier of our company.”

This was clear from his appearance. He managed to remain clean shaven and keep his clothes spic and span despite the lack of water.

I returned to the infirmary, but I was so upset I couldn’t sleep. A few of the girls were up and asked what happened.

“Nothing,” I said, “just that same officer.”

After a while a car pulled up and they took him away. No longer fretting about bringing him in the mosque, I felt I could now sleep. I felt cold a few times during the night and found warm place among some gunnysacks and cartons. I curled up in a ball and, thinking of Ali, fell fast asleep.

End of Chapter Ten

To be continued …