The Days without Mirror (Part 19)

2019-4-6

The Days without Mirror (Part 19)

Memoirs of Manijeh Lashgari; The wife of released pilot, Hossein Lashgari

Edited by: Golestan Jafarian

Translator: Zahra Hosseinian

Tehran, Sooreh Mehr Publications Company

‎2016 (Persian Version)‎

In less than a month, I was contacted by the Air Force. It was fourth or fifth of June, 1995. The Department of Prisoner of War and Missing in Action announced that the Red Cross has seen Hossein Lashgari and allowed him to write a letter. I did not believe. I thought that it started again; hopefulness and then hopelessness. But this time, Hossein really sent a letter. When I took the letter my hand shaking; I could not believe this was Hossein's handwriting. I smelled and kissed the letter; I was totally shocked. Those, who were with me, sat me down on a chair.

The first letter was very short: ‘I’m alive... I don’t know where you are... I don’t know anything... I don’t know to which address I should post my letter; therefore, I post it to the air force address... Dear Manijeh, wherever you are, let me know about you and our kid... Until today I couldn’t tell you; now it’s possible to send a letter to you: my situation is unclear; you're authorized to get marry.’

I read that short letter more than one hundred times. I felt ill again because of extreme happiness and excitement. Doctor had told me that extreme excitement or happiness was dangerous for my damaged nerve. Friends and acquaintance, my family and relatives, Hossein’s family and relatives, etc. began to congratulate me; our telephone rang constantly. My quiet home and monotonous life had been full of bustle and joy. When I woke up, took the letter from under my pillow and reread. I was like a mother who woke up every morning and looked at and kissed her slept baby in her arms, and joyed. Hossein's letter was like a newborn baby for me.

I was asked to write a letter to him. I also wrote shortly: ‘Dear Hossein, hello... After sixteen years of perplexity and unawareness, I received your letter... your letter was very cold. I waited for you, although I was unaware of you; and now you asked me very easily to get marry... The Foundation of Martyrs had fully reasoned us to get marry many years before you did. In all these hard years, the face of Ali was under my very eyes and he was the hope of my life... so, I forgot about marriage... Life has become difficult for me... But what should I do... I try to be strong. Please pray for me... I hope I didn't make you upset... but I also have feeling for you.’

I attached two photos of myself and several photos of Ali. I thought that what makes it different for him that what shape is my face at this age; but I was sure that, Ali’s face and his growing up during years were interesting for him… I endorsed all photos: two years old... first grade... ten years old, and...

Hossein sent me a photo with his second letter which really broke me up. I did not imagine that he had become so old and haggard-looking. In the photo, a thin, gaunt, pale man with grey hair and long beard had stood behind the bars of a prison. He had a weary and innocent look; as if he was squeezed. This man was my Hossein; the one that I loved so much and left me waiting since I was twenty eight years old, the most handsome and athletic man in the family.

He had written in his letter: ‘I’m fine. My place is good. I have a bed here... a radio... I exercise every day, sunbathe, and...’ But the picture I saw showing something else.

We were corresponding for three years and sent photo. Various thoughts came to my mind when I saw his photos. I said to myself that if he had lived with even the minimal facilities during these years, he would not look like so. He had definitely been in a bad condition in these years. This Hossein, whom I saw, was a new creature as if he had fallen from the middle of sky into my life.

At night, when I was alone and no friend and acquaintances was around me, I said to myself: God, could we live together again? Could he tolerate me? Could I accept him with his new various moods? ...

Within few years after repatriation of POWs, I visited my friends very much. Some of them told me about the difficulty of living with POWs, who had spent their best years of their life in the worst circumstances. Even some of them simply said: ‘Thank God that Hossein did not return and you still love him so much!’ I also thought of Ali too much. I did not know whether he and Hossein could have a normal relationship? Ali was a few-months baby when Hossein was captured. He did not know his father at all. When Ali saw Hossein’s photo for the first time, Hossein was like a stranger to him.

I wrote my letters with kind words: ‘my darling, Hossein... my sweetheart… my dear husband...’ But these were just written, not felt by my heart. Since I had seen his photos, I felt less connected and dependent on him. I was more worried about the future. In all these years, I was waiting for Hossein, who had gone. And now with the changes that occur for any man at the age of forty or forty-five years old, and even the face of many men in this age becomes more attractive and more mature for his wife, but my Hossein looked like at least a sixty-five years old man, not a forty-five years old!

To be continued…