The Days without Mirror (Part 18)
2019-03-19
The Days without Mirror (Part 18)
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)
Chapter 8
In the summer of 1988, after The Resolution was adopted, the whisper of POW’s repatriation spread like wildfire. At the new house, Ravadgar’s family was our neighbor in the first floor. Mr. Ravadgar was one of POWs. The Red Cross had enrolled his name and he wrote letter for his wife and children. Mr. Ravadgar and his wife, Nasrin, had a girl and a boy.
The summer of 1990 was hot. The air force sent some house painters to paint the building, entrances, doors, and windows. I had to accept my flat to be painted too. The furniture was piled in the middle of the flat for two weeks. The doors and walls of the building was filled with greeting placards. Mr. Ravadgar came, but Hossein did not!
I went to Mr. Ravadgar’s home to ask if he had seen Hossein, but I felt he was not comfortable with me, and had looked down when was speaking with me. ‘No, Mrs. Lashgari,’ he said, ‘Mr. Lashgari was among secret prisoners. We’re separated from them, and I didn’t see him.’
The pilots were the last group of POWs who were repatriated; and I was still awaiting Hossein. Every day, in front of a building, a sheep was sacrificed, and there was cheering and decoration with lights and a POW arrived; but Hossein did not come!
I visited the air force office. ‘Mr. Lashgari is among secret pilot POWs.’ I was told, ‘He’s kept for the history of the war. They don’t announce he’s alive. But we know Hossein Lashgari is alive.’ The air force frankly suggested that I should be awaiting for Hossein at present.
A few months after repatriation of the whole POWs, about fifty or sixty secret POWs also returned, but Hossein did not. I came to the end of my endurance. I began going to the house of POWs. Most of them said: ‘We’ve not seen Hossein Lashgari.’ But some said: ‘When The Resolution was adopted, Hossein’s with us for a while, and then he’s transferred. We don’t know where he’s taken.’
Ali had been tired of my coming and going to POWs’ houses and hearing similar answers. ‘Mom, it’s enough!’ one day he said, ‘do you understand you behave completely nervous and involuntary?!’
Ali was right. It was like I did not care if this POW had been pilot or not, if served in the air force or not. I even visited POWs who were part of naval and ground forces of the army, and asked them about Hossein. I wanted to know where and when the last one had seen Hossein and in what condition Hossein was. When someone just said, ‘I've seen him’, I was hopeful and happy. When another one had no news about Hossein, I was completely disappointed. I did not eat anything. I did not sleep even for one hour at nights. I was just waiting for dawning.
When I got disappointed of POWs, visited The Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the Presidential Administration, and the Islamic Consultative Assembly. There was no organization where I have not gone and corresponded. I wanted to know why all the POWs had been repatriated and the air force said Hossein is alive, but he has not been released. ‘Hossein has been kept because of the date of war beginning’ was the only answer.
Again waiting and expecting began. I could not do anything but praying. Again I saw that the years of being in limbo is coming. I had been restless and frustrated. I could not tolerate anyone for one hour. I could not eat meals, and constantly vomited. I was visited by a doctor who prescribed an endoscopy should be done for my stomach.
All the symptoms ended to neurasthenia. My stomach had no problem. I was introduced to a neurologist. Early I did not accept to take all those tranquilizer pills and to sleep, but I got so worse that had to take medication. My diseases began from thirty-four year olds; chronic headaches, backache, stomachache, etc.
Two or three years passed since the repatriation of POWs. One day, Amir Shafiee, one of army POWs of high rank, came to my home with his wife. I think they had heard I felt ill. They consoled me: ‘I swear to God these harsh days are over, Mrs. Lashgari! Hossein Lashgari will return with pride.’
These words calmed me down no longer. I continuously asked myself why all POWs returned to the country, but Hossein did not. Some of POWs’ wives came to visit me. ‘Why do you feel so sad?’ they asked. Perhaps I thought Ali has been grown up, is a dentistry freshman, gets married soon, and follows his own life...
I went mad when I thought of my loneliness and Ali’s going. I heartened myself. My mother and siblings all had their own family. I did not know what to do. I felt absolute impotence and feebleness. I sensed my life has been locked in.
It was Muharram of 1975. Waking up in Ashura Day, I saw Ali has gone out. He had told me that he was going to go to the mourning ceremony. As I wandered around the house aimlessly, opened the fridge door, took a milk bottle, poured some into a glass, and drank half of it. I left the glass on the kitchen countertops and went to my wardrobe and changed. I was sure of what I wanted to do. Hossein loved Imam Hossein; and because of this, he named our son, Ali Akbar, and I did not disagree. I wore two pairs of socks and went out of house without putting on my shoes. In the first day of Muharram, I had made a vow to walk without shoes in the street on Ashura Day and to accompany people who participated in Imam Hossein mourning ceremony. As I walked slowly among mourners, cried involuntary and spoke with Imam Hossein. ‘Sir, I’ll make you intermediate between myself and God.’ I said, ‘I don’t know what to do with my life. I’ve reached to the end of my tether; I’m tired and heartbroken. Please save me, I can’t stand anymore...’
At noon, along with mourners, I performed my prayer on the asphalt of the streets, and then returned home. I dreamed that night; a very beautiful middle-aged woman who did not have a single black hair. In my dream I wondered why her hair are so white. I sat down comfortably next to her and told the whole story of my life. She listened patiently. ‘This’s my life.’ I told her, ‘now I don’t know what to do.’ She gently nodded and said, ‘I know all the things you told about your life. You have to be patient...’ When she said, ‘You have to be patient’, I wanted to say that I can’t be anymore, I’ve come to the end of my endurance; but, in my dream, Hossein told me this woman is Hazrat Zaynab (SA).
When I woke up, was wet with perspiration. I wept uncontrolled; I had let my eyes rest on the sheet which was being wetted by my tears.
To be continued…
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