 Expressions and rays
Short story
Afsan Azadi
October 27, 2004
iranian.com
Ramin walked into his apartment, tired, exasperated
and beat. It was a little past eleven o'clock at night. The atmosphere
of silence and loneliness reigning over the apartment was intensively
disheartening and excruciating. It was like walking into a cemetery.
The darkness was exceedingly spread within the tiny proximity of
his one bedroom efficiency studio apartment. His body was aching
of all the walking in the cold, snowy weather. He was feeling the
anguish of the daylong extensive walk that, once again, had produced
no result.
It was the end of another long day of searching for
work with no success, baazam saresh be sang khorde bood. It was
as if a heavy load was weighing on his shoulders, slowing his
movement and bearing on his insanity. Perhaps it was the heaviness
of the
load of his thoughts that was literally affecting his body. A
human's mind and brain can stand a certain amount of pressure and
bearing.
When the mind is not in the state of peace, jubilance and happiness,
the body organs may be at the risk of low functioning. After
all, people are humans and not machines, even though the modern
living
standards of society emphasize their perseverance of exhibiting
people as mechanical objects, capable of tolerating extensive
amounts of pain in wars, under the knife of plastic surgeons, and
in the
torture chambers. No matter what, humans tend to feel pain, rejection,
sadness, repression and injustice.
Ramin gingerly strolled into the living room and took his shoes
off -- one of those Persian customs that is hard
to abandon. After all, old habits are hard to break and may cause
psychological complications, tarke aadat moojebe maraze. He has
been ridiculed over and over by Americans for it, but he, like
most Iranians, cannot shake this habit, and upon arriving in a
house, feels obligated to take his shoes off and neatly place them
next to the wall. This is what his father, the ultimate power,
and the dictator in his household, taught him to do since he was
a child, and he cannot shed this habit. The thought of disobeying
the ultimate domineering power has long been a taboo in the society
where he had grown up. From childhood, you are taught by your parents,
teachers, the military forces, and the ultimate political leader
not to disobey the order of a superior.
The cold was really unbearable. It was penetrating his body like
the spear of a hunter soaring into the body of his game on the
open Savanna of Africa. He turned and switched the heater on. To
his surprise, there was no clicking sound. He tried and tried again,
but to no avail. With his freezing palm, Ramin grabbed the switch
and shook it, but it did not go on. He decided to turn on the lights.
As he took a step towards the light switch by the door, he heard
a crunchy sound under his foot. It was not his "friend," he
hoped. He glanced at it. It appeared to be a white piece of paper
or an envelope.
As he bent over to pick it up, he could hear his
aching back making creaking sounds like the crickets in open
farms. He picked up the piece of paper and immediately noticed
the words "Notice
of Interruption" on top. "Great," he said, sarcastically, "they
have cut off the gas." With much agony, anger, but not a
great deal of surprise, he walked towards the light switch. He
was not too disappointed because he was expecting this, and he
knew it was inevitable. It was bound to happen and it was only
a matter of time before it did. He had not paid the gas bill
for sometime. Therefore, he did not give it much care. He turned
on
the light switch.
It worked. He placed his shopping bags on the table with the
most caution because the weight of the bags could send the table,
which one of its legs was attached to it with a piece of tape and
may give in under the slightest pressure, collapsing and crumbling
down to the floor, baa aabe dahan beham chasbeede bood. He took
the bottle of vodka out of the brown bag and gently sat it on the
table and placed the small bag of other merchandise that he had
bought at the drug store next to it, then walked towards the couch
and threw his exhausted body on it. He had that day's mail
in his hand. He threw it on the old coffee table.
As the mail scattered all over the table, one piece of mail stood
out and displayed itself: "Electricity, Final Notice." Spending
the night without any heat in Ohio in the early January is not
highly recommended, he thought to himself. But now they were going
to interrupt the electricity too? Like he did not have enough problems
and concerns, another problem was added to his list of miseries,
gol bood be sabze nist aaraaste shod. He stood up and walked to
the kitchen.
He grabbed a glass and then the bottle of vodka out of the bag
on the table and sat back. It was close to midnight. But for Ramin,
the night was just beginning.It was a cold night. The temperature
was expected to fall into the 20's that night. There was
no heat. So, what remedy would be better than getting warmed up
with some heavy booze? He did not have any appetite, and even if
so, there was nothing edible in the whole apartment.
Times have
been tough. Ramin had been out of work for nearly three months.
He could not even remember the last time he received a paycheck.
These days he was spending the last few dollars of his savings.
He was on his last leg. Friends had offered to help, but he had
too much pride to accept their money. The offers were from his
Iranian friends, but he had too much pride to accept charity.
Besides, he thought if he borrowed money from Iranians, he would
have to
hear about it. Initially, they would insist upon it: "Please
accept it; my money is your money; for God's sake, take
it," joon e in tan nageeri naaraahat misham, pool
e man o shoma nadaareh. But he knew accepting money from them would
surely result in cheap talks behind his back. His American friends
were
a different story. They either would not offer, or could not
afford it because most of them already had their own economic
problems and were up to their necks in credit card debts and
mortgage
payments,
hashteshoon gero e noheshoon bood.
Ramin poured the hot vodka into the glass and took a big sip.
Oh, it hit the spot, right off the bat, zad be khode jar yaan.
An empty stomach and hard, 80 percent proof volume vodka will challenge
even one's sanity, much less his body temperature. He quickly
felt the warmth of the alcohol spreading through his veins and
immediately thereafter through his entire body. He needed this.
He needed this in order to accomplish his mission.
A thought came
to his head: alcohol, what a magical potion, che majooni. For
years, even centuries, people have drunk this darn liquid, have
made decisions
and acted upon them. Some have been good, some bad. Maybe that
is the reason that in Islamic countries the consumption of alcohol
is prohibited. They believe that drinking alcohol is a sin and
it may result in severe consequences as those witnessed in the
West such as murder, violence and drunk driving that kill people.
But does not the sword that beheads people and cuts off their
hands present the same lethality and brutality?
It is believed
that Alexander
the Great set the Persepolis on fire after he got drunk one
night and his girlfriend urged him to do so to prove his love for
her.
Who knows what the truth is. The bearing of guilt would be
on the shoulders of those who may make up stories, gonaahesh
be gardane
khodeshaan. Upon thinking about this topic, Ramin's mind
began a journey back into his homeland. He surely was not drunk,
but the reminiscing regarding history seemed like a pleasant
treat
to him, even for a few moments.
Could a woman possess such a power? Could women cause such catastrophes?
Well, according to common belief, be ghole avaam, this
is very probable and highly possible. Was it not a theologian in
Iran who
claimed that the rays arising from women's hair can seduce
men? Therefore they have to cover their hair and even their entire
body so not to affect men. Is it not the common belief of all institutionalized
religions that if it was not due to the low moral and shallow state
of mind of Eve, which resulted in her being deceived by Satan and
accepting the forbidden fruit, we still would be living in the
Garden of Eden?
The Garden of Eden? Where is that? What a concept.
Thus we have formulated a very convenient recipe for all the
problems of this world. It is women, taghseer e khod e zanaast. Sorrow and
sadness took over Ramin's mind. He remembered the life his
mother suffered at the hands of his father, the dictator and
the ultimate power in their house. He recalled the beating that
she
endured at the hands of his father. Perhaps he was not at fault.
His father had grown up during the dictatorship of two monarchs,
who both claimed to be the guardians of women in Iran. One who
forcefully stripped them of their hijab and dignity and called
it "modernization," and his son who urged them to
become naked in the streets in the name of "great civilization"
and called it progress and Westernization.
They utilized every opportunity to "reform" women
solely for their own agendas and interests, until women confessed
that they had enough and decided to return to the fundamental roots
of their culture and upbringing and cast away the "improvement" of
their lives, az talaa boodan pasheemaan gashte im, marhemat
farmoode maaraa mes konid. It was this transformation of monarchal dictatorship
to the theological despotism that handed Iranian women the worse
state of sexual and social repression.
Ramin recalled his grandmother
whose chador was forcefully removed and unveiled in public during
the 1940's by a policeman in the streets and it, publicly,
shamed her. She was a very religious woman. She never forgave
the man behind the ordinance until she died. She was a nice Muslim
woman, and all she wanted out of life was to have the freedom
to
dedicate herself to her God. But the dictator even deprived her
of that liberty. She used to pray five times a day everyday.
Sometimes she bent and put her head on the ground and prayed to
her God for
so long that one would think she would never get up again. She
cursed the man behind this injustice until the day she died,
khoda azat nagzare. But then came the mullahs who forced the hijab
back
on women.
Iranian women have hardly ever had the freedom of dress choice
throughout the history of Persia. During the time of the ancient
Persia, hijab was a symbol of royalty and prestige, authorized
and appropriated for the elite Persian women of society. During
the reigns of the two monarchs before the Islamic revolution it
symbolized backwardness, and stripping one of it meant modernism
and Westernization. But after the revolution, it became the symbol
of support for the uprising against Western values. To wear or
not to wear hijab has always been a matter of compulsory policies
and never a matter of choice for Iranian women.
Ramin poured another shot of vodka in the glass and chugged it
down quickly. The alcohol ran through his system as a runner running
an Olympic 100 meter race. He thought to himself, "Good,
I need it." He needed that. The room was beginning to feel
warmer, and he was reaching that stage of mind that he was aiming
for, the total numbness of mind so to go through with his plan.
He left his thoughts on the sofa momentarily and walked towards
the only window in the room. That was his only escape and passage
to the outside world.
He looked outside. Everything was black and white. It was a dark
night but snow had begun to fall. Snow flakes, what a beautiful
sight to witness. But with all their beauty, they would hide the
sun and the moon. It was several weeks that no one had seen the
sun. It was difficult to enjoy the sunrise and sunset these days.
It had been gloomy and depressing for sometime. Spring and its
blossoming trees, autumn and its falling leaves, and winter and
its snow, each season offered a different beauty. But now it has
been a while that the sun was lost. Ramin thought to himself, how
many people may be on top of the mountains and ski resorts right
at that moment, sliding, skiing and enjoying themselves? It saddened
him that he could not afford such a luxury. However, there are
and have been those less fortunate than him. Snow with all its
beauty and magnificence can cause catastrophe and disaster.
He came back and once again comforted himself on the sofa. He
had been in this country for nearly two and a half decades, but
it was as if it was yesterday when it happened. It was still fresh
in his memory. It was Christmas, 1977. The weather in Tehran
was cold and bone crushing. There was an elaborate and luxurious
party going on in the Royal Palace for a foreign leader. The chandeliers
were glimmering in the ballroom. All the guests, the members of
the Royal Family, and the dignitaries in formal outfits were sipping
expensive champagne and mingling. The country was referred to
by the distinguished guest as the "island of stability." But
across the city, many mud-built houses collapsed during the night
under the heavy snow and many people lost their lives under the
collapsed roofs of their outdated mud-built homes. The next day,
there was the largest print of the royal party of the night before
on the front page and many following pages, but a small mention
of the deaths of dozens in the page of the local news.
Ramin looked at the clock. It was past two o'clock in
the morning. The snow was coming down hard. He turned on the radio.
Music was playing. He had been in this country for years, but still
could not make sense of the American music. It is hard to teach
an old dog new tricks, derakhte peero nemishe peyvandesh zad. One's
roots are planted in his homeland and through his customs, traditions,
and culture. But what is wrong with change? Is it not that the
world is ever going forward? We cannot live in the sixth century
any longer. Ramin thought that if he had a child, he could not
tell him to use a candle to do his homework nor to take a lantern
to the backyard to the toilet. The technology is to be used for
the improvement of our lives. It is meant for the convenience of
the human race. This thought stopped Ramin. Who was he kidding?
Technology for the comfort and convenience of people? He filled
up his glass, all the way to the rim this time.
The thought of modern technology for the benefit of humankind
staggered him, ki ro daran gool mizanan? The same technology that
enabled us to kill hundreds of thousands of people in Hiroshima
in an instant? The same technology that makes bombs that can travel
the fastest, hit the hardest and cause the most destruction? The
same science that manufactures electrical saws that can cut off
hands "in the fastest, painless fashion?" No, science
and technology were not invented to kill, but to heal.
Ramin was
drawn in these thoughts when he realized his old friend crawling
on the wall near the same spot where he had found it several
weeks ago. The big roach that has become his companion these past
few
weeks was running around on the wall near the kitchen. Ramin
knew it was the same roach for the shadowy mixture of the colors
on
its back and its right half broken antenna where once Ramin tried
to hit it with a magazine. Some resilient roach that was. The
first time that he came across the roach, he tried to kill it.
That is
why he hit it with the magazine. But the roach somehow survived
and came back. He thought about killing it again, but the resilience
that the roach displayed by returning in pursuit of food and
survival made Ramin to leave it alone. After all, we can all get
along.
He thought that this planet belonged to all of us.
It somewhat reminded Ramin of the movie Papion with Steve Mc
Queen, where his character was imprisoned on the Devil's
Island by the French government, while feeding on roaches due to
the lack of meat in his food for the purpose of punishing him.
Ramin thought to himself that, provided that it was a true story,
what may make a regime treat its own people like that? Soon he
remembered the Evin Prison and how kids as young as seven or eight
years have been executed. The television was showing people, young
and old dancing and singing in a variety program, while little
girls in Iran were trapped inside a tent called a chador, or being
raped before their executions because the religion prohibits the
execution of a virgin girl.
Ramin was gradually reaching the middle of the vodka bottle.
His head was beginning to spin due to the effect of the alcohol.
Why can he not fully adjust to this culture? He has spent nearly
a quarter of a century in this country. He can go through a bottle
of vodka in a couple of hours. This part of the culture he had
no problem associating with. But he thought it is because he is
depressed and sad. Excuses, excuses, bahaane bahaane. No matter
what, the smell of the rain in the streets of his homeland, the
smell of the mud houses, the glow of the lights on the streets
of Tehran, people in different clothes walking in the parks, women
in hijab or girls in Western clothes had left a profound impact
on Ramin's life that he could not forget. He never felt
discriminated against until he came to America.
Here, the whole society is filled with prejudice and discrimination
against the Native Americans, Blacks, Hispanics, Muslims and even
Whites. He suspected that it was his origin that recently resulted
in the dismissal from his old job. But is there not prejudice and
repression in Iran too against Afghans, Kurds, and anyone who has
different political ideas or any ideas at all for that matter?
So then it is the same everywhere you go, aasemoon har koja
beri hamoon range. The glass was empty of vodka. Time to refill.
But before doing so, he had to do something urgent because drinking
alcohol on an empty stomach would result in a call from nature,
bad joori tangesh gerefte bood. He stood up. The effect of the
alcohol made him stagger and feel dizzy. He made his way to the
bathroom. He pulled his pants down and began. What a feeling. He
knew there would be more visits to this room all through the night,
nashashidi shab deraaze.
Ramin returned to the living room. He was not feeling cold any
more. The room was frigid but he was feeling warm. Thanks to the
effect of the alcohol. People say that alcohol is bad. Now he knows
why bums drink so heavily. It is a remedy for hunger and cold.
But he is not a bum, or is he? He remembered the time that he had
a great job, all the materialistic things and all that a man could
ask for. Whatever happened to all that? It cannot be all because
of a regime change in Iran. It is true that he is one of the "children
of the revolution," and the consequences of that revolution
dramatically changed the course of the lives of all in and abroad.
But he succeeded to make a life for himself not so long ago. He
had received a doctoral degree, had a good job, house and cars.
Then what happened? Was it because of his first marriage to
an American girl who gave up her "glorified job" as a
waitress in a diner to become his wife for six months, and upon
their divorce took everything but the cat with her? Could it
be because of his second marriage to an Iranian girl who was
handpicked
by his parents in Iran and sent to America, who upon receiving
her Green Card left him? No, it was not because of this failure
or that bad luck. It had to do with a collection of events, mishaps,
miscalculations, and bad lucks.
He peaked outside the window. The snow had subsided. The ground
was fully covered with snow. It was close to five o'clock
in the morning. He sat down again. There was about a third of the
bottle of vodka left. He poured some more and stretched his legs
on the old coffee table. He felt something bulging in his pocket.
He reached in there and took out his keys and sat them on the
coffee table. He thought to himself, key, what a concept. An instrument
that opens doors, open closed locks, and opens gates. He recalled
when he was about ten or eleven years old. One night he was walking
in his neighborhood when an older lady called him. He went to her.
It was a woman covered in the traditional chador with her daughter
who was also dressed in one.
 The woman asked him to grab the
key and open a lock that was attached to a chain around the neck
of the young girl. He failed
the first and second time, but he managed to open the lock on the
third try. Both the woman and the young girl were jubilant. The
woman offered to give him some money, but he refused and ran, puzzled
about what had just taken place. Ramin went home and told his father
about it. His father explained to him that some people still believe
in superstition, and opening of the lock around a young girl who
is past her prime for marriage, torsheedeh, by a young
and innocent boy will increase the chances of the girl to find
a husband, bakhte
dokhtare baaz mishe. What superstition! He, was an educated
man, could never understand the purpose of superstitions. They
just
did not make sense because they were not based on facts and science.
But at least this superstition, related to the key and the young
girl, was harmless, not like the one about giving out plastic keys,
made in Taiwan, to Iranian children during the Iran-Iraq war with
the promise of becoming martyrs and opening the gate of heaven
with the "holy" key. But Ramin wished there was such
a key. Not necessarily to help a girl to find her mate or facilitate
the entrance to heaven, but perhaps a magical master key that would
open all the doors of all the political prisons all around the
world to free those who are persecuted for the expression of opinions
and thoughts.
At this time, Ramin was feeling completely numb. He could not
feel anything anymore. He felt so hot as if the heater was on.
He got up and walked towards the table and grabbed the small bag
from the drug store. It was the time. He took the package out of
the bag. They were the razor blades that he used to buy for years,
stainless steel and sharp. He took one out of the package and held
it between his thumb and index finger. It was the time. He felt
brave. He was not feeling hapless any longer. His entire life was
passing before his eyes. The days before the revolution, the years
of the revolution, the decades after the revolution were all passing
before his eyes like a movie.
He came to this country with the
goal of getting an education and returning to help his country.
He succeeded to reach the highest level of education but the
revolution destroyed all of his dreams. He never returned to his
homeland.
Now he was out of a job, broke, disappointed with a broken spirit.
He felt that there was no way out but to end it now. They say
suicide is the action of cowards, but it was his life after all.
He had
no saying in his creation. Two people one night joined together
and out of horniness, and not necessarily out of love and care
for one another, made him. So at least now he has the final saying
in when he wants to end it. He decided to look at the world outside
one more time. The sun had not shown up for weeks and maybe months.
It was always dark and gloomy. Even the sun was not kind to him
anymore.
With the razor blade in his hand he walked towards the window
and pulled the curtain to the side, inspired to see the world one
more time. The first thing that caught his attention was that the
snow had completely ceased. The sky was a grayish color. But from
the east he could see something that had not been seen for months.
It was the sun that was rising. It was rising from the East, where
his heart laid, the region of the world where culture and civilization
had arisen and developed. The sun was rising. He stared deeply
into the horizon. The sky was opening wider and expanding.
The sun was peaking higher. He pulled the cord and opened up
the entire blinds. The rays of the sun fell over the living room
and cast a shadow over the coffee table, the rug and the walls.
He noticed his little friend with the broken antenna scrambling
down the wall towards its hole, carrying the tiniest piece of bread
that it had scavenged in the apartment. It seems that the dark
night had ended into the light of a bright morning, paayaaan e
shabe siyah sepid ast.
 Ramin looked into the increasingly bright sun
light, put the razor blade down on the coffee table and poured
the rest of vodka
out the window. He thought to himself that a man never gives up, mard
aan ast ke dar keshaa keshe dahr, sang zirin e aasia baashad.
He grabbed his overcoat, put his shoes back on, opened the door
and walked outside. There was a new day, full of hopes awaiting
him. His "friend" had just made it down to the floor
and was pushing his hard night's gain into its hole.
*
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