The Colonel (27 page)

“colonel, I'm going away and I shan't be coming back. I have come to ask for your blessing, colonel. Bless me, colonel.”

He had not seen Abdullah again since then. As he looked at him in his present condition, everything went black and the image of the young Abdullah vanished in a puff of smoke. the colonel's head felt like a millstone and he felt as if his heart had been plucked out of his body and, like a demented canary, was beating against the sides of its cage. When he came to, he found himself gripping the back of the chair tightly with both hands. The blanket had fallen off his shoulders and was lying on the floor, leaving him stark naked and shivering like a dog.

“He's sick, colonel, sick! What a sight you are, colonel, Sir! I wish I had a camera!”

It was the nasal voice of Khezr Javid. His mouth open in a silent laugh, his sharp, professionally insolent look pinned the colonel's naked, fragile body, bent double over the chair. the colonel came round. He was not confused now. He bent down, carefully picked the blanket up from the floor and pulled it over his shoulders.

He remembered that he had just been standing on the verandah and that Khezr had gone down to the basement to… Now he had freed the crooked little hunchback from the tree and was dragging him, like an insult, towards the passage, presumably to lock him up in one of the rooms inside. Then he remembered that Khezr had brought him round with the words: “He's sick, colonel, sick.” Now he saw more clearly that the strange, mismatched eyes, like two different pieces of glass, had split Abdullah's transformed face into two halves. He saw that those two fearful, apprehensive, glassy eyes were seeing things as if through a kaleidoscope. He felt himself being dragged towards the door as Khezr led the deformed young
man into the passage, muttering back at the colonel, “He's dumb, he's gone dumb.”

A moment later, Khezr came out of the corridor onto the verandah and stood looking at the wrecked gate. Taking a deep breath, and avoiding the colonel's gaze, he announced:

“It's been decided to turn this house into a lunatic asylum, colonel. Let's hope they're all as dumb as this one, otherwise it's going to get really noisy round here soon.”

M
y God… Am I seeing what I'm seeing? Am I hearing what I'm hearing?

Yes, there was no mistake. Khezr went down the verandah steps, scratching his new beard, went over to the wall, where the pick and shovel had been left, paused briefly to piss against the courtyard wall and went out of the gate. The last sight that the colonel had of him was his new mulla's cloak billowing out behind him as he swept out into the alleyway.

It was Abdullah.

A terrified Abdullah, from one of whose eyes the colonel's little son was gazing out at him. He was squatting forlornly by the wall, beneath the canary cage. When the colonel brought him a glass of tea and a couple of sugar plums, Abdullah reached out from under his blanket, grasped the colonel's hand and spoke in a hoarse, hollow voice, begging him to tell his
mother where he was. “Before I wrap these…” – he pointed at the handcuffs hanging from his right wrist – “round my neck and…” He told the colonel he wanted to see his mother before he killed himself: “So that I can suck her milk one last time!” Then he closed his parched lips and gazed round the room with his glassy stare, taking in every detail. As the colonel left the room, he heard Abdullah's cracked voice behind him: “And you, Ali Seif. You were the one who shot people down like dogs. I'll tear you to pieces with my teeth…”

Oh, the dangerous bravado of youth! the colonel reflected that if the boffins could one day manage to expunge from a man's life the years of youth, say from eighteen to thirty, then those in power, those behind all the exploitation and plundering of the nation, would have nothing to worry about. Because nobody would ever again come up with such dangerous ideas as justice or freedom.
Why has nobody ever thought of this before? But then again, they need the young. Who else could they send off to fight their wars for them? But of course there are endless numbers of young men, endless. Which of them would be shot first?

The rattling of the chain… the chain round the gate of the Shams ul-Emareh.
Was he really hearing the jangle of the heavy links of the chain on the great gate?
Do my ears deceive me?
No, he was right. Clear for all to see, they had wound the chains of the old Shams ul-Emareh palace gate round Amir Kabir's neck. His hands were tied behind his back and they were hauling him into the colonel's yard. The Amir is a pitiful sight, in his white shirt, black frock coat and cap askew, standing a good head and shoulders above the two youths who are
dragging him into the yard and raining blows and curses down on him. It is no surprise that, even with his hands tied behind his back, he does not fall to his knees. When he is just a step away from the pond, he lifts his head, thrusts out his burly chest and gazes at the colonel standing there under the canary cage. the colonel is so deeply moved by the sight that he does not immediately notice that the two guards in charge of Amir are Qorbani Hajjaj and Ali Seif, bringing the young criminal back to the scene of the crime to see if they can clear it up.

the colonel lost track of how long he had been standing there by the cage, staring silently into space, but he knew that he had closed his mind to the chain of the Shams ul-Emareh palace, to Amir and to the others. He had been taken to the verandah, so it seemed, and he had been made to stand just where The Colonel used to stand from time to time with his white handkerchief.

He looked at the rain, and at the smashed gate and at the wall by the gate. There was no sign of the pick and shovel. So, Amir had taken them after all, and what he had just witnessed had been nothing but a dream. All he could hear now was the sound of the rain beating on the old tin roof, and all he could feel was the shadowy hands of Qorbani Hajjaj, with his coarse fingers, helping him put on his still-damp clothes to take him off to the mosque. For the memorial service…

In fact, Qorbani had made it quite easy for him, by taking over his role and allowing the colonel to stand back for the entire service. He thanked all those who had come to offer their prayers for the martyr, while the colonel stood by the mosque door shivering like a dog. By the time someone had thought to bring him a paraffin stove, the service was over.

Qorbani did not come back home with him. He had a lot to do, marching the crowd of mourners to the town square, ‘Justice Square.' He came as far as the end of the alleyway with him where, out of sight of the crowd, he turned and spat at him:

“If it hadn't been for those two or three other bastard children of yours, this one alone would have allowed you to hold your head up high for the rest of your life. But now…”

And with that Qorbani stalked off. In any event, the colonel had nothing to say to him. He might have found an answer, if he had had any further interest in life. He might just have spat in his face.

Who knows what goes on in another person's mind? Had
Qorbani said what he had said out of sympathy for him? Or out of fear that his father-in-law might become a burden to him?

But in any case, the colonel knew that Qorbani had no idea which way his mind was going, and how far he had got in his plan. If he had known how close the colonel was to his end, he would not have bothered to offer him any sympathy, real or otherwise. Whatever the case, the colonel had no wish to get involved in trading petty insults.

The gate is still wide open and the colonel has no need to search his pockets for the key. Nothing worries him now. He knows that the house will soon be taken over by the state and – maybe – used for charity.
Of course, Qorbani should have no expectations; he will get more than his fair share of the inheritance by winning the tender to do up the mortuary…

Almost nonchalantly, the colonel strolls into the yard. He does not even regret not taking a last look at the photograph of Masoud in the new shrine they had put up outside the gate.
Nor does he worry whether it was himself, or someone else, who has left the light on in the sitting room. He just hopes that the stove is still going. His feet untrammelled by care for life or death, his intention now clear, he strides towards his end.

But what he sees on entering the living room pulls him up short: The Colonel, and someone whom he addresses as ‘Your Excellency' are sitting opposite one another at the table.
⁵⁵

The Colonel is sitting in my old place, and His Excellency is on this side of the table, in Amir's usual place. I am standing under the arch and The Colonel is facing the door, while His Excellency has his back to it. I seem to have interrupted a secret meeting and I am embarrassed by my mistake
.

“You were told to leave the country, Colonel.”

“Yes, you did tell me that, Your Excellency.”

“I sent you that order via HQ. According to the order, you and Farrokh and Bahador
⁵⁶
were to take two years' salary and go to Europe to complete your training.”

“I had to deal with some outstanding matters that fell within my remit. That didn't require any further training.”

“Outstanding matters, indeed! You take yourself far too
seriously, Colonel… They could have been dealt with in your absence.”