Escape From Paradise. Majid MD Amini
miles between themselves and the last of the city buildings, heading northeast, the bearded man abruptly interrupted his whispered conversation with the guard. He rose to his feet, bent slightly, and looked outside, checking their progress by the landscape. He faced the worried passengers and announced loudly, “Listen to me please. ...You're gonna’ be taken through the city of Shabestar, over the north shore of Lake Rezaeih, to the west of the city of Salmas. This brother (pointing to the younger guard) is gonna be with you up to that point. There you'll be handed over to a guide. From that point on, it'll take three days of hiking to reach the border. I hope you’re all in good shape for the hike. I'm gonna get off near Salmas. You got any questions you better ask now.” His glance drifted over the passengers, expecting for some questions.
Despite so many questions racing through their minds, such as, what is our chance of success? What if we get caught? Would they kill us all?, no one dared utter a word. Their silence signified that they were perhaps holding tight onto the last shreds of expectation – hope – that they would soon be freed from the chaos revolution had brought into their lives.
He sat and continued his conversation with the guards, this time, intensely haggling and arguing over the shares of revenue from their ingenious underground enterprise. Furrowing his brows in an expression of disapproval, the older guard seemed to run out of patience. He snapped his fingers, demanding his share of the revenue – the bribe money. Disappointed at not having other options, the bearded man promptly pulled out a bundle of bills wrapped with a rubber band from the inside of his untidy jacket pocket. He hesitantly handed the precious bundle to the guard whose frown suddenly changed to a wide grotesque grin as he laid eyes on all that colorful cash.
The lanky man and the tall elderly man were the only ones who alertly witnessed the transfer of the money. Their disgust was silently but clearly reflected on their faces.
The bearded man then left his seat and sat next to the woman whom he had helped in the hotel. Drowsy, she looked like she was between naps.
“Are you okay?” he asked with a kind voice.
The question woke her. Startled, she straightened her posture and, without looking at him, she replied softly, “Yes, I am.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I woke you.”
“That’s all right.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked with the same tone.
“No ... you've done enough ... thanks a lot ... I won't forget it,” she said in a sincere voice. For the first time in many years, she genuinely meant what she said to a man.
“I've some business in Salmas. Otherwise, I’d come with you to the border ... and even to Turkey, to help you get on your way. You know, another group’s coming through ... I gotta take care of them.” He hesitated for a moment and spoke in a friendlier and more reassuring tone, “You don't have to worry about a thing, the guides will take good care of you. It’s part of the deal I have with them.” After a long pause, signifying as if he has run out subject, he finally asked, “Do you need any money?”
She lifted her veil, glanced at him and let a faint smile part her lips, and only then replied, “No ... but thanks.” She reached up to his face with her visibly trembling right hand and touched him gently, as though trying to imprint his face on her mind – a mind that was cluttered with scattered of the most unpleasant memories of recent tragic events beyond any soul’s forbearance.
“You know what? This ... this sweetness is, for sure, the only good thing I'm gonna miss about this goddamn place, this shit hole,” she murmured in his ear. Then the thought went through her mind. I need this small crumb of sweetness, otherwise how in hell will I make it with all the pain and hurt about to burst inside me? Her thought was followed by some incoherent whispered words, only to console and comfort herself.
He reached for her hand and held it in his and felt her warmth. Sitting next to her, he couldn't help but think of the good old days, her golden days, when it would have been a great honor just to be seen in the company of such a celebrity in public. Conversely, she felt comforted that a stranger, who had acted so beastly towards her the night before, could now be so caring, for she was certain that he expected nothing in return for the warmth and kindness he was abundantly offering her. For the first time in a very long time, as far back as her childhood, she felt genuine pleasure at having someone around – especially a man – someone who dug deeper, to find more than first impressions suggested.
He left her after a long hour of affectionate and pleasant conversation to sit behind the driver again.
Once she was alone, the last residue of taryak, with its mysterious and potent sedative power still going up and down her veins, caused her mind to wander, putting her in a twilight zone, the expanse of a never-never land that exists between hallucination and reality. Drifting backward to the dark labyrinth of her past, a past crowded with sorrows, she searched for a few sparks of happiness. She was frantically looking for the events and places that surrounded those happy moments, even though they were infrequent occurrences in her tumultuous life. She wanted to retrieve them, to look at them, as sober-mindedly as her present condition would allow, find those few scarce moments of joy. She had to reach way back to her early childhood, but once she reached that subdivision of her life, she could still hear the echoes of her mother’s domineering voice. The voice that carried harsh words kept bouncing against her head’s walls until every word registered in meticulous clarity in her mind.
“From the day you were born, you've been nothing but a pain in the ass!” Esmat, known as “Fat Esmat” to everyone, shouted at her little girl. “Didn't I tell you, just sit there and don't move?! Goddamn you! Sit and don’t move or I'll kill you! Did you hear what I said, you little shit?”
Her mother’s threatening words scared her so much that she could only respond by nodding. A minute or so later, when the echoes of her mother’s threatening words dissipated and were forgotten in her joyful young mind, she moved slightly. Esmat noticed her move. She rose, walked to where her little girl was trying to fight boredom by playing, and smacked the side of little Fatemeh’s face viciously with her coarse wet hand. A lump in the little girl’s throat broke loose, and two streams of tears moved steadily down her face. Esmat pounded her little girl verbally by shouting at her again, “Stop that, you little bitch! I don’t want to hear any noise from you again! Just sit there and shut the hell up!”
Swallowing her pain, the little girl made a whimpering sound and wiped her runny nose and tears with the sleeve of her dirty old shirt, but the tears refused to dry up – they kept coming.
Now, many turbulent years and ten thousand heartbreaking disappointments later, lonely, pondering the trials and tribulations of her life, she searched through the fragmented events of her childhood. She curled up on the bus seat as if she were the same frightened hurt little girl, the sweet child. Riding the emotional waves of her past troubles and miseries, no other passengers noticed her when she put her thumb in her mouth, lay down on the seat in a fetal position and gradually slipped away, not into the sanctuary and serenity of sleep, nor did she ascend into the harsh realm of wakefulness. But, with the residue of the elixir of taryak still in her veins, she was weightlessly suspended in the twilight zone in between.
Chapter Two
Little Fatemeh, Faty, as everyone called her in those innocent days, was a five-year-old happy, little shabbily-dressed girl, the only child of Esmat, from her second marriage that had ended in an unexpected tragedy. Her young husband of only two years, Ali-Akbar, a dark-featured medium height southern man, a skilled stonecutter by profession, had been crushed to death under tons of huge boulders falling from an old crane that collapsed when Faty was only six months old. Protecting himself against any liability, the greedy owner of the business falsely blamed the tragedy on Ali-Akbar's negligence and unyieldingly refused to pay any money when Esmat repeatedly asked for the customary compensation for her husband’s tragic death. She became enraged when her repeated threats didn’t dent the owner’s decision about the matter. She felt the weight of vengeance in her heart so intensely that the thought of throwing a bottle of sulphuric acid in the owner's face didn’t escape