The little boy. Possibly the most poignant element of this story. I can write about it forever, I can begin and end worlds with him at the center for ever and ever.
The story would have been much different without him.
Who put him there?
Was he there as a reminder of life?
*
We were the first group of detainees to be taken to the holding place.By we, I mean our group of runners, oddities and freaks. 7 of us, the family of 4, Mehdi, Mohsen and I. A small building, square-ish, some 15 ft by 15 ft, if memory serves.
As the pioneer arrivals, we had the luxury of getting to be INSIDE the room. Anyone who was brought in after us has to stay and sleep outside. A few people stayed inside in the entry way before the room we were in, then in front of the building and gradually scattered around the area.
I don't remember how many nights we were there. It might have been one night only, maybe two, maybe three...no more than three, I think...I find myself unwilling to do that math...the notes I took are mostly burnt away so tracing history requires going deep into my brain, something I try not to do, not to those years...!
If it was in fact only one night, it was one hell of a long night!
*
At some point, the little boy and his pregnant mother showed up. We didn't speak the same language, I don't remember where they were from.
The only interaction I had with the pregnant mother was when she asked for cigarettes after smoking up her own stash one after another. We shared some of our dry Winston lights with her without questions or thoughts.
I remember the little boy vividly. It was just him, th mother and the fetus inside her.
He was 3 or 4 maybe, he was very small. It was 2012, he is 16 or 17 now, that is if he is still alive. It's been 13 years and I still cry about him, for him, for all the little boys.
Aside from him, I was youngest, I remember his eyes, his smile, his little laugh and his restless legs.
How does god do this?
Where was god that day when they got him?
[god brought him to you Roshanak, so you could play with him, remember his eyes and his smile. god brough him to you, you who owuld never forget him.]
He was restless. There wasn't anything to do there. His mom was not concerned with him. She couldn't stop smoking.
At some point, I crumpled up an empty plastic water bottle and started playing ball with him. I would get distracted here and there and he would get impatient.
I don't know who needed the game more, him or me...
no. 2
what are you laughing at little boy?
at your mother's tarred chest?
at the false dream of the fetus in her womb?
What are you laughing at little boy?
What are you laughing at little boy?
Can't you see the wrathful gaze of the gods?
lying in wait of your aimless laughs?
Can't you see the wishes
perishing on this cold soil?
What are you laughing at little boy?
July-4-2014
به چه می خندی پسرک؟
به سینه ی پرخاکستر مادرت؟
به رویای دروغین جنین در رحمش؟
به چه می خندی پسرک؟
نمی بینی نگاه غضب آلود خدایان را
در کمین خنده های بی بهانه ات؟
نمی بینی آرزوهایی را که جان می دهند
روی این خاک سرد؟
به چه می خندی پسرک؟
no. 3
My gaze stays on the crumpled plastic bottle
Your voice, from distances, echos in my ears
The bottle rolls on the ground in front of my feet
I look at your eyes
restless
Your little legs don't stop moving
but there is nowhere to go
The trees
have become walls
The butterflies
are jail guards
My heart quivers
Lest you find out
the trees have become walls
The plastic bottle sits in front of your feet
Your eyes
sparkle
I breathe a sigh of relief
July-4-2014
نگاهم به بطری پلاستیکی مچاله شده خیره می ماند
صدایت از دوردست در گوش هایم می پیچد
بطری روی زمین جلوی پایم می غلطد
به چشمانت نگاه میکنم
نگاهت بی طاقت است
پاهای کوچکت یک دم نمی ایستند از جنبش
جایی برای رفتن نیست اما
درخت ها دیوار شده اند
پروانه ها زندانبان اند
به اطراف نگاه می کنی
قلبم می لرزد
مبادا بفهمی درختان دیوار شده اند
بطری پلاستیکی جلوی پاهایت می نشیند
چشمانت برق می زنند
من
نفسی از سر آسودگی می کشم