from Issue #5, Fall 2014 - Spring 2015

an excerpt from Vis & I

by Farideh Razi, translated from Persian by Niloufar Talebi

[ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 ]

[ continued ]

Sussan used to stand by the pond near the red, pink, and white geraniums, and watch herself quiver on the water's thin sheath, laughing as if to say, you see that I'm trembling , so hold the water still . The children would stir the water with wooden poles from mosquito nets. Wave after wave, Sussan would shatter to pieces, laughing heartily: I'm broken, split in half, shattered to pieces, detaching from myself, and submerging under water along with the de-petalled geraniums, to drown for good. Why don't you take my hand, hear me say, Ouch , see how the sharp shafts of sunlight shine onto my head, how the blue tiles quiver under the light, and watch the wind that hurls the string of instants into space? Pearls burst in the air, and I am born from this explosion of light, in the now, in this very instant. I was undergoing a new birth .

In my mind, I'm looking at you leaning against the door, biting your lips. You've clenched your hands inside your pant pockets (I can see with my mind's eye). My hands sprout next to me, I watch them blossom, grow in silence. The glare from gold eyeglass frames doesn't allow me to see your eyes. Panting, Vis shakes me, pointing to you. Look who's come! Can you believe it?!

No, I couldn't believe it. The image in the glass was a projection of Vis' imagination, not reality, because otherwise, what were you doing here, my classroom, during school hours! The children were watching me with mouths agape, able to smell an incident about to happen (I hadn't said a word). Vis was trembling next to me, anticipating something she was aware of, but didn't want. She was panicking, unable to think from the fear. I said: Be careful, an incident lies asleep behind the door. You'll arouse it if you step on it.

And you stepped on it. A nice aroma wafted in from the opening and closing of the door. A figure etched itself in space (Its particular contour still lingers in the same spot, I feel you every time I'm there). I didn't look at you, I stared at the children's eyes to watch the echo of your appearance. The children broke in passing peals of laughter, sneaky little giggles. I, too, laughed (I was flustered). The notebook fell out of my hands. I bent down. The memory of two dark green eyes was awakened in the time between this bending and the straightening (One moment stirs up a similar one). I straightened up. The eyes flitted, and you sat down on the chair without saying a word or any formality. The light from the funnel-shaped reading lamp was reflecting on you. I intended to look at the light, but my eyes met yours (How interesting a black ring around the brown iris was, which just today, when I turned around at the top of the stairs to see that black ring for the last time, the moistness that had swelled around it had not allow me to). Through the crack of the half-open door: you were stretched to the blue blue vault of heaven. How tall you were! You were pulling on the rolled sleeves of the striped blue shirt in order to cover your claws, you were restless as if hanging from a clothesline in the sky and the wind not letting you stand still (Stop! I'm almost there). I couldn't look at you any longer. I lowered my head, and spilled towards the line of stairs and the street. I was in the middle of the staircase when I heard the creaking sound of the door closing. The railing I was holding on to, to steady myself, sprung into the ceiling-less space, the earth became round, real and imaginary forms were entangled, blurring my vision. A stream bubbled at my tiptoes, and the stumbling sky plunged into it. I said: "Goodbye!"

I myself heard my voice. Every now and again eternity lies in moments that are immortalized. You cannot forget that place, that moment, that color in the air, the rain that ripples the sky-pool, the lights that knot into each other, sparks that ignite the pouring rain. You, me, we come into existence to incite a resurrection of the moments, to make them last forever.

" Goodbye."

Did you hear the sound of a door that pounded shut, the sound of breaking, the sound of my voice? I heard the sound of imploding, the sound of the twilight of humanity. We were parting with one word! They say resurrection is futureless. What is life without a future like? Before making it to the street, a blast of explosion hurled me to the ground (How utterly late it was for love). I got myself to the street. There was pandemonium and rising smoke and soot. My eyes fell on a collapsed wall that had a lock of hair lodged in one of its cracks, and on a woman searching for her child. The bomb had destroyed other houses. The sounds of wailing, of caving in, of destruction was pouring out of every corner of the sky.

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continue to Part 4 >>

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