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 ]

I stared at the two sparkling flashes that were your eyes through the billowing darkness inside the car, and understood peace, and the absence of thought.

"If, if they see us together!"

"If we survive until dawn!"

The dust-clear sky was blossoming in the midst of all the blue, and we were turning utterly translucent. We tasted patience between life and death, the splendor of being and desiring. The moon was casting its audacious eyes upon us, I extended a hand to grasp it, it writhed out of my fingers. You were behind the moon, laughing away. I wanted to brush the moon aside. My hand became a beam of light coming at you. I got flustered and woke up drenched in sweat. Dizzy, beside myself, I didn't know where I was! And then, total brightness: you were beside me. A plant had sprouted through the crack in the stones, a purple flower fluttering at its tip. A gentle light was sloping down the mountain. Vis was reclining with closed eyes, and I was awake, watching her with total abandon. One by one, voices were coming to life (Had anyone slept?). I rolled over, peacefully closing my eyes. Suddenly, you shook me vigorously. I didn't open my eyes, just pressed my lids together even tighter. You shouted in my ear: "Move! C'mon, hurry up, you, it's getting light!" Your voice stung the skin of my face. Specks of daylight were splattering onto us through the car. You leapt out and opened the door. The cool morning breeze glided over me.

"Get up, hurry, get up!"

I got up, looked over at you, and was carried away by the flowing air. I wasn't anxious. People were either asleep or awake. It didn't matter, I didn't want to think of them. I was leaving a piece of myself behind with every step I took, each piece dividing into a thousand pieces that were making their way back to you through the peaceful meadow of dawn. Little purple petunia petals waltzed in the air. I was caught in a flurry of their tender wisps, barely able to take a step. Vis was carefree, singing:

Look at this story of mine, told and sung
My name in every mouth, on every tongue
Listen, hear them singing songs of my pain
By every river and on every plain*

I was right! It wasn't a mistake! It was mother's scream bellowing from the top of the hill, and father was muttering something in his bass voice that didn't resemble words.

Vis ran a hand over her face to come to, and I, with silence in my soul, streamed towards the tongue-lashings. As soon as mother saw me, even despite trembling-as if she weren't screaming-she said: "Oh my darling, where have you been. we've been to hell and back!. because, my darling, they dropped so many bombs last night. because. ”

Father turned away, clasping his hands behind him as usual, the heart-rending contour of defeat visible in his sloping shoulders. I knew he would forgive. I knew he was suffering, but I just couldn't bear shouldering the weight of his agony. I had to be silent, and think of you and your soothing voice devoid of a single trace of the usual coldness and restlessness in it. Your words inspired hope. The world outside the car was zooming by otherwise, the mysterious wonders of that night fleeting. Vis was becoming me , a me alien to myself, even. I didn't catch the moment when darkness left, but did capture the moment when father's face was lit. The day had dawned, and night was enveloped in a halo of ambiguities. How tender it was listening to you stirring next to me, and laughing. You laughed too, and our eyes met and we burst into laughter together (It was involuntary). When was it! When?! When the future was bright. When was it that we laughed without a care in the world!

Mother, who came to me with arms folded at the chest, the shade of pleading on her face, and trying not to upset me, said:

"Listen, my darling, Don't. how shall I say!. because people. "(I looked me square in the eyes: strands of white hair were glistening alongside my temples, and my heart still fluttered from mother's shattered voice).

I clung for dear life to the rock under my body to keep me from returning to you, from getting hurt by this lecture, from accepting that mother was right. I was pleading with myself, in my heart, not to fly down and join you at the bottom of the hill. I kept thinking: Stay calm. you'll always be her child. even at 80!. not the Pardis who has learned her lessons the hard way. not the independent woman that's as capable as a man. She has probably read everything in your eyes-she is a mother, after all.

Vis was not looking at me, instead thinking of the rebellion surging inside me, happy that I was coming to see eye to eye with her. Mother was more concerned with my silence than with my pouty protest. She lowered her head when she saw me glaring at her and went to father to calm him down , as she usually did. Then followed ordinary daily tasks, and I was forgotten. I quietly removed myself, perched on top a rock to be engulfed by the sun. Vis watched her inner light, and I, the daylight. All of a sudden, for the umpteenth time in a twenty-four-hour period, everything went to pieces. Red and purple tongues of fire, and a tower, a tower of dust and smoke, were piping up to the sky from one corner, a resurrection of people, dust and dirt. I could see through the fire and haze that the tapering heads of smoke were heading towards where your car was. I looked over at the stunned children , a few sitting, a few standing , staring at somewhere that wasn't there, questioning us with their eyes. I turned the other way and saw a heap of dirt that blocked the view of your car. The car, with you in it, was crushed under a pile of wreckage! You must have been screaming, no one coming to your help. I imagined you were probably choking, your severed hands hanging by the skin. I ran screaming. When I got there, you were bandaging up a man's broken leg. You were hunched over, oblivious to the world. No, it couldn't have been you running around agitated, all safe and sound! My legs buckled. I sat right down. Vis dropped her head between her knees and tried to minimize the involuntary shaking of her body. A sensation, the color of flicking tongues of fire, was spreading throughout my being. Hatred, hatred with its weary leaden color , an emotion I hadn't known until then, was being born, against my wishes. And then, a scream, a bellow from the depths of existence, and then many more, one after the other. No, this wasn't my voice , my mouth doesn't open this wide, my voice doesn't carry this far. The voice ricocheted off the opposite hill, and was lost (How is one to tolerate all this!). I hollered, hollered and then lost consciousness. When, how much later, I don't know, I came to, I saw you walking towards me, calm and pensive, like a mountain. Hadn't you heard the shouting? It wasn't me, it was the mouth of the volcano that had erupted, and you hadn't noticed. It must have been the calm before the storm, because how could you have had so much composure otherwise? Your eyes were glassy. You sat on a heap of newly-formed rubble. I joined you. You were silent for some time. I was afraid to ask anything, afraid that my screams had incinerated you. And then: "Do you know whose house was bombed in the city last night?". Vis was standing across from me, not wanting me to listen to you, afraid I would forget her. I turned away to avoid her agitation, and asked:

"Whose house? Tell me!"

"Ahmad's."

"He, himself, too?"

You shook your head and turned away. Dust stacked layer after layer on my chest. My eyes were open, but I couldn't see anything. Suddenly: distant tolls and remote screams. The ringing, the ringing. I covered my ears. Ahmad's shadow fell onto your face. I wave him aside to see your eyes, but a beaming and spirited Ahmad, his voice blending with the ringing, is gesturing to me with such longing: You see? You understand? He's talking about me. Me!

1. Built in 1971 for the commemoration of the 2500 th anniversary of the Persian Empire, this 'Gateway into Iran' was originally named the Shahyad ("Kings' Memorial") Tower. The name was changed to Azadi ("Freedom") Tower after the 1979 Revolution. It is regarded as a preeminent symbol of Tehran, and marks the west entrance into the city. [back to text]

2. The town of Karaj is located 12 miles west of Tehran in the foothills of the Alborz mountains. [back to text]

3. Lyrics from Vis & Ramin by Fakhreddin Assad Gorgani, translated by NT. [back to text]

Farideh Razi is an acclaimed contemporary Iranian writer, translator, playwright, poet and scholar. Born in Tehran, she studied English and Persian literature, art and philosophy at New York University, The New School, and Tehran University. She worked as researcher at the Ministry of Art and Culture, and the National Library in Iran. Razi began writing at a young age, and her first articles were published at the age of 13. Her novel,  Vis & I , an inventive work of fiction that opens a revelatory window onto what it is like to live, love and be an artist in Iran, has won critical acclaim in Iran.  Vis & I  is Razi's first novel to appear in English. 

Niloufar Talebi  is a writer, librettist, award-winning translator, and theater artist. She is the editor/translator of Belonging: New Poetry by Iranians Around the World  (North Atlantic Books, 2008), and creator/performer of several theatrical works. Her translation awards include a 2015 NEA Fellowship, a PEN/NYSCA award, and a Willis Barnstone Translation prize. Her libretti have been commissioned by Carnegie Hall, Cal Performances, Atlanta Symphony Orchestra, American Lyric Theater, Washington National Opera at the Kennedy Center, BAM, Los Angeles Children’s Chorus and more. Talebi has received national accolades from The New York Times, San Francisco Chronicle, SF Classical Voice, and Huffington Post.

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