Thirst: A Novel of the Iran-Iraq War (13 page)

‘Coffee, Major? The coffee’s ready! Two cups. Shall we drink together? Will you listen to me as I read the ending?’

‘OK, read away and have done with it!’

‘… he proclaimed vengeance for Abu Muslim’s blood, the same Sunpadh, and let it be known that Abu Muslim had not been killed, [meaning that] when Mansur intended to kill him, Abu Muslim had chanted the great name of God and had turned into a white dove and flown out of his hands. And now he abides within an enclosure of copper, with his wives …’

‘That was delicious. Great coffee. Better brewed than the first cup we had last night. Do you mean to say Abu Muslim turned into a dove in the hands of Caliph Mansur?’

‘That was the very claim that Sunpadh of Neishabur used to assemble a group of followers who swore to follow in the steps of Abu Muslim …’

‘Very well, Katib. In those days they … but let’s not dwell on the question of the flag under which they fought us, my friend. My final word is to ask whether our katib is going to write a documented account or does he wish to turn into a white dove in the hands of Caliph Abu Mansur? Ultimately, that must be your decision, Abu Alaa! I sincerely hope and trust you won’t turn into a dove! God be with you!’

‘Farew – …’

I DIDN
’
T WANT TO HUMILIATE HIM
, and I still don’t. Our literature is filled with the humiliation of Arabs, all stemming from the frustration of defeat. So what was important to me in this situation was victory. I had to conquer, conquer the enemy’s trench. I could kill him, right there in his trench. With a bullet, or my bayonet, or this wire loop hanging at my waist that was designed for strangling adversaries. But instead I handed it to that soldier to tie our captive’s wrists together and then ordered him to remove his cartridge belt and tie it around his elbows, to pin them to his chest and back. He made me furious! But I couldn’t just kill him in cold blood. The sun had just risen, but the small of his back was bathed in sweat. Sweat poured from his brow and ran down his neck. Evidently there was still some water left in his body, even though all the flasks in his trench were empty and his hip flask too. His eyes! His eyes tormented me. His gaze, that gaze … it was with those eyes that he had spotted my five men before riddling them with bullets. If I were an executioner I would have plucked those eyes out of their sockets, only I lacked the callousness. It was thanks to my ability to turn into a dove that I had been able to descend the hill light-footed, crawl across the narrow valley between the two hills, and in ascending the far side turn into a serpent … All I did was call him Saad ibn Abi Waqqas! And since I was certain he would never
tell me his real name, from that moment onwards, Saad was what I would call him!

‘Blindfold him, soldier! Tie a cloth over the prisoner’s eyes. His crime is in those eyes and those fingers. Now make him walk down the hill and hold your white flag up, and if there are any flasks around take them and tie them together around your neck. I think I forgot to ask your name … I did, didn’t I? What did you say your name was?’

‘Anoom,
^*
sir!’

‘Did you say Anoom?’

‘Yes sir! I’ve taken his first-aid kit too … with your permission.’

‘Anoom?’

‘Yes sir!’

‘What’s your unit?’

‘Anoom, sir!’

‘Which battalion?’

‘The same, sir!’

‘Regiment?’

‘Same, sir!’

‘Command centre?’

‘I just mentioned it, sir!’

‘Dispatched from?’

‘Same, sir!’

‘Surname?’

‘Same as before!’

‘City, province, region, village, place of birth, etc …’

‘Anoom, Captain sir!’

‘I’m not a captain, boy! Were you captured alone?’

‘No, Lieutenant sir! The other soldier was killed in the middle of the night. He’d gone mad from thirst.’

‘Shouldn’t you have been evacuated back behind enemy lines by now?’

‘The enemy’s reserve units were routed. He was confused. He’d lost his men and … maybe he wanted to keep us hostage. What’s going on down there, sir?’

‘Doomsday!’

‘I’m serious, sir. Why are we going down to the base of the valley? Wouldn’t that be a fatal error? This Saad could shoot our boys so easily from up there. It’s a trap down there. It’s been three years and seven months since I joined the army. Down there it’s a trap, sir!’

‘Death and water. We won’t stay long. Water, the water tank is down there. We’ll take some water, see to our boys and then try to break out. I’ve positioned someone behind a machine gun up there too, if he survives until water arrives.’

‘Did you say a water tank? Water? Water! Water! Where is the water? Where?’

‘Under the brow of this very hill we’re climbing down. You can’t see it from this side.’

‘You’re right, sir!’

‘Saad should walk two steps ahead of you. Pull the blindfold up from his eyes, just enough so he can see his feet. Otherwise he’ll fall over, and dragging his carcass along will become our responsibility! We’d probably have to call a bone-binder for him as well! We’ll make him wait at a
distance of about five paces from the water and … When you’ve filled the first flask, pass it to me. Maybe our boys are still alive?’

‘And after that, sir, then can I …’

‘Why not? But don’t forget we have two more men up there.’

‘But if I don’t drink some water soon, I won’t have the strength to climb that hill.’

‘You can do both at the same time. You’re an agile young man, and experienced!’

‘Yes, sir. Of course, sir!’

‘This is a delegation. I will give water to the five, and you to those two.’

‘Yes, one captive and one jamoo! I’ll go, sir. Affirmative, sir!’

‘Stick the white flag in the ground above the water tank … so it can be seen from all directions.’

‘Of course, sir, it is done, sir!’

His upper body was naked from the waist up, and his skin was bruised all over. He weaved to left and right and ran and tumbled – literally tumbled down the hill to reach the bottom. The sound of flasks bumping along the ground and the rocks and the clods of earth immediately died away and a thin wisp of dust was all that remained of his trail; and the smell of water, the fragrance of water arose and I could feel it imprint itself on my olfactory sense – the scent of a drop of water that had fallen upon the earth. That soldier was a sight to behold, half-naked and entwined around the boulders; he clambered over them like a jungle cat. He returned, and tossed two full flasks into our trench, behind
Jamoo’s machine gun, then twisted his body and with his back to the thorn-covered hill descended in my direction, having been ordered to gather our men’s bodies and to lay them out in a line. He hadn’t drunk any water himself yet. Or maybe he had. How else could he summon up such strength? I walked towards our boys, our comrades. The first one was dead. His hand was freezing cold. The second was dead, too. He must have been killed a bit later, as the vein on his neck was not yet completely cold. The third was still alive. I lowered the flask to his lips, but he refused it, and I realized after a brief moment of incomprehension that he was pointing at the fourth soldier. But the fourth man had surrendered his soul and so had the fifth. I returned to the third, knelt down next to him and brought the mouth of the flask to his lips, which were cracked and parched from thirst. With what little strength was left in his hand, he took the flask from me – very slowly, as if reaching for a faraway object – and tilted it, pouring the water onto the ground beside his head and neck. He muttered something; I lowered my head and brought my ear closer to hear his voice, and I heard him say: ‘Are you satisfied? Are you satisfied with me? Are you satisfied with me now?’ And his eyes remained open until I placed the palm of my hand over his eyelids and closed them. Now his eyes stayed closed. I put my hand on his still-warm brow and looked up at the sky. Oh God! My soldier was standing next to me, staring at the water glugging out of the flask. I motioned for him to pick it up. He picked up the flask and his gaze transferred to the stout captive who, unable to stand any longer, had slumped to the ground. I stood up.
The soldier looked at me and exclaimed: ‘You’re drenched in blood, Lieutenant!’ I didn’t wait for him to ask what we should do next. I told him to drink some water and to give some to our portly prisoner as well. He hated him. I did too, but what’s to be done? Captives shouldn’t be killed, right? He was the same person whose bullets failed to miss their target. He returned and gave the water flask to me; he wanted me to drink. ‘You’re groggy, sir, have a drink!’

‘So you can see it too, soldier?’

‘See what, sir?’

‘These, all this, can’t you see them? You can’t? They’re all around us. Can’t you see? Shroud and flask. Look, look! You’re thirsty, brother. Drink some water! Look, look! What a radiant day of resurrection! Helmets and boots and belts. One salutes the sun, one salutes water. One prays to the sky, one prays to the earth. One by one they emerge, from the shelter of the earth, from the fissures in the valley of death, from all around the vine-clad hills and passes both old and deep, shabby and antique, out of the ground, out of the graves, like the strange growth and blossoming of stones and thorns. Layer upon layer of earth cracks and blossoms into bodies. Shrouded figures, shroudless figures. Banners in hand or insignia on the tip of a spear. Their insignia is a frayed scrap of cloth, a tattered rag. Ragged black, ragged white, ragged purple, green, magenta and violet and red, multi-coloured. Colours discoloured. A body covered in tattered garments and carrying old weapons, withered and wretched, cold and frozen – the colour of the earth. As if fate has removed all primary colours from the ancient strata. Their boots have rotted and disintegrated, and many
feet and hands lie there, naked and dismembered. Eyes are missing from their sockets. That one there has a robe draped around his body, while another sports crestless armour and a sash. It’s impossible to tell which is friend or foe. Shredded garments and wounded feet, they emerge all together, all at once, propping themselves up on each other’s shoulders, not caring who is a comrade or who is an enemy. Out they come, these men who have trodden arduous paths, hailing from the days of cuirass and stirrups and power and glory and will, their eyes empty. With armbands and ankle-bands, warriors’ sashes and belts hung over their forearms, they keep on coming, sprouting from the earth, layer upon layer. Tired and parched, their ranks swelling and, thirsting after the scent of earth and water, they all begin streaming in the same direction. Though they do not recognize each other’s insignia, they are familiar with each other’s tongues, and perhaps with each other’s souls, as well … But where is that voice coming from? It is not the voice of a single person, but of thousands from within the ancient ground of God. Where is that voice, in what place and from where? What is that voice and what am I?’

Bewilderment engulfed me, bewilderment and a sense of wonder that passed my understanding. I became confused as I looked, it baffled and confounded me … They kept on emerging from the strata of soil and stone and pebbles. They rose to the surface, every generation of mankind, one by one until they formed a vast multitude from the past. On and on they came, a leather rag clutched in a hand here, and a garment-clad half of a body there, some
shroudless, some shrouded, but all gasping for breath, streaming in different directions, like a question without an answer, without looking at each other. Some bowed in salutation to the sun, others to the earth, some prayed to the sky, others to the water and stone. Where is my
qibla
?
^†
Where is it? Where is my temple? My mosque? Where is my monastery, my temple, my synagogue and my fire? Where are my horse and my fire? My
qibla
, my sun and my temple … Where are my house and my nest? The river of souls merges and merges, then widens … wider and wider and wider …! One salutes the water, one salutes the sun and one salutes the earth!

‘Can you hear that, soldier? Can you hear the voices?’

‘Drink some water, sir! Please drink. You’re hallucinating! You can barely stand upright! I’m holding you up. Your brow is drenched in cold sweat. If you give up, what shall I do? I know the first thing I’ll do is kill the prisoner, that’s for sure! So drink, drink some water, Lieutenant, sir! We’re in the worst possible situation. Don’t just take a gulp, drink some more!’

‘I’m drinking, I’m drinking. But you can see it too, can’t you, soldier?’

‘What is it I’m supposed to see, sir?’

‘You really can’t see it, then?’

‘What, sir? Please, I beg you, get a grip … you saw with
your own eyes what happened. We did our best. You poured water onto his lips and forehead yourself. I’m talking about the third soldier. But he chose to take the flask from your hand and empty it on the ground. Rest assured, by the time you got to him he’d already whispered his
ashhad
^‡
a thousand times. You heard for yourself how he departed this world asking for forgiveness and reconciliation. I’ve collected their identification tags. All five of them. I’ll keep them separately. All five of them dead for the sake of getting some water … As per your orders, I’ve laid all five of them in a row, facing the
qibla
. Now I’m waiting for your next command. It was you who said that it doesn’t do to linger in the valley for too long. It just takes another madman to appear up there. Then we’ll be finished, too. The rising sun only makes it even more dangerous to stay in this vile valley of doom!’

‘So you honestly don’t see anything? Not a thing?’

‘Sure … I can see that oaf there, our prisoner. He’s our responsibility now, too. If only I could finish him off. He can’t stand upright either, he fell down over there, and nearly passed out!’

‘Didn’t I order you to give him some water?’

‘I did, though, sir. Otherwise he’d have gone to hell by now. Even so, he can’t stand up, because he’s so overweight!’

‘Give him some more, then.’

‘How much?’

‘Until he’s had his fill! Until he explodes, for all I care!’