Thirst: A Novel of the Iran-Iraq War (9 page)

He has scared the flies away with the flapping of his hands and has robbed the family of their sleep, despite a
curtain which was hastily drawn between the kitchen and the family’s sleeping quarters when the major burst in. The katib tries to suppress his initial outrage at the major’s midnight invasion of his house, to say nothing of that primitive man’s aggression and bullying tone, which has no humane or ethical justification whatsoever. Which is why he has not yet lit the cigarette he’s holding between his lips and is waiting for his adversary’s fit of rage to subside; in the meantime he turns off the heat under the percolator, places the coffee pot, sugar, two cups and two teaspoons on a tray, and goes and stands in front of the major and says calmly: ‘Let’s go into the other room. There are candles there, and an ashtray … Let me bring some matches and cigarettes too. You won’t be comfortable talking here. After you! No, no help required. I know the stairway better. I’m familiar with it. I’ve been living in this house for at least thirty years. Before the war and the compulsory blackout, the half-storey up there served as my office! I’ve glued black cardboard on the inside of the windows there, it’s not terribly spacious, but it’ll do for two people … yes … turn the doorknob and open the door … now if you can get the matches out of the pocket of my coat and … oh, you have a lighter? Even better! There are two candles on my desk. Thanks. Please take a seat wherever you like. A cup of coffee shouldn’t do you any harm. It’s clear to me that you don’t sleep well at night, either. Or maybe the opposite, if so I can bring you a bowl of cool water. I have a small fridge up here; it runs on oil. You know, Major, people like me should never get married. But whether to marry or not is something that’s not … not entirely a matter of free will. It’s not subject to
reason! That’s both its advantage and disadvantage. After all … how can I put it? Behaving logically all the time isn’t very reasonable either. When I saw Sabrieh for the first time it was as if she was made for me and for my heart. It was only afterwards that I learnt she felt the same way when she clapped eyes on me. Isn’t that weird? Isn’t it strange that two people should experience the same feelings and affection for each other at exactly the same time? What’s your take on human beings, Major? How do humans strike you? Are you aware that in our holy book, human beings have been called the most noble of creatures? “Noblest of all creation”! Do you agree with such an accolade?’

‘What are you trying to say?’

‘I mean, do you believe in the nobility of human beings, in the superiority of human beings over other creatures?’

‘And what if I do?’

‘What about the forgetfulness of human beings, the fact that humans are by nature forgetful creatures?’

‘Of course, one forgets things more often than not. This is why pen and paper were invented, so that one can write down things that might otherwise get forgotten. I do the same. I jot down my daily tasks in this notebook here, and before doing my final chore of the day, or even while I’m still doing it, I tear out the sheet of paper and discard it. Just like I’m doing now. Coming to talk to you was my last entry for today. Now show me where I can throw away these pieces of paper.’

‘In the basket, the basket next to my desk, which has kept filling and emptying again throughout my life as a writer. Before we get down to the matter in hand, though,
I’ll quote from Socrates about the invention of pen and paper. Socrates claimed that from the moment writing was invented, mankind’s memory began to fade! This claim has been proved right through experiment and experience. Indeed, Socrates himself was living proof of this theory, for he was a man of words. At the same time, if writing had never been invented, Socrates’ words would never have come down to us, and if we’d never seen them in print they would have been forgotten! We were talking about forgetfulness just a moment ago, correct?’

‘You were talking about it, certainly.’

‘And enquiring – I was asking you a question, right?’

‘Yes, and I told you in reply that we can overcome forgetfulness by writing.’

‘But I didn’t mean forgetting daily chores.’

‘No, I didn’t interpret it like that either.’

‘Sure … but I meant something deeper, I was referring to habit.’

‘Habit? Habit?!’

‘Yes … habit. We get used to forgetfulness, so lying becomes a habit. Duplicity and hypocrisy become habits; conceit becomes a habit; habit itself even becomes a habit. Your coffee will get cold; please don’t think I’ve read these phrases from a book, or books, and just memorized them.’

‘No, I didn’t assume that.’

‘I see you’re staring at the rows of books on the shelves. Of course, I know some passages from these books by heart. If you like, I’d be happy to recite them for you sometime. But I still haven’t got to the point of my question. To my point about forgetfulness.’

‘I want to hear the answer from you. In your own words.’

‘How about we drink a glass or two first, Major? You’re not on duty. Besides, you’ve made me as flustered as you are yourself. Agreed? Have you ever drunk with literary folk? Of course I’m a rather moderate drinker myself, because I’m not a poet and never was. But Arab poets – with whose names you’ll no doubt be familiar – have discussed every topic there is, and wine was certainly the muse behind their poetic deeds and words; and in extreme cases, they even came to resemble those ancient lords who gave themselves over entirely to drinking and merriment. Though I’m not a poet, still I’ll pour us some drinks. You’ve turned me into an insomniac, Major! Anyway, here’s to joy!’

‘To joy!’

‘And now let’s have another one … and after the third glass I’ll tell you about forgetfulness, about what I meant and mean by forgetfulness! Enjoy! Praise be to his pure, fault-concealing regard!’
^*

‘Which Arab poet wrote that?’

‘I’ve forgotten now. I’ll remember later. Let’s drink together. There’s a peculiar merit in drunkenness, which comes from the possibility of recovering the forgotten.’

‘What did you just say? Recovering … finding … forgetting … what?

‘The possibility of recovering the forgotten.’

‘Meaning?’

‘It means that everything that human beings have forgotten in their long journey through life can or may be remembered. Usually one manages to remember in the end!’

‘A long life? I’m not even forty-five yet!’

‘Why, of course; youthfulness is written all over your face. In actual fact, I thought you hadn’t passed forty! No, I was referring to the collective age of human beings, our chronological age … a historic forgetfulness!’

‘I’m confused, Katib, you’ve baffled me! Come on, just spit it out and have done with it! I’m a soldier and being soldierly means being precise. Tell me precisely what you’re trying to say.’

‘Precision … yes, precision. But there was nothing vague in my speech when I spoke of habit. I say humans get used to habit, and forgetfulness becomes a habit for us. Skimming words, passing over words has become a habit for humans. Maybe if pen and paper hadn’t been invented, humans would have developed a sharper capacity for memorizing words. For example, this title of the “noblest in creation” might have left a trace on the memory of mankind that was not superficial and shallow; that would not have been forgotten, and if uttered it would not be out of habit, and so this most important judgement on mankind would not be destroyed by mankind, and this accursed brain would not have dragged me to the edge of insanity, to a point where I have arrived at the horrendous conclusion that there is nothing in this world more vile, base, destructive and hypocritical than the clay of Adam … and my captive in the trench is thirsty, Major. Even monkeys don’t take their own kind as captives …’

‘Well, it’s because …’

‘I know, I know … it’s a fact of life, but no less distressing for that, that if you don’t take him captive, he will kill you! Forgive me, Major, for everyone has a child inside himself, and I’m no exception. You pour this time, Major, pour us another glass!’

‘Are you alright, Katib?

‘I’m fine, yes … couldn’t be better. These flies … these flies are driving me mad! Can you see them? You can’t? Down there, they were on the kitchen table, didn’t you see them? All night long, dancing in front of my eyes … ah … my pen and fingers are both stiff and I stare at them, for hours and hours, staring, and I can’t find a way towards salvation. I can’t find a way. They perish from heat and thirst! Why don’t you exterminate the city’s insects, Major? Isn’t everything under the army’s command now? So why don’t you turn your attention to public sanitation in the city? Pour … please do. Here’s to joy! To revelry, Arab-style! But … what was I saying? Mankind … yes, human beings! I’ve come to the conclusion that God has turned his back on us humans. Turned his face away. Everything … we see everything as ugly and vile. We regard it all as destructive, ruinous, annihilating. Everyone is inflicted with the madness of annihilation. God has turned his back on mankind. The fact that God has turned his face away from human beings is the pet theory of this katib, Major. Mark my words. This is the theory of a Mesopotamian katib, a counter-theory to the famous dictum by that philosopher from the banks of Rhine, who wrote “God is dead”. No, I maintain that God has turned away and humans have
slipped their reins and are now on the rampage, destroying everything. Not only other forms of life, but their own kind as well … They perish in the desert, I can’t do anything. They are thirsty … On the shores of the Bosphorus, the fringes of the central plateau, at the foot of Mount Dena … in spite of all the water in the Karkheh River, they are still thirsty. They perish. Sir … why haven’t you touched your coffee? Will you allow me to drink your cup? Forgive me, Major, I’m drinking again … let’s drink together. To joy!’

‘To the joy of conquest! They have assured us we will drink wine once again in Nahavand. Once again! To the joy of conquest! We have conquered and we will conquer again, Katib, and in conquest it is only victory that matters and nothing else. I live or die for conquest and conquest alone. The blood of the Banu Quda’a tribe courses through my veins. The blood of centuries and epochs of bloody wars … We rode upon them and … you say the rest. Yes, you! Aren’t you an Arab too?’

‘Sword, sword, sword and blood. Severed heads … gaping chests … thirst and the dove. Why have I had the image of a dove in my mind for some time now … A dove flying across the sky of history and never finding a single wall or tower to sit upon? Isn’t this Noah’s dove, which is still flapping its wings in search of dry land? Flight … the flight of a dove … a breathless dove … conquest … shroud … word … words … forgetfulness … mind … habit … flies … why don’t you smoke a cigarette, Major? At least use the lighter for me … or this match … or look, look … the desert is on fire. Have you seen the desert
on fire before, the earth aflame … fire upon fire … look … look … I’m not a poet … I’m a moderate drinker … pour … one more, Major … I wish this darkness … I wish there was no darkness. A tavern … a coffee-house … why won’t a missile blow up my house? Major?’

‘Conquest … conquest … conquest, Katib! We conquer … I’m a moderate drinker too. I will build you a tavern … I’ll have it built. I’ll break down the doors! I’ll command them to open the tavern’s doors! I have a regiment at my command, no, a battalion! I am of the Banu Quda’a tribe and this Colt … this Colt is my tongue and my blade, Katib. I speak through the mouth of this thing that you see before you … tell me the address of your favourite tavern and get up! Now … let’s go and drink …’

‘Words … word … sentence … what pleasure there is in plunging into a pool of wine, Major? What pleasure! Caliph … caliph … caliphs of Baghdad and … Bring his head for me! That vizier’s head, that Barmakid and his son!
^†
That is, the head of his sister’s legal husband. The head of Yahya’s son … the vizier’s head … the one whose father,
Yahya, was the most trusted key-keeper of the caliph’s harem. Bring his head to me this very night!’

‘The caliph has demanded your head, O Grand Vizier!’

‘I have guests and … see for yourself, Haris,
^‡
it is a special occasion!’

‘I can see … All eminent Arabs and distinguished personages from the countries under our control … but the Commander of the Faithful has ordered it thus!’

‘Any documentation … or a signet … or seal? An order must be in written form!’

‘But he is in a nocturnal feast … there were no scribes. You do understand … the order came on a night of revelry!’

‘What would you do if you were in my place, Haris? I have with me sword-wielders who are ready to serve. If you were in my place, would you surrender your head to the blade?’

‘What can I do? I’m just carrying out an order. You are a vizier and a wise man, you think of something. I’m devastated too. I have this job and earn my living thanks to you. I’m grateful to you. But what am I to do?’

‘We’ll think of something on the way!’

‘What should I do afterwards?’

‘We’ll see. The order was issued in a moment of rage. Before we reach the palace … maybe his wrath will abate. We will go together and stand outside the harem’s curtains … I will remain there behind the curtains, standing back, and you will step inside. You will say you have severed Barmak’s head from his body and ask for permission to
present the head. On hearing this news, the caliph will react in one of two ways: either he will be angry at you for acting so precipitately, in which case he will call for your head, but before any blades can be unsheathed, I will enter and kiss the Commander of the Faithful’s feet to prevent him from exercising retribution upon you, and this will be the best outcome of this accursed order. For my death would result in his issuing the order for your death as well, since the caliph of Muslims could not leave alive the murderer of Yahya’s son. But if his anger doesn’t abate and he insists on killing Barmak the vizier, he will ask you to bring the head to him! In which case I will be standing here ready for your blade. Beheading can happen in the blink of an eye. You’ll come and fetch my head and put it on a tray and take it to him!’