Read Online 53 Letters For My Lover by Leylah Attar - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Leylah Attar
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bastard!”
Hafez’s voice. Followed by a volley of grunts. I turned my head and saw their feet. Giants with far-away faces, smashing and pounding at the world. Something crashed. Or someone. Pasha Moradi was clutching his eye, trying to contain the stream of blood pooling behind his palm. The scissors lay on the floor. Hafez swayed over him, his knuckles bloody and swollen.
Pasha Moradi grabbed the gold cloth that covered the Haft Seen table and heaved himself up. His purple penis bobbed like a withered eggplant. A shower of coins fell from the table and jingled off the floor. The front of Hafez’s shirt was stamped with red hand prints, like a kindergarten art project.
Pasha Moradi seized the mirror on the Haft Seen table and swung it at Hafez. The sprouted barley that Ma and I had started growing a few weeks ago turned upside down. Hafez ducked the first time, but Pasha Moradi got him in the back of the skull as he came up. Silver shards exploded everywhere. Hafez reeled back, clutching his head. His other hand gripped the table as he fought for balance.
“You want more, little boy?” Pasha Moradi sneered, wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand.
Hafez froze. Something flipped inside him. When he straightened, his face was set with a crazed ferocity. He lunged at Pasha Moradi with a savage cry. They trampled the pastel colored boiled eggs that had rolled off the table, into a rainbow mush. Like a caged animal let loose, Hafez pummeled Pasha Moradi to his knees.
That’s when Pasha Moradi’s fingers clenched around the candlestick. He waved the smoking flame in Hafez’s face. Hot wax splattered on Hafez’s skin. Pasha Moradi got up, keeping him at bay.
“You think you’re a big man now, huh?” He laughed, an awful, shuddersome cackle. “You can’t even protect your woman.”
He took a step back towards me, but tripped over the pants around his ankles and fell back, crashing into Ma’s glass cabinet.
The shelf wobbled precariously. For a moment it looked like it might right itself. Then it tipped over, smashing Pasha Moradi under it. The glass panes slid out, cracking open over his half-clad body. Shiny miniature families shattered in a million fragments around him.
The front door creaked open. Pedar stopped mid-sentence. The candlestick rolled from Pasha Moradi’s outstretched arms and the flame snuffed out. He lay face down, one grotesque eye staring at us, his body slashed like the jagged grid of a tic tac toe, in an expanding pool of crimson blood. Ma’s purse hit the floor with a dull thunk.
“What happened?” Pedar’s face was the color of ash.
“The filthy bugger attacked her.” Hafez wrapped me in the torn shower curtain and carried me to the couch.
“Mind your tongue!” Pedar stepped over the glass shards in his polished Nowruz shoes. “Jigar?” He tried to rouse him, but Pasha Moradi wouldn’t respond.
“What are you waiting for?” Pedar yelled at Hafez. “Call an ambulance!”
“He’s gone. And I hope he rots in hell.”
“Hafez!” Ma found her voice. “Be pedaret goosh kon!”
“Listen to him? Why should I? He never listened to me. Did you, Pedar?”
Pedar ignored him, frantically dialing the phone.
“Even now,” laughed Hafez. “Even now you don’t listen.” He swept the phone off the stand in a violent sweep of his hands. It clanged to the floor with a jarring crash.
Pedar stood still, holding the receiver in one hand, his mouth hanging open.
“I came to you. I told you. And you did nothing. Nothing!”
“It was a long time ago. You were imagining things.”
“And this?” Hafez pointed to me. “Am I imagining this too?”
“She brought this on herself.”
“You’re a coward.” Hafez’s voice was shaking. “You can bury your head in the sand. You can tell yourself whatever the hell you like, but you know he did this. Just as you knew he was abusing me.”
Some words, when spoken, are like spells that unleash demons from carefully
Hafez’s voice. Followed by a volley of grunts. I turned my head and saw their feet. Giants with far-away faces, smashing and pounding at the world. Something crashed. Or someone. Pasha Moradi was clutching his eye, trying to contain the stream of blood pooling behind his palm. The scissors lay on the floor. Hafez swayed over him, his knuckles bloody and swollen.
Pasha Moradi grabbed the gold cloth that covered the Haft Seen table and heaved himself up. His purple penis bobbed like a withered eggplant. A shower of coins fell from the table and jingled off the floor. The front of Hafez’s shirt was stamped with red hand prints, like a kindergarten art project.
Pasha Moradi seized the mirror on the Haft Seen table and swung it at Hafez. The sprouted barley that Ma and I had started growing a few weeks ago turned upside down. Hafez ducked the first time, but Pasha Moradi got him in the back of the skull as he came up. Silver shards exploded everywhere. Hafez reeled back, clutching his head. His other hand gripped the table as he fought for balance.
“You want more, little boy?” Pasha Moradi sneered, wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand.
Hafez froze. Something flipped inside him. When he straightened, his face was set with a crazed ferocity. He lunged at Pasha Moradi with a savage cry. They trampled the pastel colored boiled eggs that had rolled off the table, into a rainbow mush. Like a caged animal let loose, Hafez pummeled Pasha Moradi to his knees.
That’s when Pasha Moradi’s fingers clenched around the candlestick. He waved the smoking flame in Hafez’s face. Hot wax splattered on Hafez’s skin. Pasha Moradi got up, keeping him at bay.
“You think you’re a big man now, huh?” He laughed, an awful, shuddersome cackle. “You can’t even protect your woman.”
He took a step back towards me, but tripped over the pants around his ankles and fell back, crashing into Ma’s glass cabinet.
The shelf wobbled precariously. For a moment it looked like it might right itself. Then it tipped over, smashing Pasha Moradi under it. The glass panes slid out, cracking open over his half-clad body. Shiny miniature families shattered in a million fragments around him.
The front door creaked open. Pedar stopped mid-sentence. The candlestick rolled from Pasha Moradi’s outstretched arms and the flame snuffed out. He lay face down, one grotesque eye staring at us, his body slashed like the jagged grid of a tic tac toe, in an expanding pool of crimson blood. Ma’s purse hit the floor with a dull thunk.
“What happened?” Pedar’s face was the color of ash.
“The filthy bugger attacked her.” Hafez wrapped me in the torn shower curtain and carried me to the couch.
“Mind your tongue!” Pedar stepped over the glass shards in his polished Nowruz shoes. “Jigar?” He tried to rouse him, but Pasha Moradi wouldn’t respond.
“What are you waiting for?” Pedar yelled at Hafez. “Call an ambulance!”
“He’s gone. And I hope he rots in hell.”
“Hafez!” Ma found her voice. “Be pedaret goosh kon!”
“Listen to him? Why should I? He never listened to me. Did you, Pedar?”
Pedar ignored him, frantically dialing the phone.
“Even now,” laughed Hafez. “Even now you don’t listen.” He swept the phone off the stand in a violent sweep of his hands. It clanged to the floor with a jarring crash.
Pedar stood still, holding the receiver in one hand, his mouth hanging open.
“I came to you. I told you. And you did nothing. Nothing!”
“It was a long time ago. You were imagining things.”
“And this?” Hafez pointed to me. “Am I imagining this too?”
“She brought this on herself.”
“You’re a coward.” Hafez’s voice was shaking. “You can bury your head in the sand. You can tell yourself whatever the hell you like, but you know he did this. Just as you knew he was abusing me.”
Some words, when spoken, are like spells that unleash demons from carefully
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