Read Online A Curse on Dostoevsky by Atiq Rahimi - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Atiq Rahimi
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get a wink of sleep.” He nods as if to say that he knows. Too bad if he can’t apologize.
The mother peers into the empty lane for someone else and, stunned to see Rassoul alone, demands: “Where is Sophia?”—Didn’t she come home? Rassoul asks with his eyes. “Isn’t she with you?” No. Rassoul’s shaking head makes her still more anxious. She glances into the lane, then turns back toward him, leaving the gate open in the hope her daughter will suddenly appear. “She wanted you to go with her to Nana Alia’s, to do herbooks …” To Nana Alia’s! He leans against the wall to stop himself staggering. “She told me that you’d asked her to break ties with the old woman. Then two days ago, her daughter Nazigol came here to tell me that if Sophia no longer wanted to work for her, she would first have to pay the outstanding rent. We waited for you all yesterday, to discuss it. When you didn’t come, she went, but …” She too went there yesterday? “… Nana Alia wasn’t there.” She wasn’t there? What about her body? “Sophia wanted to go back today. I asked her to take you with her.” Take me? “Weren’t you at home?”
I was. So why didn’t she say anything? Look at the state you’re in, Rassoul. No one would dare ask you for anything these days. Your unexplained and incomprehensible silence gives the impression that everyone upsets you.
“I worry so much for Sophia, Rassoul. Take care of her. Don’t leave us like this, all alone and without news of you. In these times, young girls are disappearing. The warlords raid the city to take them for their wives.” Her voice is broken by a sob. But Rassoul is no longer listening. His legs wobble. It seems as if the floor is giving way, collapsing beneath his feet. He leans on the wall and lets himself slide to the ground. The mother continues: “And that blasted Nana Alia is worse than the warlords. I’m afraid she will hurt Sophia.” She sits down facing Rassoul. “My late husband placed us in your hands; aside from you we have no one. And you …”
But he is walled in by silence, gripped by the continuing mystery surrounding the murder of blasted Nana Alia, lost in his suspicions about the woman in the sky-blue chador who, in his fantasies, can only be Sophia. He must find her!
He stands up and leaves. On the way,
He catches no eye,
Hears no voice,
Smells no aroma,
Feels no pain.
He runs.
Runs as if his ankle no longer hurt.
But his foot has not forgotten. It twists, and stops him in his tracks. Stops him not far from Nana Alia’s house, on the corner of her street, where the same black dog is still lying in the shadow of the wall. This time, the idle dog is more alert and stands up, rushes at him, chases him away. Rassoul cannot enter that house as if nothing had happened there.
Nothing did happen. Look! Listen! This silence, this stillness gives no indication of mourning.
So, perhaps the stroke of the ax was not fatal. She escaped alive. She must be in the hospital by now. She can’t be conscious yet, or I would be behind bars.
He is sweating, the sweat of fear. He must leave this place, return to Sophia’s house and wait for her there. But his legs are heavy, bogged down in the ground, as if they want him to stay here and settle this.
Yes, it must be settled.
Sooner or later, Nana Alia will tell.
Sooner or later, you will pay.
So why not today, right here and now, at the scene of the crime?
He walks up to the half-open gate, pushes it gently, and peers into the courtyard. The house is completely calm and quiet. Just a few hens pecking and clucking. He walks up to the house and to the terrace steps. The air is heavy, the silence dense, his footsteps uncertain. He stops to peek through the windows. Not a soul behind the curtains. He is trembling with curiosity and fear. Sweat hangs on his forehead, and he has to hold on to the wall to make it up the steps. On reaching the terrace he jumps—a silhouette has appeared,
The mother peers into the empty lane for someone else and, stunned to see Rassoul alone, demands: “Where is Sophia?”—Didn’t she come home? Rassoul asks with his eyes. “Isn’t she with you?” No. Rassoul’s shaking head makes her still more anxious. She glances into the lane, then turns back toward him, leaving the gate open in the hope her daughter will suddenly appear. “She wanted you to go with her to Nana Alia’s, to do herbooks …” To Nana Alia’s! He leans against the wall to stop himself staggering. “She told me that you’d asked her to break ties with the old woman. Then two days ago, her daughter Nazigol came here to tell me that if Sophia no longer wanted to work for her, she would first have to pay the outstanding rent. We waited for you all yesterday, to discuss it. When you didn’t come, she went, but …” She too went there yesterday? “… Nana Alia wasn’t there.” She wasn’t there? What about her body? “Sophia wanted to go back today. I asked her to take you with her.” Take me? “Weren’t you at home?”
I was. So why didn’t she say anything? Look at the state you’re in, Rassoul. No one would dare ask you for anything these days. Your unexplained and incomprehensible silence gives the impression that everyone upsets you.
“I worry so much for Sophia, Rassoul. Take care of her. Don’t leave us like this, all alone and without news of you. In these times, young girls are disappearing. The warlords raid the city to take them for their wives.” Her voice is broken by a sob. But Rassoul is no longer listening. His legs wobble. It seems as if the floor is giving way, collapsing beneath his feet. He leans on the wall and lets himself slide to the ground. The mother continues: “And that blasted Nana Alia is worse than the warlords. I’m afraid she will hurt Sophia.” She sits down facing Rassoul. “My late husband placed us in your hands; aside from you we have no one. And you …”
But he is walled in by silence, gripped by the continuing mystery surrounding the murder of blasted Nana Alia, lost in his suspicions about the woman in the sky-blue chador who, in his fantasies, can only be Sophia. He must find her!
He stands up and leaves. On the way,
He catches no eye,
Hears no voice,
Smells no aroma,
Feels no pain.
He runs.
Runs as if his ankle no longer hurt.
But his foot has not forgotten. It twists, and stops him in his tracks. Stops him not far from Nana Alia’s house, on the corner of her street, where the same black dog is still lying in the shadow of the wall. This time, the idle dog is more alert and stands up, rushes at him, chases him away. Rassoul cannot enter that house as if nothing had happened there.
Nothing did happen. Look! Listen! This silence, this stillness gives no indication of mourning.
So, perhaps the stroke of the ax was not fatal. She escaped alive. She must be in the hospital by now. She can’t be conscious yet, or I would be behind bars.
He is sweating, the sweat of fear. He must leave this place, return to Sophia’s house and wait for her there. But his legs are heavy, bogged down in the ground, as if they want him to stay here and settle this.
Yes, it must be settled.
Sooner or later, Nana Alia will tell.
Sooner or later, you will pay.
So why not today, right here and now, at the scene of the crime?
He walks up to the half-open gate, pushes it gently, and peers into the courtyard. The house is completely calm and quiet. Just a few hens pecking and clucking. He walks up to the house and to the terrace steps. The air is heavy, the silence dense, his footsteps uncertain. He stops to peek through the windows. Not a soul behind the curtains. He is trembling with curiosity and fear. Sweat hangs on his forehead, and he has to hold on to the wall to make it up the steps. On reaching the terrace he jumps—a silhouette has appeared,
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