Read Online The Patience Stone by Atiq Rahimi - Free Book Online Page A

yellow and blue sky. “They are burying the dead in their own garden,” she exclaims. “Where is the old lady?” She stands quite still for a long moment. Overwhelmed, she turns back to her man. Lies down on the mattress, her head against his. Hides her eyes in the crook of her arm, breathing deeply and silently, as before. To the same rhythm as the man.
    The voice of the mullah reciting burial verses from the Koran is drowned out by the rain. The mullah raises his voice and speeds up the prayer, to get it over with as quickly as possible.

    The noise and whispering disperse across the sodden ruins.
    Someone is walking toward the house. Now he is behind the door. Knocking. The woman doesn’t move. More knocking. “Is anyone there? It’s me, the mullah,” he shouts impatiently. The woman, deaf to his cry, still doesn’t move. The mullah mutters a few words and leaves. She sits back up and leans against the wall, keeping quite still until the mullah’s wet footsteps have disappeared down the street.
    “I have to go to my aunt’s place. I need to be with the children!” She gets to her feet. Stands there a moment, just long enough to listen to a few of the man’s breaths.
    Before she has picked up her veil, these words burst from her mouth: “
Sang-e saboor!
” She jumps. “That’s the name of the stone,
sang-e saboor
, the patience stone! The magic stone!” She crouches down nextto the man. “Yes, you, you are my
sang-e saboor
!” She strokes his face gently, as if actually touching a precious stone. “I’m going to tell you everything, my
sang-e saboor
. Everything. Until I set myself free from my pain, and my suffering, and until you, you …” She leaves the rest unsaid. Letting the man imagine it.
    She leaves the room, the passage, the house …
    Ten breaths later she is back, out of breath. She drops her wet veil on the floor and rushes up to the man. “They’ll be patrolling again tonight—the other side this time, I think. Searching all the houses … They mustn’t find you … They’ll kill you!” She kneels down, stares at him close up. “I won’t let them! I need you now, my
sang-e saboor
!” She walks to the door, says “I’m going to get the cellar ready,” and leaves the room.
    A door creaks. Her steps ring out on the stairs. Suddenly she cries desperately, “Oh no! Not this!” She comes back up, in a panic. “The cellar has flooded!” Paces up and down. Her hand to her forehead, as if rummaging through her memories for somewhere to hide her man. Nothing. So it will have to be here, in this room. Determined, she snatches the greencurtain and pulls it aside. It’s a junk room, full of pillows, blankets, and piled-up mattresses.
    Having emptied the space, she lays out a mattress. Too big. She folds it over and scatters the cushions around it. Takes a step back to get a better sense of her work—the nook for her precious stone. Satisfied, she walks back over to the man. With great care, she pulls the tube out of his mouth, takes him by the shoulders, lifts him up, drags the body over, and slides it onto the mattress. She arranges him so that he’s almost sitting up, wedged in by cushions, facing the entrance to the room. The man’s expressionless gaze is still frozen, somewhere on the kilim. She reattaches the drip bag to the wall, inserts the tube back into his mouth, closes the green curtain, and conceals the hiding place with the other mattresses and blankets. You would never know there was anyone there.
    “I’ll be back tomorrow,” she whispers. She is in the doorway, leaning down to pick up her veil, when a sudden gunshot, not far away, rivets her to the floor, freezing her mid-movement. A second shot, even closer. A third … and then shots ringing out from all directions, going in all directions.

    Sitting on the floor, her wails of “my children …” reach no one, drowned out by the dull rumblings of a tank.
    Bent double, she makes her way to the window. Peeks