On the Enemy's Side by Hamour Baika

Author:Hamour Baika
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Unrolling Script
Published: 2020-05-31T00:00:00+00:00

JUNE 3, 1980

Road from Abadan to Ahwaz

Hesam woke up early in the morning and changed into his uniform. As he buttoned up his shirt, the reality started to sink in again. This trip to Abadan felt like a dream. He had met with Bahram’s best friend, eaten his favorite food, and slept in his bed. Now, he was back to reality. A reality of prison and prisoners. He obsessed over what he now knew: He was in love with someone who had told him nothing but lies. And he was under the command of a boss who demanded he mistreat the young man he loved.

What to do with Bahram? He didn’t know if he could trust him anymore. But if not, then why was he still in love? He was a fool to risk his career and his new life for Bahram. Could he truly love someone who supported SOALS? If they had met in Kurdistan, they would shoot at each other. In Abadan, away from the politics, they could be lovers. But they were in Ahwaz, and here they were prisoner and prison guard.

As he drove back to Ahwaz, Hesam could only think of the irony of his life: a socialist employee of the Revolutionary Guards Corps, in charge of a detained radical socialist teenager, the son of a poor illiterate woman, from the class that the revolutionaries aspired to support. All these groups had come together to remove the monarchy for the betterment of regular Iranians. Now, they were in conflict with each other and the only thing they still had in common was that they all harmed regular people, the group they all wanted to support most.

He drove closer to Ahwaz and saw the torches. Further on, he noticed a herd of goats being led by several men. He slowed down to avoid hitting the goats that were now crossing. One of the men suddenly waved his arms to flag down Hesam.

He pulled over. “Good morning. What’s going on?”

Several men began talking at once. Hesam made out the word “murder.”

“Say what?”

“A man’s been murdered.” One young man spoke up.

Hesam followed the young man, who shooed a goat out of his way. Hesam saw a man on his back. Blood stained his T-shirt and pajamas and pooled beneath him on the ground. He had a slipper on one foot and the other slipper was on the ground.

“We should call an ambulance,” announced someone from the back.

“What ambulance? Call the coroner,” another responded.

“Who found him?” Hesam inquired.

“I did.”

Hesam turned around and saw a boy around fifteen, wearing a white kufi and dishdasha.

“I was herding the goats. Maybe one hour ago.”

“Has anyone called…the coroner?”

“Some guy went to call. But maybe you can inform the Revolutionary Guards on your wireless.”

Hesam wasn’t sure if he should be collecting witness testimonies or if this was for the city police to do. “Does he have identity papers?” Hesam asked as he squatted by the body.

“Where? In his pajamas?” the boy sneered.

“Be quiet.” The young man hit the boy on the side of his head.

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