Revolution Street by Amir Cheheltan

Author:Amir Cheheltan [Cheheltan, Amir Hassan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781780742243
Publisher: Oneworld Publications

10

The uncle arrived from Nahavand on Thursday night, and, because everything was closed on Fridays, he had to wait until Saturday before doing anything. Friday morning Mehri, Shahrzad, and her uncle were sitting in the room around the breakfast cloth talking about ‘kismet.’ They said if it were not destined, no match would take place; and the uncle told story upon story illustrating the point, while Mehri kept refilling his glass with tea. The examples went on until noon.

Saturday morning, the uncle donned his hat and shawl, put the slip of paper with the address in his hand, and left the house. The groom worked in the northern part of town, which was itself an indication of the importance of his job.

In that area all the streets were wide open, and the girls and women looked as though they were related to the bigwigs, they were so done up and dressed up. An hour later, the uncle found himself in front of a large building. He gave it a long look; its high walls concealed the secrets it held inside. The walls had been made higher, crowned with strings of barbed wire. These added to the grandeur and majesty of the place; but the uncle couldn’t figure out what was inside.

A guard emerged from a wooden sentry box, the kind that was next to police stations, and told him not to stand there. The uncle still hadn’t said what he wanted, and, even after he told him, it didn’t seem to make any difference. He didn’t let him in; then someone came asking, ‘You’re the one who wants to know about Mostafa Bahadori?’ The uncle nodded. They brought him inside the building, which was like a city in itself with people coming and going. They continued walking until the escort stopped in front of another building and said, ‘It’s here, second floor, the door facing the stairway.’

Then he left. The uncle looked up. On the front of the building there were several narrow, blue-colored tiles with inscriptions that had been chiseled away. The uncle went inside and stood waiting in the room opposite the stairway.

Behind the closed door of the small room there was a man walking back and forth. Doors opened and closed, hinges creaked, bits of conversation hovered in the hallway, and there were sounds of people rifling pages, and of footsteps. The uncle yawned. He turned around and looked out the window behind him. About fifteen young girls had been lined up and were being led away. They were blindfold, and each had her hands on the shoulders of the one in front. The girl in front was holding the end of a pencil; the other end was in the hands of young man with a bushy beard. He would occasionally turn around and glance at the troop of prisoners. The uncle shook his head and said to himself, ‘Poor creatures!’

Disturbed, he stood up and put his sweaty palms on the window. They passed by him, and the uncle, slowly turning his head, followed them until they were out of sight.

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