The Colonel Page 19

  He remembered that he had just been standing on the verandah and that Khezr had gone down to the basement to… Now he had freed the crooked little hunchback from the tree and was dragging him, like an insult, towards the passage, presumably to lock him up in one of the rooms inside. Then he remembered that Khezr had brought him round with the words: “He’s sick, colonel, sick.” Now he saw more clearly that the strange, mismatched eyes, like two different pieces of glass, had split Abdullah’s transformed face into two halves. He saw that those two fearful, apprehensive, glassy eyes were seeing things as if through a kaleidoscope. He felt himself being dragged towards the door as Khezr led the deformed young man into the passage, muttering back at the colonel, “He’s dumb, he’s gone dumb.”

  A moment later, Khezr came out of the corridor onto the verandah and stood looking at the wrecked gate. Taking a deep breath, and avoiding the colonel’s gaze, he announced:

  “It’s been decided to turn this house into a lunatic asylum, colonel. Let’s hope they’re all as dumb as this one, otherwise it’s going to get really noisy round here soon.”

  My God… Am I seeing what I’m seeing? Am I hearing what I’m hearing?

  Yes, there was no mistake. Khezr went down the verandah steps, scratching his new beard, went over to the wall, where the pick and shovel had been left, paused briefly to piss against the courtyard wall and went out of the gate. The last sight that the colonel had of him was his new mulla’s cloak billowing out behind him as he swept out into the alleyway.

  How many moons have passed? It seems only yesterday that Abdullah came with the packet of sugar plums to say that he was going away for good, and that he hadn’t even told his wife… Oh dear, the seasons have all run together in my mind; everything seems to have happened to me in a single instant. And now, what have I got to offer him except a few lumps of sugar plum? It’s an illusion, it must be an illusion. My mind is going… Can this poor wretch really be Abdullah?”

  It was Abdullah.

  A terrified Abdullah, from one of whose eyes the colonel’s little son was gazing out at him. He was squatting forlornly by the wall, beneath the canary cage. When the colonel brought him a glass of tea and a couple of sugar plums, Abdullah reached out from under his blanket, grasped the colonel’s hand and spoke in a hoarse, hollow voice, begging him to tell his mother where he was. “Before I wrap these…” – he pointed at the handcuffs hanging from his right wrist – “round my neck and…” He told the colonel he wanted to see his mother before he killed himself: “So that I can suck her milk one last time!” Then he closed his parched lips and gazed round the room with his glassy stare, taking in every detail. As the colonel left the room, he heard Abdullah’s cracked voice behind him: “And you, Ali Seif. You were the one who shot people down like dogs. I’ll tear you to pieces with my teeth…”

  Oh, the dangerous bravado of youth! the colonel reflected that if the boffins could one day manage to expunge from a man’s life the years of youth, say from eighteen to thirty, then those in power, those behind all the exploitation and plundering of the nation, would have nothing to worry about. Because nobody would ever again come up with such dangerous ideas as justice or freedom. Why has nobody ever thought of this before? But then again, they need the young. Who else could they send off to fight their wars for them? But of course there are endless numbers of young men, endless. Which of them would be shot first?

  The rattling of the chain… the chain round the gate of the Shams ul-Emareh. Was he really hearing the jangle of the heavy links of the chain on the great gate? Do my ears deceive me? No, he was right. Clear for all to see, they had wound the chains of the old Shams ul-Emareh palace gate round Amir Kabir’s neck. His hands were tied behind his back and they were hauling him into the colonel’s yard. The Amir is a pitiful sight, in his white shirt, black frock coat and cap askew, standing a good head and shoulders above the two youths who are dragging him into the yard and raining blows and curses down on him. It is no surprise that, even with his hands tied behind his back, he does not fall to his knees. When he is just a step away from the pond, he lifts his head, thrusts out his burly chest and gazes at the colonel standing there under the canary cage. the colonel is so deeply moved by the sight that he does not immediately notice that the two guards in charge of Amir are Qorbani Hajjaj and Ali Seif, bringing the young criminal back to the scene of the crime to see if they can clear it up.

  So it was you, Ali Seif, who took such pleasure in killing people like dogs!

  the colonel lost track of how long he had been standing there by the cage, staring silently into space, but he knew that he had closed his mind to the chain of the Shams ul-Emareh palace, to Amir and to the others. He had been taken to the verandah, so it seemed, and he had been made to stand just where The Colonel used to stand from time to time with his white handkerchief.

  He looked at the rain, and at the smashed gate and at the wall by the gate. There was no sign of the pick and shovel. So, Amir had taken them after all, and what he had just witnessed had been nothing but a dream. All he could hear now was the sound of the rain beating on the old tin roof, and all he could feel was the shadowy hands of Qorbani Hajjaj, with his coarse fingers, helping him put on his still-damp clothes to take him off to the mosque. For the memorial service…

  I am not even thinking about shutting the gates, even if they were still there. I can’t think of anything to hide in this house any more. Everything has been tipped out like the guts of a slaughtered sheep, for all to see. There’s no point in bolting the door now.

  I’ve lost the habit of locking the door, and I am not the least bit concerned by it. I’ve got nothing to hide from anyone. Locking the door used to be second nature, but now that I think about it, what I was really doing was locking up my private life. Now that I am leaving the house shoulder to shoulder with Qorbani, the sanctity of my home is the least of my concerns. I am just worried about how to behave when I get to the mosque, where I should stand, and what I should say to people. I am just thinking about how long it will be before it’s over.

  In fact, Qorbani had made it quite easy for him, by taking over his role and allowing the colonel to stand back for the entire service. He thanked all those who had come to offer their prayers for the martyr, while the colonel stood by the mosque door shivering like a dog. By the time someone had thought to bring him a paraffin stove, the service was over.

  Qorbani did not come back home with him. He had a lot to do, marching the crowd of mourners to the town square, ‘Justice Square.’ He came as far as the end of the alleyway with him where, out of sight of the crowd, he turned and spat at him:

  “If it hadn’t been for those two or three other bastard children of yours, this one alone would have allowed you to hold your head up high for the rest of your life. But now…”

  And with that Qorbani stalked off. In any event, the colonel had nothing to say to him. He might have found an answer, if he had had any further interest in life. He might just have spat in his face.

  I might, possibly, have tried to get on side with him, by pretending to agree with him that those other children of mine were indeed bastards, and try to see my days out living off the name of the one who wasn’t a bastard. But who can say?

  Who knows what goes on in another person’s mind? Had Qorbani said what he had said out of sympathy for him? Or out of fear that his father-in-law might become a burden to him?

  Qorbani knows, better than his wife does, that I don’t have a pension. And another thing! It could well be that he hates me and my children because he thinks the connection with us might get in the way of his bid for the contract to renovate the mortuary.

  But in any case, the colonel knew that Qorbani had no idea which way his mind was going, and how far he had got in his plan. If he had known how close the colonel was to his end, he would not have bothered to offer him any sympathy, real or otherwise. Whatever the case, the colonel had no wish to get involved in trading petty insults.

 
; I still have one or two things to attend to. I ought to take that packet of wedding sugar plums round the town and share the 35 tomans among the poor. Then I must let the canary go free, or at least leave its cage door open so that it can fly away if it wants to. Once I’ve done that, the only question left to settle will be what I am going to do about myself. Anyhow, the first thing to do is go home.

  The gate is still wide open and the colonel has no need to search his pockets for the key. Nothing worries him now. He knows that the house will soon be taken over by the state and – maybe – used for charity. Of course, Qorbani should have no expectations; he will get more than his fair share of the inheritance by winning the tender to do up the mortuary…

  Almost nonchalantly, the colonel strolls into the yard. He does not even regret not taking a last look at the photograph of Masoud in the new shrine they had put up outside the gate. Nor does he worry whether it was himself, or someone else, who has left the light on in the sitting room. He just hopes that the stove is still going. His feet untrammelled by care for life or death, his intention now clear, he strides towards his end.

  But what he sees on entering the living room pulls him up short: The Colonel, and someone whom he addresses as ‘Your Excellency’ are sitting opposite one another at the table.55

  The Colonel is sitting in my old place, and His Excellency is on this side of the table, in Amir’s usual place. I am standing under the arch and The Colonel is facing the door, while His Excellency has his back to it. I seem to have interrupted a secret meeting and I am embarrassed by my mistake.

  The Colonel ignores my presence. His piercing black eyes are trained on His Excellency, as if to stop him turning round to look at me. I look at The Colonel for an answer. Ignoring me, he dabs at the blood on his neck with his handkerchief and carries on with his conversation. I listen in:

  “You were told to leave the country, Colonel.”

  “Yes, you did tell me that, Your Excellency.”

  “I sent you that order via HQ. According to the order, you and Farrokh and Bahador56 were to take two years’ salary and go to Europe to complete your training.”

  “I had to deal with some outstanding matters that fell within my remit. That didn’t require any further training.”

  “Outstanding matters, indeed! You take yourself far too seriously, Colonel… They could have been dealt with in your absence.”

  “I have never shirked my duty. I have many enemies always laying traps for me. I couldn’t go away.”

  “If you’d agreed to leave Persia, your enemies would not have been a problem. After all, there’s not one of them that isn’t in our pocket.”

  “I came back from Europe to finish what I had to do, and had no wish to go back again. I saw no need to do so.”

  “I’m not interested in whether you want to go back to Europe or not. I am telling you to leave Persia.”

  “I am aware of that, Sir, but I won’t leave my country. Iran is my country. Can’t you see that?”

  “When you talk about your country like that, you sound more arrogant and aggressive than you should be, Colonel. They don’t stand for that sort of thing. And I won’t put up with it, either. You disrupt our lines of communication, seize our weapons and you insult a friendly nation. And you then ignore a friendly suggestion that you should leave Persia… No, Colonel, you can’t expect to get away with such insolence. Not you, not anyone.”

  “I don’t expect to, Sir. I blocked your communications because it was my duty to do so. I impounded your arsenal of weapons because they were illegal. And I commandeered your cavalry and other equipment because I believed that you were not entitled to set up an independent militia outside state control. I was just doing my duty as an Iranian soldier.”

  “Your conduct was not that of a Persian officer, Colonel.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The orders you received from me came direct from Army HQ.”

  “Whose HQ?”

  “Persia’s, of course.”

  “So, who the hell are you to give me orders, Sir? May I enquire as to what your position is, exactly?”

  “Colonel, kindly stop being so difficult and aggressive, not to say insubordinate!”

  “Insubordinate to you, maybe.”

  “It was a question of an understanding between two governments, which you insisted on interfering with. Otherwise, why did you disobey an order which?”

  “What order? If an order had come from the government of Iran…”

  “Iran had no effective government at the time, my man. Surely you can see that?”

  “I’m well aware of that. And that is precisely why you and I should have been trying to set one up!”

  “What, some kind of ‘government of national unity,’ no doubt? You lot philosophise like bloody pie-in-the-sky German idealists, Colonel. You’re nothing but romantic minstrels.”

  “I don’t like your tone, Your Excellency. I know just what kind of a man you are and what sort of grand family you come from. Nevertheless, I am happy to try and show you that our country, mine and yours, has never lacked philosophers and musicians of its own.”

  “Always harking back to the past, aren’t you? I can’t stand your arrogance when you start going on about ‘your country.’ I should have got those Kurds to sort you out earlier.”

  “Well, in the end you did, and as usual you acted too soon. My mistake was in not throwing you out of the region I was responsible for and exiling you to Zahedan.”

  “Not so much a mistake as not having the capability of doing so, I suspect. You see, your giving orders to lay siege to the consulate of a friendly nation has not been forgotten, and the insult will not be forgiven, I can assure you.”

  “This attitude of yours is, of course, in your own interest. I’m sure you could teach us plenty on that score.”

  “You could have learned a lot from remembering how your namesake Taqi Khan Amir Kabir ended up.”57

  “We did indeed, Sir.”

  The Colonel gets up and leans on the mantelpiece, dabbing the blood off his neck with his handkerchief. His Excellency stands up too, picks his hat up off the table and lays it over the hand holding his walking stick. He straightens his grey bow tie under his Adam’s apple, gives a little cough and, fixes his gaze sternly on The Colonel through his pebble glasses:

  “If I were you, Colonel, I’d take better care of your head.”

  The Colonel turns round to look at him: “Will that be all?”

  His Excellency simply smiles and looks at The Colonel once more. To see him properly he has to look up a little. As he does so, the greasy hair on the back of his head and round his ears catches the light and shimmers like a cock’s tail feathers. For a while he says nothing, and just stands there, wondering what to do next, as though finding the presence of The Colonel distasteful. Then he sits down, puts his hat and stick down and, with his elbows on the table, rests his chin on his hands and studies The Colonel through his spectacles. The Colonel’s final impertinent question was a calculated affront, and he cannot let it stand and leave the room humiliated. But The Colonel stands, solid as a rock, by the mantelpiece, beneath his photograph, wiping the blood off his neck with his handkerchief every now and then and saying nothing. Knowing His Excellency’s character, he is deliberately making him sweat.

  This time His Excellency is more threatening:

  “I stayed on, to make sure we did not lose the oil in the north.58 But you and your like… your pride is too much. A special court has been set up to pronounce on all the crimes of the last century, from Amir Kabir right down to you, Colonel Mohammad-Taqi Khan, and my own cousin, Mossadeq. I hope that you will be able to maintain your usual sang-froid.”

  He stood up and went on: “I hope you’ve got the stamina for it, Colonel. The charges are serious indeed. A judicial review of the whole story is long overdue. Sealed files will not be opened, of course, but with a little patience… It will be local people running the court, Colonel, your
own offspring, patriotic young men, all.”

  His Excellency is clearly trying to provoke The Colonel, who forces himself to control his temper. His eyes glowing two chalices of blood, he glares back, his voice shaking like a battle ensign in the wind:

  “Enough play acting, Your Excellency! Come out and be frank.”

  His opponent has by now regained his composure. He even manages a smile, as he takes a sugar plum out of a soggy paper bag and pops it in his mouth. His tone is now winningly sarcastic:

  “All in good time, Colonel, all in good time. No more of this old soldier business, now. Come on now, every old soldier knows never to leave your foxhole until you’ve dug another one first! You have dug yourself well in to your last hole this time, haven’t you, Sir? Isn’t that so?

  Ah, I am indeed sorry for you, for your successes as much as for your defeats. You are too good for this vale of tears. To think, a man of your talents and your nice European education, with all that German romanticism, all that Wagner and Nietzsche… It pains me to see you brought so low. You were just too good for this country, too rarefied a flower for this stony ground. What a shame that you never took my advice. If you had, you wouldn’t be an embittered old man faced with the wickedness and wrath of the mob, Colonel. Or with the anger and vengeance of your own offspring. You really should have left, you know…”

  “I couldn’t abandon my country, Sir. Logically, it should have been you who left…”

  “I told you why I had to stay… But you… You’ll be totally forgotten, Colonel. Your misbegotten children, villains all of them, will devour you like wolves. And all because of your patriotism, Colonel. Would you believe it? Your own children!”

  “My children will pay you back for this one day, as will yours, I swear, Your Excellency.”

  “Your children are blowing another tune now, soldier. Can’t you hear the mob out on the street? Your children are busy tearing each other to pieces like wolves. Not a pretty sight! It’s frightening, isn’t it? Look where I’m pointing, I’m showing you what tomorrow will bring!”