In the kitchen, while making coffee, since she has lost the taste for hot tea which is customary drink a few times a day in her homeland, she looks at the red, round clock above the sink- four o'clock. It is not unusual for her to get up at that time of the morning even on a day off since she suffers insomnia as long as she remembers. With the hot, sweet, creamy coffee in her hand, she makes herself comfortable on the sofa, her favorite place next to the end table, where she can put her cup and ashtray. Missing writing, she remembers the days of her active writing before marrying Hamid; which was always in midnight or early in the morning, her ideal time, as the silence and peace governed the crowded home. Now with her sons in bed and city in sleep, she longs those days, writing, days of browsing, Secret Society, falling in love with Saeid, heated conversation with those young men in Behroz's room; and writing to Mesa, her imaginary friend. She thinks for awhile with pen in her mouth, and finally writes:
~~"Those days are gone.
Those full, healthy, glowing days,
Those skies full of spangles and rays.
Those branches full of cherries and breeze,
Those vines leaned to green houses with ease.
~~Those days are gone.
Those days from the corner of my eye
I saw songs rained from sky like butterfly.
When my eyes slid over any root,
They absorbed it like a fresh, sweet fruit.
~~Those days are gone.
Those days of wondering and praise,
Days of awakening, attraction, and blaze.
Those days every shadow had a mystery.
Every tender soul animated poetry.
~~Those days are gone."
She stops writing and read the poem she just wrote. A conspicuous suffocation brings her to tears and she realizes how much she has been suppressed for the last twenty three years since marrying Hamid; and how much she had missed the old days and all the people she loved which most of them don't live anymore. The thought of what Hamid has taken away from her, just very normal, genuine things, gives her a chill and she feels that all her youth, or good years of one's life are gone for her. She imprecates Hamid for ruining her life and wishes for his death. In her subconscious mind, she believes that his death is the only way out of this miserable life. Pacing the room, she stops by the window; and far in horizon, she sees the orange sun in the bloody, gray sky is forcing its way out through the dominating dawn. The beauty of the unusual colors in far vistaed sphere overpoweringly causes a distressing numbness in her body; and she envies the artists who can paint. While these colors change in front of her very eyes to blue, purple, azure, and red, and gradually become brighter and brighter, her numbness dissipates and a warm flow of thrill and bliss replaces it. The remarkable rapture brings an unwanted smile to her face; and in that enchanting moment, the sharp and harsh sound of phone injures her ears. It is six in the morning.
Tehran-
To Be Continued
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