You come uninvited. Every night. You pour yourself a cup of black tea and curl up with your newspaper on the sofa.

I look at you, not like the past, not in a hurry. Your black eyes scan the paper lines. Some of your black hairs are on your long forehead and you are chewing on the side of your thin moustache.

You do away with the newspaper. You drink the tea which has become cold now and gaze at me and then you get out of my sight. You go to the kitchen to pour yourself another cup of black tea. My eyes are still staring at your footsteps. You are not returning. I walk hesitantly into the kitchen. I call out your name. You are not there. I can’t see around me, but anyway I walk in the direction that I think the stove is. I touch the kettle, it is cold. I just remember that I haven’t put the kettle on for a few days now. I hug myself to make myself a bit warm, but it is no use. Maybe my blood has frozen over. I return to my room. I catch my foot against the leg of the armchair and fall over it. I close my eyes, but it wouldn’t make much of a difference.

Mother told me I was too good for you. She said that I wasted myself for you. But I always laughed, because I remembered your long fingers as they caressed me, do you remember that? You used to say: “My long and dark fingers and your little white fingers?” Then you would look me in the face and smile. How I loved the curve of your long neck when you looked at me. I thought as if the Angel Gabriel has descended upon me, it warmed my heart.

I open my eyes. I try to remember where I put the bottle of the tablets. My eyes turn in the sockets and see nothing but blackness. I stretch my arm and find the switch on the desk lamp. The yellow light falls on your photo, you know which one? The one that you are standing with your back to that big rock and you are smiling with your arms stretched out wide. I still remember your laughter and your roar as you said: “Let everyone know that I love you.”

My stomach is empty. I feel hungry. I have to eat. I have to get off the sofa and go to the kitchen. You tell me: “I will get some food for you.” And then you walk away from my sight. I hear the clink of glasses and the sizzling butter in the frying pan and I can smell happiness. From there I hear you telling me:” Bread is off, too.”

I remember mother telling me to look after myself a little more as she was putting the bread on the table cloth. Poor mother, she is always worried about me, but you understand that I had to disconnect the phone.

I used to think that being alone is for the best. I specially didn’t want to hear what makes feel worse. At times like that the only one who can help me is you. I have to think harder to remember where I put the bottle of tablets. Father used to say:” Don’t tell him these things, he will be upset.” But I wouldn’t listen. I told you everything, even now when I hear cruel words I cover my ears, I hang up the phone, close my eyes. When you enter, my ears refuse to hear anything but the clink of glasses in your hands.

Yesterday when you were getting dressed to go to work, I watched from under the blanket. I didn’t want you to find out that I was awake; this made it easier to look at you. You turned the collar of your white and light yellow shirt down and wore your usual perfume. The whole house smells of its scent, specially the mouthpiece of the phone.

I think I can hear mother’s voice calling me. Now I remember where I put the bottle of tablets; I put them behind your picture.

You put the tray on the table in front of me. My nostrils fill with the odor of tea, fresh bread and melted butter. You ask me:” Why have you closed the curtains like that?” You stretch out your arm and draw them away. The moonlight falls on the table, where you have placed the tray. Now your face is so near that I can’t see your eyes.

Someone knocks on the door. The timing couldn’t be worse. It was as if I could hear mother saying:” Did you see how my daughter wasted her life?”

Fereshteh Nobakht

12 Esfand 1386

Sunday March 02 2008

Translate by: Hossein Yazdanpanah