DIVINE ACT

Last night my mind was a mixed up collection of marbles and nuts and bolts. It seemed as if a couple of giant bulls with their huge bodies and great hooves were digging into my scalp. My brain and the core of my existence felt as if they were being savagely and madly crushed. My head was pounding. Memories and events of life appeared and disappeared in flashes like bolts of lightning. I felt as if I was a small white cloud alone in the beautiful blue sky, discouraged and distressed, and the slave of a vengeful, plundering wind. The wind battered me this way and that. I had no free will and was incapable of the smallest resistance. The sight of that attempted assassination, the gaping wound and bloodstained shirt of Haji Shirazi was printed in my mind and I could find no peace. Events of that day and the heart-rending scenes repeatedly flashed in front of my eyes.
Tired and tormented, I retired to my bedroom. The room was quiet. The only sounds I heard came from within me where anxiety and agitation filled me to the rim. The pictures woven into the curtains in the room seemed to come to life. Small and large figures, ugly and repulsive creatures emerged brandishing double-edged swords. Blood froze in my hands and feet. Lifeless and numb, they were attached to my body but without spirit or movement or life. Sitting immobilized in the corner, I hugged my knees to my chest. There was no blood in my feet as if they had died a long time ago. A blue flame burned in the small stove in the room. My head began to throb from the heat and felt as if it was going to explode. I felt as if a heavily loaded ten-wheel truck had fallen on top of my head and I was about to break into pieces from its massive weight and pressure.
With each passing moment, my strength and power ebbed away. Suddenly, the wandering eyes of Looch Ali, the undertaker of the Cemetery of Moudiriyeh in Rasht, appeared before me and I shivered. His unwashed hair was plastered to his forehead like a frog. He was like a leech saturated with blood and puss with an ugly bony face and tangled hair. Smiling, he offered me a tea cup. The tea in his tea cup was as black as tar. Flies were sucking the final drops of juice from some dry, smashed raisins and with his calloused, spotted hand he raised the teacup to his lips. His diseased gums supported a few yellowed teeth, scattered here and there in his mouth like decaying pillars in a shapeless cave. His foul breath had the stench of death and made me forget to inhale. Suddenly, Looch Ali reached toward me with hands and arms abnormally long. Perspiration sat on my forehead. Horrified, I ran like a madman from him.
“Don’t go! Don’t go, sir!” Looch Ali shouted. “I have something that belongs to you. Which part of the cemetery is your favorite? I want to make you happy. With these hands I want to put your shroud on you. Ha! Ha! Ha!”
He was laughing like a hyena. I ran from him in fear with an incredible speed. I never looked behind me. I saw a rice silo in the distance and I headed toward it. The corner of the rice silo was supported by a tall dead tree. When I reached it, I hid beside that dead tree. Suddenly, a swarm of bees that had made their home in that tree attacked me. My hands, neck and face was tremendously burning from the bee stings. Screaming in fear, I bolted from there, followed by a swarm of angry bees. Like an army of Tour they pursued me, buzzing noisily like gadflies. My swollen face looked like the protruding stomach of Hussein Lubiya Foroush. Looch Ali saw me and his hands clutched the collar of my jacket, holding me while he pecked me in the head. He took some garlic in his hands, smashed them and then spread them all over my face.
“Stupid, brainless person!” He said. “That old tree is the home of bees. Are you blind?”
Cursing, he took a young pomegranate branch and attacked me. Panicking from fear, I ran from him again. This time I ran aimlessly.
“Hey man, what is this? You think you can run away from me? I swear to God that if it takes from now to Resurrection Day, I will catch you and with these hands I will wash you. Hey idiot! When I catch you, I will crack your ribs and destroy you. Wait! I want to show you something, fool. Ha! Ha! Ha! ”
Stubbornly, he pursued me, howling like a wolf with saliva drooling from his lips. Suddenly, from far away, I saw the minaret of the mosque whose beautiful blue tiles glinted in the sunlight and it brought me to a halt. At the top of the minaret stood a muezzin, an Islamic cleric, calling people to prayer. Quickly, I ran toward him. His beard was made of many ropes extending to the ground below. I climbed up one of the ropes of his beard to reach him. When my hand was nearly on the railing where the cleric stood, his cold, bloodshot eyes, like those of an executioner, stared down at me. A large, dark mole glistened on the left side of his neck. Suddenly, like lightning, with one move he took a pair of large scissors, their tips dripping blood, and cut the rope on which I was climbing. His frightening laugh was like thunder in springtime – ringing in my ears as I fell.
I fell and landed on a corpse at the foot of the minaret. Looch Ali was waiting for me. He had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
“Empty headed fool! I told you I’m going to catch you and I will wash you with these hands. Look here, you fool. I was entrusted with something for you. Come on. I want to show you. Ha! Ha! Ha!”
With one fast movement, he jerked the shroud away from the dead body. My son’s lifeless body lay there. I screamed like a crazy man and beat my head against the base of the minaret.

“Wake up, Ahmed. Wake up, dear. You are having a bad dream. All night you were delirious.”
Mariam was looking down at me with a worried look, as she shook me awake. I woke up from sleep, soaked with perspiration. Worried, I ran towards my son’s bedroom. He lay sleeping in his bed, quietly and comfortably. For a few moments, I gazed at his manly face and counted his breaths. My wife kindly massaged my shoulders.
“My dear. Calm down. You had a nightmare, didn’t you? Tell me what happened.”
“No, dear. It is useless to even mention it. Just a bunch of meaningless nightmares.”
“Ok then. Don’t wake him up. All night you were delirious. I told you a thousand times when you are going to sleep, turn down the flame in the stove. The room was very warm. I opened all the windows to have some fresh air. Some nights, you eat very late and go to sleep with a full stomach. Of course, you will have a nightmare!”
“Ok, dear. Ok. You are right. I promise you it won’t happen again.”

It was the middle of autumn. The weather was pleasant, exhilarating and honestly, it was delightfully perfect. It was one of those beautiful days that stays in one’s memory and is simply unforgettable. A gentle breeze caressed the fluttering leaves, serenading them. It whispered to them softly, giving them courage for the long journey until spring, in a soothing melody.
“Oh, my dear children! Go to sleep and have no fear. You are riding in the golden carriage of life that will bring you to the Creator. Have courage and patience and don’t fear nature’s grieving. Dance with joy when you return to the bosom of the earth. Don’t be annoyed. Hush! Be calm and comforted. Close your eyes and sleep and dream of the spring to come.”
A tired day was taking its last breath, leaving behind a delightful, colorful sky that created a spectacular masterpiece. In the distance, the golden evening pitched a tent of a thousand hues and prepared its bed. As it reached the coast of the horizon, little by little, the sun descended into a well of absolute darkness. Night’s scout, refreshed and agile, galloped across the plain of the Milky Way. It scattered dark powder behind him, seeding the bosom of the sky with bits of diamond here and there.