Earth and Ashes by Atiq Rahimi Read Free Book Online

face. Once more, your mind fills with questions—and with hate.
    Who does this foreman think he is? What does he take himself to be? You’re Murad’s father. Who is he? He has taken Murad from you. There is no longer any Murad. Your Murad’s gone …
    The foreman’s gruff voice echoes around the room:
    “He would have gone. But I didn’t let him. Had I, he would have been killed as well …”
    What of it? Death would have been better than dishonor!
    The servant brings two cups of tea and gives one to you and the other to the foreman. They begin a conversation. You can’t hear what they’re saying.
    With trembling hands you hold the cup on your knees. But your legs are trembling too. A few drops of tea spill onto your knees. They don’t burn you. No, they do burn you, but you don’t feel it. You’re already burning within. Within, a fire burns that is more fierce than the tea. A fire stoked by the questions of friends and enemies, relatives and strangers:
    “What happened?”
    “Did you see Murad?”
    “Did you speak to him?
    “What did you tell him?”
    “What did he do?
    “What did he say?”
    And how will you answer them? With silence. You saw your son. Your son has heard about everything. But he didn’t come for his dead mother, wife, and brother. Murad has lost all his integrity, he has become shameless …
    Your hands tremble. You put the cup on the table. You know that your sorrow has taken shape now. It has become a bomb. It will explode and it will destroy you too—like Fateh the guard. Mirza Qadir does indeed know all about sorrow. Your chest collapses like an old house, an empty house … Murad has vacated his place inside you. What does it matter if an abandoned house collapses?
    “Your tea will get cold, brother.”
    “It’s not important.”
    The foreman continues:
    “Until two days ago Murad wasn’t doing well. He wouldn’t go near bread or water. He withdrew to acorner of his room. He didn’t move. He didn’t sleep. One night he went out of his quarters completely naked. He joined the group of miners who spend the night beating their chests in repentance around a fire. At dawn he began to run around and around the fire and then he threw himself into the flames. His companions came to his aid and pulled him out …”
    Slowly you open your clenched fists. Your shoulders, drawn up to your ears, relax. You know Murad. Murad isn’t one to remain calm. He either burns or causes others to burn. He either destroys or is destroyed. He didn’t set fire to others this time, he burned himself. He didn’t cause destruction, he was destroyed … But why didn’t he come back and burn together with his mother’s corpse? If Murad were Dastaguir’s Murad, he would have returned to the village, he would have beaten his chest beside his lost ones, not around a fire … They told him that you too were dead. The day when you do die—and you will die, you won’t live eternally—what will he do? Will he see you have a proper burial? Will he lower your coffin into a grave? No, without shroud or coffin your body will fester under the sun … This Murad isn’t your Murad. Murad hassacrificed his soul to the rocks, the fire, the coal, to this man sitting before you, whose hot breath stinks of soot.
    “Murad is our best worker,” the foreman says. “Next week we’ll be sending him on a literacy course. He’ll learn to read and write. One day he’ll hold an important post. We’re sending him because he’s a model mine worker who earns respect for being an enlightened, hardworking youth who’s committed to the revolution …”
    You don’t hear the rest of the foreman’s words. You think of Mirza Qadir. Like him you must choose whether to stay or leave. If you see Murad now, what will you say to him?
    “Salaam.”
    “Salaam.”
    “You’ve heard?”
    “I’ve heard.”
    “My condolences.”
    “Condolences to you, too.”
    And after that? Nothing.
    “Good-bye.”
    “Bye.”
    No, you