My Bird

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43 17 The basement I see in my dreams has no windows. But the basement in my father’s house had windows; four small windows. The basement in Aunt Mahboub’s house had only one window that could be seen from the backyard. Our basement was big and full of old furniture, kerosene barrels, and pickle jars. Coming down the stairs, first you saw the small basin in the corner and the twin trunks with packages of lavash bread on top. The basement had a low ceiling. Whenever I start traveling to my past, I end up in this basement that, through its winding passages, was also connected to Aunt Mahboub’s basement. After Father’s truck accident, he bought a taxi with the rest of his money and retired. He did not know the house well, and when he became housebound, he could no longer run the house. The house became full of shadows that he brought in with him, the same shadows that came to life on the white walls when Uncle Qadir cut down the big rose bushes. The silent movements of those shadows mesmerized me. The pale fading shadow of a person seemed to be walking on the wall, and a different shadow would appear and disappear. Then they got bigger and stood closer to each other. The taller shadow did not have a head. 44 | Fariba Vafi The world was asleep. The shadows were dancing on the wall. I would confuse them with ghosts. Covering my head under the blanket, I would slowly peek out, sitting up halfway and watching them. The silence was intolerable. I was scared to scream. I would bite the corner of the blanket and could not take my eyes off the wall. The big shadow covered the small one with its body, like a big clump of clouds that suddenly covers the sky. Then it went back, and the small shadow got closer. This time the shadow had a head, and in one instant the smaller one became like a person with a big belly and grew a head. The shadows were moving, and now an arm was separated from the entangled mass. The shadows got taller and half of them disappeared over the top of the wall, and, all of a sudden, they all fell to the ground like a black curtain. Like a little hill that disappeared in a second, resembling a passing hallucination. Whoever the shadows belonged to originally, now they are mine. The owners did not know that they had a shadow, and that I have taken their shadows from the wall, imprisoned them, and carry them with me wherever I go. Sometimes, regardless of time and place, I get drawn in to their act. This time without the fear and horror that obscures everything. In my mind, everything is clear and the silence of the night is deep and tranquil. The pull of the shadows toward each other is soft and whimsical, and has a natural freshness. Sometimes I get tired of them though and want to return the shadows to their owners, but that is not possible. I don’t know their real owners anymore. ...