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The Traveler (short story)
The window of the car was down, the raindrops covered the bare parts of the body, the black line of the road was visible on the wet desert, there was a strong wind, there were mulberry leaves next to the old wall near Pukhta’s field, the shepherds were covering themselves. It was complicated, he was leaning on a stick, the speed of the car was high, he passed it, the driver put his foot on the brake and said to me:
That is the village, some passed
He looked at the back and front, once he looked at the right and then at the left rear view, he put his right hand on the side of my seat, he fixed his eyes on the rear window, he slowly moved the car, on the side of the car. He took two paths, after a short walk, he stopped in front of a wooden door. I asked the young child:
Where is the perfect house of Bibi?
He looked at the giant face and said with a smile:
Are you a support engineer?
And I said:
He responded with pursed lips.
It’s happening to me, I call him
An old woman was sitting on a stick under the pine trees, the child ran to her, after a moment she grabbed her hand, I reached for the book, the door slowly closed, I got down, Kamila came near, my hand on my chest. I sat down under an old tree and asked him:
Are your eyes weak?
He said to me in a hoarse voice:
yes! Big eyes, I had two sons, both took up arms…
He cried, after a few moments, he dried his tears with a towel and took a deep breath.
There was a fight, both of them didn’t talk, I don’t know if they knew!?
Is there a post office on top of it?
He moved, he returned to the conversation:
There was a war at this post, both of them were martyred on the same day. This night was very difficult, as if my heart knew it. The light of the morning faded, the adhan was called in distant villages, I got up and filled my water tank. It was announced in the village mosque, martyrs, the villagers should come to the mosque, when the sun rose, the children went outside, after a moment they followed the mosque, they were standing next to the door, the colors were flying. They said to each other, the whole village was captured by the soldiers. This grandson of mine was suspicious. He told me that my uncle (father) was not martyred. After a few hours, I heard that the grief is over in our house. It was a very difficult hour. I put my hands on my son’s neck. No matter how much I shouted at him, he did not speak to me. There were not many people at the funeral prayer. After a while, he took the bed to the cemetery. It happened, the war started, it lasted for at least an hour, I did not bury my son here, I buried him in another cemetery near the city.
She became sad, tears fell on her cheeks, she fell silent, and after a while her voice broke the silence.
The sun was on our foreheads, the noon prayer was allowed, when I heard the news of another son’s martyrdom, I left my betrothed grapevine, the soldiers left it here, there is a village on the other side of this mountain, there is a cemetery of martyrs. It is said that all the young men from other places were buried in it. He was also buried there. I went to his grave this morning, white flags were hanging on it. I went, my eyes became very weak, I could not see anything, they told me that I was very sad, this one eye cannot be repaired, give this one a little medicine, there is hope that God will heal it for you.