Free A Persian Requiem by Simin Daneshvar

who’s wrong. Who uses me as a go-between? Why are you so self-righteous? Who on earth do you think you are? And besides, what mistakes? What do golden pitchers have to do with us? Why do you blame us for what Davoud Khan may have done? Why? What right have you got?”
    “You’re all the same,” Yusef sighed wearily.
    Malek Rostam turned to Sohrab, trying to calm him down. “Sit down, boy,” he said. “I made you promise you wouldn’t insult my friend.” Then the two brothers started talking in Turkish. Rostam’s voice gradually became harsher as Sohrab’s tone softened, until he finally sat and apologized. Yusef pulled the hookah towards him.
    “The charcoal has gone out, let me go and light it again,” Zari said.
    “There’s enough fire within me,” Yusef sighed, as he drew on the pipe.
    “I didn’t mean to offend you; I apologize again,” Sohrab said, forcing a smile.
    “My dear Sohrab, for once you’ve discovered my weakness and see what a fuss you made! But I like that, you have guts. Only you still don’t see very far.” He put the pipe aside and continued, “You know, I was never happy about your playing around with the Germans, nor am I happy now that you’ve made a deal with their enemies. You’re the ones who’ve turned Hitler into a ‘Messiah’among our people. These tricks don’t really work with us, and your political flirtations only gave these foreigners an added excuse to come here.”
    “Well brother, after all it’s a war,” Malek Sohrab said gently. “They don’t give out sweets in a war. These people have to stay around to protect the oil and the access to the Gulf. They would have come in any case, even if we weren’t here. And anyhow, they only come to the town on sick leave or on holiday. The main camp is at Khorramshahr … they have no other alternative.”
    “Now you’re defending them too, my friend?” Yusef asked in a fatherly tone. “Their war is their affair. What does it have to do with us? Hitler is from their continent. They created him themselves . Let them pay for that. Let them pay for everything, even the unhappiness they’ve brought on the ones who, according to Singer, ‘have resources they don’t know how to use’. The English never ask who’s to blame for this ignorance.”
    Malek Sohrab glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I’ve got a headache. Do you have any aspirin? Make sure it’s Bayer.”
    Zari got up and took away the hookah. When she returned with the Bayer aspirin and a glass of water, Yusef was saying, “I assure you that it’s so. In order to discourage their ally from the plan I just mentioned, they’ll arrange a few skirmishes and manoeuvres with your aid, and quite a number of our people will be slaughtered at your hands. The British never say no to an ally. They simply confront him with a fait accompli so that he abandons his original plan himself. Mark my words: they will stain your hands with blood, while they themselves just sit and watch. A real massacre will take place amongst us.”
    “We must be going soon,” Malek Sohrab pointed out anxiously, “so let’s get back to the point. You still haven’t told us whether you’ll sell the provisions or not.”
    “He hasn’t said? Must he spell it out for you? He went to such lengths …” Malek Rostam laughed, but still Malek Sohrab bargained : “Please believe that we don’t want to sell all of it. Our men are hungry; they’re falling like flies from sickness and hunger.”
    “I’ll take Rostam’s word of honour,” Yusef answered. “If he promises to buy just enough for your own men, and to use my provisions for your people only, then I will agree. Tomorrow I’mgoing to Kavar … I know you’ve been stopped there too. Bring camels to load the provisions. But, remember, only for the tribe’s use. Band Bahman is just a kilometre further away, and there you’ll find water. I’ll also provide the pasture for free.”
    “I can’t