Free Black Light by Galway Kinnell Page A

with you for thinking I would believe the police,” she said. The chaddor had slipped off; her entire face and her hair were visible. The flame of the candle swayed again and black shadows moved in her features. She smiled at him. His head was clear. He saw her in a reality beyond the reach of opium. On the little bed, in the light of the candle, they made love.
    When they came into the garden, it was evening. They sat by the pool and ate a meal of rice, fruit and Shirazi wine.
    â€œSo long as they think you killed Ali,” she told him, “they will not look for you here. You will be safe. I wish you to stay, if you would like.”
    â€œI would like to,” said Jamshid. He began to foresee what a new life might be like. It even seemed possible he could assume another name, learn another trade, grow fat and unrecognizable. He could mail money to his daughter, perhaps one day send for her . . .
    The night was warm, one of the last of the true summer nights. There were many stars. In bed they lay close together and they kissed. As he slid his body on top of hers he was aware, for a moment, of the dark ragged trees all around them. He gave a laugh. Then he knew nothing buttheir bodies, their mounting, hardly bearable rhythm, her moans which broke into a wild happy cry as they shuddered into each other.
    In the morning the air was still warm. The stars were still crawling across the darkness. He drew the covers back and looked at the widow’s body. He thought he had never seen a person so beautiful. He put his arm across her belly. She remained asleep, making purring, pacifying noises that were not quite snores.
    Someone was shaking him awake. He opened his eyes to see the widow and the yellow-faced opium smoker crouched beside him.
    â€œTell him,” said the widow.
    â€œThey know you didn’t kill Ali,” the old man said. “On learning who it was they killed, the Yazdi dogs have stepped forward and claim a reward. The police captain is sitting in my garden, having a pipe before he comes here. You must leave at once.”
    When Jamshid had dressed, the widow put bread and cheese in his pocket. She rolled up the carpet, put it in its harness, and hoisted it to his shoulder.
    â€œIt’s yours,” Jamshid protested. “I was bringing it back to you.”
    â€œI give it to you,” the widow said.
    â€œAs soon as I can I’ll come back,” Jamshid said.
    â€œYes.”

chapter sixteen chapter sixteen
    T he first person Jamshid saw in the street was a policeman. He turned and walked in the other direction. He saw some men asleep on the sidewalk, apparently workers from a construction. He spread his carpet beside them and lay down. Where his hand fell it touched the earth. He could see the little room again, with the light from the candle swaying ever so slightly on the wall. “Are you contented?” she had asked him. “I know you are, I am too.” The impassive quality of her voice now appeared to him as the deepest tenderness. “I loved Ali when he was my husband, but when many years go by and a man remains absent, he ceases to be one’s husband. Each time he came I had to love him anew, but when he was gone again, how could I keep loving him? For a long time I have been empty of love, a marrow plant without fruit.”
    Lying in the street, in the morning twilight, Jamshid could hear the bells of the camels coming into Shiraz with fruits and vegetables from the country. From all over the city, street after street, rang the dull, empty beating of their tin bells. It was a haunting sound. It made him think of Hassan the camel and of the trip on the desert,and beyond that his old empty life. He wanted so much to have a new life. He kept thinking of the widow, and of their lovemaking.
    â€œFather-dog,” a harsh voice cried. “Lying there in public with a growling hard-on!” Jamshid opened his eyes. It was full daylight. The