Joshua's Naughty Eyes
Translated from Persian by Shirindokht Nourmanesh
(1)
I have asked Joshua why you don’t come with me to Iran and have reminded him of our times in the port city of Bandar-e ‘Abbās and the day we went to Qeshm Island on a boat. The boatman and Joshua were sitting at each end of the boat, and I was in the middle to keep the balance.
Captivated by the majesty of that infiniteness, Joshua was watching the sea--seabirds flying in his blue eyes.
"It was there when you said: Look! As if an artist has drawn a line between the green and the blue of the sea; and you leaned out of the boat to mix the colors with the movement of your hand so that the green becomes blue and blue, green."
"And if you want to remember, it was the same day that you looked at the silent vastness of the sea and the reflection of the sunlight creating silver dots on the surface of the water; you laughed and said: Wow! What a beauty. ... Breathtaking."
Joshua, however, neither listens nor wants to remember that a crazy seabird came and sat on his head, and for a long time, he held his head at an angle so that the bird could rest and watch the world from the wheat field of his head.
We have sought refuge from Stockholm's cold weather and frozen streets at a coffeehouse; cupping his face while resting his elbow on the table, Joshua gazes at me. I sit on a boat in his eyes.
The boatman paddles slowly, and I lean out to cup and splash water onto Joshua's face; and dive into the water before he has the chance to say, you nut.
Boat rocks.
And the young boatman laughs and throws a rope so that I follow the boat, and--in the blue of the sea--draw a line up to Qeshm, to the point where the guards check everything; and I roll and turn and swim in the water before the agent arrives.
"Nut, nut, nut."
His voice throws me back to the coffeehouse. He nods his head and a wave of laughter storms his naughty eyes. He says:
"It's different there. Look!"
And points at the island of Phuket on the map, the island he insists we visit to celebrate our love anniversary.
"You have to see it with your own eyes to understand what I'm talking about." I say, "Isn't Kish Island better?"
"Qeshm?" I ask.
He says,
"Eyes, there, are agonizing--as if they're not eyes."
He says,
"People reminded me of ancient forts last time I was there. Each person was a fort to me; their eyes, holes in the watchtower. Their gazes bind one's feet."
"Eyes, there, watch everything," he says.
I don't tell Joshua that by looking at the island on the map, tall waves suddenly storm into my mind, drowning him, myself, and the coffeehouse at once. I shake my head to return from my dream to the reality of a coffeehouse in Stockholm.
"What?" Joshua asks.
"Nothing," I say.
We let go of Qeshm, Kish, and Patong Beach and leave the coffeehouse to walk around Stockholm on one of its coldest yet brightest nights.
"Don't you want to tell me why you shook your head," he asks, "back then, at the coffeehouse?"
I think, what if I say it and it doesn't happen? Then, what?
I poke my head under his arm and say,
"Nothing ... Just something weird that crossed my mind."
(2)
Joshua is right. I am now sitting at the window gazing at the sea, on the fourth floor of the hotel, and intend to write the last of my journals for today:
"Today is our last day. I have packed. We will leave for the airport in the dark. We will check out in four hours but will store our luggage at the hotel in order to walk around the island for three hours or sit at the beach before leaving for the airport. Around the same time, tomorrow, we will be eating something at the same coffeehouse, where we decided where to go for our anniversary. I suppose all is well. It has been a week since the last time tall waves dampened my dreams. Since our arrival here, the tempest in my dreams, the storm that would destroy my life, taking away everything, including Joshua, has not called on me. The nightmare of tall violent waves has ended in both my reality and the dream world."
I look around. I can see Joshua through the window. He came around an hour ago: "You're not swimming?"
He saw my pad and pen and said, "ok."
(3)
I saw him for the first time in Bandar-e ‘Abbās. He was there to report on the Gulf Cooperation Council summit for the Aljazeera. The first sentence coming out of his mouth was, "I'm a poet too."
I had told him:
"Doesn't your poetry reek crude oil at these summits?"
He had laughed, and this is how we started walking along the beach so that he was aware that I too, after ten years, had returned from the U.S. to visit my family.
"Joshua," I told him, "this region is more than the sea, this beautiful hotel, and those veiled women. Would you like me to take you to places you've never seen?"
I took him--everywhere, even to the Kouhestak Village with its tall, slender chocolate women and their strange eyes.
He was bound to his camera. With their soft jaconet dresses blowing in the wind, women would smile at his lens, Joshua laughing too while they would cover their bright teeth so that the reflection of the light would not ruin Joshua's negatives.
He had asked me,
"Why do they cover their mouths when they laugh?"
And on the third and last day, we visited Baba Zaar. I had told him about the Zaar exorcism ceremony, its rituals, and circular dances and had sung the songs I could remember. Baba Zaar was not available. He had gone to the United Arab Emirates, but Mama Zaar had opened her house to us and uttered,
"So, it was you who'd kept me home all day."
Joshua said,
"What's she saying?"
"She's been expecting us," I replied.
He asked, "How come? Did you tell her we're coming?"
I said,
"This is Mama Zaar, Joshua. Baba Zaar and Mama Zaar are aware of the unseen." Joshua laughed and shook his head.
It was at the Mama Zaar's that the waves stormed into my head. Joshua was busy with folds and creases of Mama Zaar's face while I was drowning in waves--waves as tall as a tall hotel.
Mama Zaar turned to Joshua and asked,
"I wonder why you're here."
I said,
"He's a reporter; he's here for the summit."
She took Joshua's hand. She bended his fingers one by one and murmured something under her breath.
"What is she doing?" Joshua asked.
I said, "She's looking for your knots. Something that might someday catch up with you, makes you sick, and, or change your destiny for the worse."
It took Mama Zaar quite some time to say,
"The more you stay away from the sea, the better."
"What's she saying?"
I told him. He laughed,
"Ah! The east and its witchcraft."
(4)
I see him now, swimming and rolling on water like a happy kid, sometimes, he is on his back, at sometimes, on his side. I wave at him. He does not see me. I open the window. He stands and waves at me. Water is up to his shoulders.
I pick up the camera.
Children are making sand castles. A little girl tries to find a space for her doll, a place in the sandy home she has made. And a little boy parks his car in the girl's driveway. Young girls in bikinis are laying around on the sand, taking tan, and I get to Joshua. I just want to look at him.
I miss his eyes--waves of laughter billowing in his eyes. Waves ... waves ... waves rising from the end of the ocean.
Everywhere turns white.
Billows carry men and women on top of their white peaks.
Humans disappear in the white of the waves.
Joshua resurfaces.
A hand on a mouth that is about to wail and, suddenly, he turns.
He wants to run.
He wants to swim.
He wants to escape.
He does not want to disappear.
Billows ... billows ... billows.
The sand castle has disappeared, and a few men and women roll over each other on top of the white water.
I drop the camera.
Assault of the sea on the shore.
Waves flogging the trees.
And,
The ocean pokes its head into the hotel lobby, climbs the stairs and rushes in from the windows, and it takes with it mattresses, humans, and lamps. It withdraws to, once again, reach out with its white hand and run up to the third floor and take away lamps and bags and cloths, and then again withdraw to take a breather to rise up to the fourth floor ... . "When did I close the windows?"
The other side of the window becomes all white, and a man with blond hair, pale hands and blue eyes bangs onto the glass, head first.
The man dives into my room.
And the water withdraws once more so that Joshua remains on the floor, gazing at the roof with his naughty blue eyes.
Source: Substack