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I stared at thenightof the city
199
wrote a letter teemingwith
Arabic words, a somewhat
contradictory peculiarity
in such a hardline Kurdish
nationalist. Somewhere in
the letter, he wrote:
It is difficult for an old man
like myself who has one
foot in the grave and is but
a breath away from death
to toy with another’s life.
Yet it is no less difficult
to take leave of this finite
world with you knowing
nothing of me. In the
end, I am, rather than a
father, an apparition that
comes to tell you a truth.
I am an old man and my
experience has given me a
sense that great truths are
close to fantasy. People
see naught but the surface
of this world. They do not
apprehend the world as a
great truth. They accept
the surface of this complex
world as the truth and yet
man is merely a broken
looking-glass, only one
piece of which has fallen
in this life upon the Earth.
Where and in what world
are the other pieces? That
is known only to God and
to His angels.
Mullah
Hajar
found
a roundabout way to
introduce Bahman Nasser
and the story of his birth.
He wrote:
Our dear Bahman, I have
come this far and now
stand between life and
death. This moment is
impossible and I am very
close to bowing out like
the humblest of slaves.
The world has sapped
my energy and sadness
all my power. Old age
has gnawed at my flesh
and bones for years but
has not yet taken its last
bite. My soul is empty,
my body exhausted, my
desires gone. There is a
secret you must know, a