A Curse on Dostoevsky

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IN HIS cell, the darkness is profound.

A fly lands on his hand. He blows on it; it stirs and flies away.

Filth!

Why such hatred and fury for this tiny creature?

Because it just bursts into this world.

It does not burst into anything. It lives in its world, because it belongs to its world. It is you who come from elsewhere. You who are bursting into a world that is no longer your own. Look at this fly; see how lightly it lives in its world.

Because it is not conscious.

It isn’t conscious because it doesn’t need to be. It just lives its lightness, its death… as simple as that.

And then it lands on his hand again. He tries to shake it off but his arm won’t move. Is it the chain that stops him lifting his hand, or the fly? The fly, for sure. It is paralyzing him. Taking over his world.

He stretches his neck toward the fly so he can blow it away again. Impossible. His body is as stiff and as heavy as stone. They look at each other. It seems to him that the fly wants to tell him something, in its incomprehensible language. Rhythmic words, almost a song: Tat, tat, tat… tvam, tvam… asi… Then it moves, flying off and landing on the wall. And suddenly Rassoul can lift his hand; it has become light. The chains have come undone without a sound. He stands up to catch the fly. On the wall he can see only its image, like a fresco. He touches it. The wall seems liquid, permeable. His hand passes into it. He doesn’t resist. The wall swallows his hand. Now his whole body moves into it. Once inside, Rassoul freezes. An image on the surface, just like the fly whose song slices through the silence of the wall. Tat, tat, tat… tvam, tvam… asi…

“Allah-o Akbar!” The call to prayer startles Rassoul, pulling him from the wall of his sleep. Here he is, on the ground, his hands and feet bound in chains.

The hoarse voice of the muezzin fades away and everything drowns in the silence. Except the song of the fly, which is still playing peacefully and religiously inside Rassoul’s head, Tat, tat, tat… tvam, tvam… asi…

It no longer disturbs him.

Nothing disturbs him anymore, not even the sound of footsteps stomping up the passage and stopping outside his door; not even the door that will never again open for anyone except death.

They open the spy hole only. The guard says, “Stand up, you have a visitor.” Rassoul doesn’t move.

“Rassoul!” It is Razmodin. Rassoul stands up slowly and looks through the hole at his cousin’s horrified eyes. He walks up to the door. “What have you done now?” Rassoul shrugs his shoulders, as if to say nothing serious. But Razmodin is waiting for a word, a voice. As usual, there is nothing. His cousin loses his temper. “Say something, damn it!” His words ring out in the corridor. “Hey, calm down!” exclaims the guard. “I was in Mazar,” says Razmodin. “I brought Donia and your mother back here. We went straight to your house. You weren’t there. I took them to a hotel. I’ve been combing the city for you. No one knew where you were, not Sophia, not Yarmohamad… Everyone is worrying. In the end, some of Parwaiz’s guys told me where to find you…” He stops, hoping to hear Rassoul say something for once. In vain. He continues: “Why make up this crazy story? Have you lost your mind?” Rassoul is impassive. “Do something before it’s too late, for the sake of your mother, your sister, for Sophia…” He moves away from the door to speak to the guard. “Let me into the cell, brother.”

“No, you’re not allowed.”

“Please. There’s something in it for you. Here!”

“No… but… well, just for a minute, then.”

“I promise.”

The door opens and Razmodin enters. “I can’t tell my aunt anything. You know how she’ll suffer if she hears about your arrest.” He grabs Rassoul by the shoulders and shakes him. “How can I tell them? Do you want your mother to have a heart attack? Do you want Donia and Sophia to lose their minds from grief? How can you be so selfish?” Everything is over, Razmodin, everything. Rassoul has no ego left, no pride. He is abandonment itself. “Tomorrow, you will be hanged!” The quicker the better, so Rassoul can move on to other things! “Why are you laughing at me?” He is not laughing at you, just laughing. He is laughing with the angels of death. “Why won’t you take life seriously? You’re behaving like someone from Aliabad!” More seriously, then? Tomorrow will be a great day for him; you’d better believe it. Everyone will be there, everyone. A beautiful death!

Yes, I want to live my death at last. Lightly.

Razmodin gets to his feet, discouraged by Rassoul’s laughing eyes and cheerful silence. “I’m going to bring your mother and Donia. Perhaps they will change your mind.”

Rassoul stands up in protest. He shakes his head, eyes pleading, as if to say: “No, Razmodin, leave them in peace!”

They stand staring at each other. “If they don’t find out today, they will tomorrow.”

When I’m dead, I won’t care.

“But why? All this because you killed some stupid madam?” asks Razmodin, taking a step forward. “Look around you: people are murdering each other every day. Parwaiz’s men were laughing as they told me your story.”

So much the better if I’m making people laugh at last—and with my murder, too!

Razmodin drops to his knees. “So you still think that a trial can change this fucking country? You’re dreaming, my cousin. Dreaming…” He swallows a sob, stands up, takes Rassoul by the shoulders and shakes him again. “Wake up, that’s enough, wake up! Let go of these crazy dreams!” Rassoul shuts his eyes. His hand moves, hesitates, then clasps his cousin in an embrace.

I’ve woken, Razmodin.

They stand there hugging for a long time, until the guard arrives. “You must leave now, brother. It is time for his dinner.”

Razmodin abandons Rassoul. They look deeply into each other’s eyes one last time. “I won’t abandon you,” he says. “I’ll go and see the judge, I’ll see everyone. I won’t let you destroy your life.”

He leaves the cell, determined but anxious. The guard shuts the door, and then the spy hole.

A fly lounges on the wall.