Saeed stood silently. His eyes were on Musa. Then suddenly he said, "You look only twenty-two years old. But Musa… the story you are telling carries the experience of a forty-year-old man. How old are you really?"
Musa turned from beside the window. In his eyes burned that calm fire. Slowly he said, "I am forty, Saeed. But in the measure of life, it is much more."
Saeed said in astonishment, "Forty? But you look…"
Musa smiled. A sorrowful smile. "Age is not seen only on the face. Many experiences, many wounds, many nights—all together make a person much older. Do you want to hear my history?"
Saeed nodded. "Yes. If you want to tell it."
Musa kept looking outside the window. The mountains of Yada were now covered in darkness. His eyes seemed to pass through that darkness and travel far away. Very far. Many years back.
At the door of the room stood Hussain. He too had been waiting silently. Looking at Musa, he nodded and stepped inside. He came and stood beside the window. He also wanted to listen.
Musa looked at the two of them and said—
"Forty years ago. The time was around nineteen eighty-five. The world was different then. And I was in a large country in Central Africa."
Saeed whispered, "Central Africa?"
Musa nodded. "Ikrak. Have you ever heard the name? It was a vast country in Central Africa. Almost the size of Iran. It no longer exists. Erased from the map. But it existed then. And in one corner of that country, hidden inside the desert, there was a small village—Bahaida."
A distant dream floated in his eyes. A faint smile touched his lips.
"Bahaida. The name itself brings green to the eyes. Imagine, all around vast desert, only sand and sand. And in the middle of it suddenly a piece of green. Date trees. Small houses. Livestock. People farm. Herd animals. They pass their days in peace. I was born in that village."
Saeed listened silently. Hussain too remained quiet.
"My father's name was Hadi. He was the head of the village. Everyone respected him. I was his fifth child? No, actually I had one elder brother, then four sisters. And I was the youngest. Yes, after one brother and four sisters, I. The most beloved."
Tears came to Musa's eyes.
"My elder brother's name was Karim. Then my sisters—Amina, Bilqis, Fatema, and the youngest Layla. Layla was two years younger than me. I loved her very much. She was my shadow."
Musa stopped. For a moment he remained silent. Then taking a deep breath he said, "Come, today I will take you to that morning. That morning when I was only a seven-year-old boy. Who knew nothing. Only knew love, peace, and a big family."
Ikrak, Bahaida Village
1985, Spring
Sleep broke with the touch of a tiny hand like a pearl.
Musa opened his eyes and saw—his little sister Layla pinching his cheek. Layla was five years old. Her face glowing. Mischief sparkling in her eyes.
"Wake up! Wake up! Won't you go see the baby donkey today?"
Rubbing his eyes Musa said, "What baby donkey? Your doll's donkey?"
Layla puffed her lips. "No no! A real baby donkey! Auntie's donkey gave birth. Mother said to go in the morning. But if you don't wake up, I will go alone!"
Musa jumped out of bed. "I'm coming! I'm coming! But first we have to eat."
In the courtyard the sun had risen. Golden light fell on the mud walls. In one corner of the yard Mother Zaynab sat. In her hand a clay pot of milk warming. Dry wood burned in the fire. The smell of smoke, the smell of milk, and the fragrance of blooming babla flowers mixed into a strange sweetness.
Seeing Mother Zaynab, Musa ran and hugged her from behind. "Mother, shall we go to Auntie's house?"
Mother smiled. Her smile was as bright as the morning of Bahaida. "Yes, yes. First fill your stomach. Then go. Take Layla with you. Your elder brother and sisters will not go. They have work."
Musa made a small face. "I will work too? I have grown up!"
Grandmother Fatema called from the door. Her voice full of affection. "You have grown up? Then why don't you wake up so early? Hey unmarried one, go eat first."
Musa ran to his grandmother. She stroked his head. That touch he still remembers—warm, loving, safe.
Elder sister Amina was sweeping the courtyard. She was fourteen then. Seeing Musa she widened her eyes. "Still not awake? I have been working since dawn."
Musa stuck out his tongue. "You are big. I still have holiday."
Another sister Bilqis sat beside the yard milking a goat. She was twelve. She laughed. "Musa, you only want to play all day."
Musa looked at her. "You come play too."
Bilqis smiled. "I have work. Go, go."
At that time elder brother Karim sat in one corner of the yard drinking tea. He was twenty. On his lap sat little sister Fatema. She was eight. Seeing Musa she waved. "Musa! Musa!"
Musa ran and pinched her cheek. "What?"
Fatema laughed. "You're going to Auntie's house with Layla? Take me too."
Musa shook his head. "You are big. You have work. We small ones will go."
Everyone laughed.
Just then Father Hadi returned from the field. Wearing a white robe. Turban on his head. Smell of soil on his body. He had gone to the field at dawn. Seeing him, Musa ran. Father lifted him in his arms.
"So my son? What is today's plan?"
Musa touched his father's cheek. "Going to Auntie's house. Seeing the baby donkey. Then going fishing with elder brother."
Father laughed. In his laughter the whole day's tiredness vanished. "Very busy day. But eat first."
Breakfast happened sitting in the courtyard. All together. Mother Zaynab made bread. With butter, honey, and warm milk. Elder sister Amina served. Grandmother Fatema watched everyone. Father Hadi stroked Musa's head from time to time.
Layla and Musa finished quickly. Then brushed their teeth with a wooden stick. Went to the riverbank to wash their faces. Came back and Mother dressed them in clean clothes.
Mother said, "Listen, don't create trouble at Auntie's house. Take care of Layla. Return before afternoon."
Musa nodded. "Alright, Mother. I have grown up."
Layla whispered, "I have grown up too."
Everyone laughed.
Then began the walk of that morning. Hand in hand the two siblings. Date trees on both sides of the road. Bird calls. The line of the desert far away. But the village was full of green.
Layla suddenly stopped. "Musa brother, do you know how cute baby donkeys are?"
Musa laughed. "Yes, I know. But not more cute than you."
Layla jumped in happiness. "Really? Am I cute?"
Musa pinched her nose. "You are my cute sister. Come, hurry. Otherwise the sun will lean down."
On the way they met an old man. Bent, sitting under a tree. Musa went near. "Grandfather, how are you?"
The old man smiled. "I am well, child. Where are you going?"
"To Auntie's house. To see the baby donkey."
The old man said, "Oh yes. Heard last night. Very beautiful baby. Go, see well. Then come tell me how it was."
Musa nodded and walked on. In his mind only the picture of the baby donkey. Small soft animal. Big eyes. How does it sound when it calls?
The sky was blue. No clouds. Sunlight touching the body. But cool under tree shade. Village houses made of mud. Hand-drawn patterns on walls. Chickens in courtyards. Dogs barking sometimes.
That morning. That village. That road. Musa remembers—how beautiful everything was. How peaceful. How safe.
He did not know then, this morning was the last good morning. The darkness that would descend after would defeat even the darkness of this desert.
Musa stopped. While telling the story he seemed to return to that village again. His eyes became wet.
Saeed listened silently. Hussain too. Zakia stopped playing and looked at Musa. Maybe she understood nothing. But compassion shone in her little eyes.
Musa stroked her head. Then looked toward the door and called, "Hussain!"
Hussain came forward. "Commander?"
"Call a doctor for Zakia. Arrange her treatment. As quickly as possible."
Hussain nodded. "As you command, Commander. Arranging now."
He was about to leave. But Musa stopped him. "Wait. You were listening too. Won't you say something?"
Hussain turned back. "Commander, I have only listened. I have nothing to say."
Musa looked outside. Stars had appeared in Yada's sky. Slowly he said, "Saeed asked, what happened next?"
Saeed said, "Yes. What happened next?"
Musa took a deep breath. In his eyes there was the fatigue of a thousand years. "That story I will tell tomorrow."
"Tomorrow morning?" Saeed asked.
Musa turned. A strange smile on his face. "Morning? Do you know, Saeed, after that morning I never saw another morning. The next day's morning… it never came for me."
Saeed and Hussain looked at each other. What does he mean?
Musa kept looking outside. The mountains of Yada were silent. In his eyes still floated that morning of Bahaida—where everything had begun. But the next day's morning? Why did it never come? What happened that night?
Musa said nothing. He remained silent.
A deep silence fell in the room. No one asked questions. They only waited—for the next chapter.