Dardedel

by Manoucher Parvin

  Our freedom will be worth the price.”

  They laugh, then fall silent, then Mitra whispers:

  “My secure empty life is ended, I fear.

  Love has filled the emptiness and danger has deposed my security.

  But uncertainty is lurking everywhere for me,

  Since I know little about what is coming to me,

  And I know even less about you coming to me.

  Hafez Jaan, I think I know the poet I love

  More than the person I love!

  I want to know more about Hafez the man,

  More and more about the much that I don’t know.

  I don’t know where I’m going,

  But I want to know with whom I’m going!

  Can you keep your mind on the road awhile,

  While my mind reaches for your mind,

  With the wiggling fingers of my curiosity?”

  Hafez pats her knee, wanting to pat higher,

  But knowing now is not the time.

  “Yes, yes, Mitra Jaan, I can drive with or without my mind.

  I’ve been doing it since you stole my mind,

  Since the wind blew up your skirt,

  And created a tornado inside my mind,

  And your brains clobbered me like a hurricane,

  And your grace and your art tore over me like a tidal wave.

  Yes, I can drive without my mind—if you do not mind.

  So storm away, Mitra Jaan, storm away!”

  Mitra curls up on the seat and wraps her arms around his arm,

  “I am so happy today, Hafez, and I know you are happy,

  Yet you seem more somber than me, why?”

  Answers Hafez: “If Pirooz is right about what the national religion

  Can do to me for running off with you,

  Then indeed I should be somber—

  As somber as the time my home was sacked for my blasphemy,

  For that ancient day and this new day seem so much alike.

  Yes, I am happy at the moment—as happy as I could ever be.

  Now please, my Mitra Jaan, you speak your mind, too!”

  Mitra does: “In your first life, did you ever have a lover like me?”

  Hafez sighs: “Had I a lover like you, Mitra Jaan,

  Would I have been longing for your midnight arrival in my poem?

  You are my only true love, in two lives and one death,

  And one endless desert of dryness, cactuses and fixed stars.

  You are my dream of dreams coming true.”

  “But you were married—surely you loved your wife.”

  “It was a marriage arranged,” Hafez says.

  “And before I was married to my wife, I knew not my wife.

  And when I lived with my wife, I wished I never had a wife!”

  Mitra smiles and asks: “That is why you longed for me?”

  “Yes, Mitra Jaan, that is why I longed for you,

  And longed long for you and me together.”

  “Hafez Jaan, you have been alive and dead for a long time.

  What do you know of love?”

  He shrugs: “No one knows love, its origin, its how and why.

  If God is the origin of love, then He must be the origin of hate, too.

  I love the Creator and His creations—especially his creation of you!

  Your love frees me from longing, makes me feel belonging,

  To the heart of God and the heart of Man.

  Your love for me empowers me to create like a god,

  And to be a god, and change the world like a god.”

  Hafez takes a deep breath and adds:

  “Just hearing myself say these things tells me I’m no longer the old Hafez.

  Our love, it seems, is the mother of a new me!”

  Mitra is not satisfied by his answer: “All this god-talk, Hafez!

  I want to hear your thoughts on lust,

  On the kind of love you showed me last night.”

  Hafez grins like a gazelle in rut.

  “I confess that I’ve lusted for the pleasure of the skin, too.

  But skinly pleasure only, is self-love only.

  Still, when one hears a lover’s name,

  Or when the mind imagines or the eyes see

  A lover’s naked body in the moon’s naked light,

  The heart loses all interest in God’s steady beat,

  And palpitates like a fig tree full of monkeys,

  Proving—if proof is needed—the unity of the body and spirit.”

  Mitra touches Hafez where the driver of a car,

  Flying on a fast freeway, should not be touched.

  “How much do you lust for me, Hafez Jaan?”

  “More than all the lusters combined, Mitra Jaan.”

  Mitra squeezes her hand:

  “Then prove it, old poet! Prove it now!

  Stop for the night, before it is night.

  Aim your taxi for the next motel.”

  Hafez is astonished by her demand: “Mitra! What have I unlocked?

  I see now why Stravinsky’s monster kept his women in chains!”

  “Then we are not going to stop, Hafez Jaan?”

  “Did I say that? Of course we are going to stop!

  At the very next motel, as soon as you explain what a motel is!”

  She explains, and then says: “You are such a puzzle to me,

  A beautiful young man hiding a dirty old man,

  A man filled with so many questions and so much doubt,

  Who, nevertheless, is unquestionably devout.

  Tell me about your faith, Hafez Jaan.”

  He answers: “This poem of mine says it all:

  Do as you wish but do no harm.

  For, in my faith there is no other sin.”

  “But the books say you are a Muslim, Hafez.”

  “Yes, yes, I am a Muslim, but in name only,

  For I sin left, right and center,

  According to the list of sins the mullahs keep under their turbans.

  I drank wine and will drink wine.

  Just the other morning at breakfast I gobbled

  An entire package of sausages, making a horrible pig of myself.

  And now I make love to you, Mitra Jaan,

  Before I am married to you.

  I deny both free will and sin.

  Except the hurting sin, which is the only sin.

  I curse the clergy, the lowest and the highest.

  I pretend to believe in a faith

  Which is impossible to keep faith with.

  I rarely go to the mosque or Friday prayer.

  I don’t understand what is meant by repentance,

  I do not repent who I am!

  I want to turn Creation upside down,

  Change the order of things, even the human soul.

  For all my earthbound blasphemies, Mitra Jaan,

  When I died, God welcomed me without reprimanding me.

  He granted Rumi and me our wish to count the stars.

  Ah, Mitra-Mitra Jaan, I could confess to you mile after mile,

  Until the last pebble of Long Island, about my sins according to Islam.”

  Says Mitra: “But you know the Koran by heart.”

  Hafez corrects her: “That speaks for my memory only.

  I know a lot of things by heart fully—

  Look, Mitra! There is one of your motels!

  And look Mitra, my taxi is driving us there, all by itself,

  As if my hands were not on the wheel and my foot not on the gas.”

  They laugh as Hafez pretends the cab, against his will,

  Sweeps them off the highway and into the parking lot.

  “Today our Mecca is this motel it seems,” he says.

  “Tomorrow our Mecca will be where

  Love is God, and truth is a prophet,

  And beauty and justice are the wings of all believers.”

  The night is another night to remember,

  So intoxicating and powerfu
l that their love

  Smiles the smile of the great Persian king Cyrus,

  Conqueror of Lydia and Babylon,

  Friend to many many faiths and nations.

  The previous night the lovers had lost their inhibitions.

  So tonight is the night to demystify and gratify their curiosity,

  To journey into the sparkling infinity, to turn dreams into reality.

  It is a night to verify all possibilities bestowed by evolution,

  All possibilities bestowed by imagination.

  It is a night for exploration and satisfaction,

  For two thirsty bodies to drink from each other,

  Until reaching the highest peak of joyful exhaustion,

  Until their spent flesh came to rest on airborne lilies,

  Until their spent souls drowned in a sacred intoxication,

  Until their breath was the purest desire,

  Until their heartbeats beat in unison with the heartbeat of nature.

  It is a night for two brilliant minds,

  And two brilliant bodies, resurrected and insurrected,

  To tangle unimaginably intense expressions and affections,

  In the most tender and creative ways.

  It is a night when the angels of love, driven mad with curiosity,

  Burst through the closed door to give their permission,

  And offer their suggestions,

  And to smile with great satisfaction, that

  Hafez and Mitra have journeyed beyond their expectations at last.

  It is a night for ascendancy, for the triumph of universal love,

  To make this spinning earth, if for only a moment,

  This insignificant corner of existence,

  The very spot where the Big Bang banged,

  Where life was born and is reborn unceasingly.

  In the morning they find a diner and eat waffles,

  Topped with blueberries and fresh cream.

  Whispers Mitra across the table: “Hafez Jaan, I think last night

  We made up for all the unrequited

  And unconsummated loves in history.”

  “And made a bit of history ourselves,” adds Hafez.

  And so they drive on,

  Ever east across Babylon and Islip and North Patchague,

  Ever east across Shinnecock Bay and Bridgehampton,

  Ever east across the flat sand and high grass,

  To Montauk Point and the endless Atlantic.

  Along the way they buy fresh bread and fruit,

  Cold Pepsi-Colas and soft French cheese.

  They find a spot on the beach to eat and sleep and remember.

  The sand is soft and yielding, the nodding grasses stand guard,

  The blue sky hugs them with warmth and zephyr.

  In the afternoon they see a man in a baggy windblown jacket,

  With a paintbox and canvasses,

  Winding through the starfish and driftwood towards them.

  With the most trusting eyes and sweetest smile, he inquires:

  “May I interrupt your great joy with the joy of remembrance?”

  Says Mitra: “We have precious little money to pay for a painting.”

  Answers the painter: “And I have precious little need for money,

  But I see you do have enough food for an army.

  Let me fill my belly and I will fill one of my canvases

  With a portrait of your love, which I promise you will love.”

  Mitra and Hafez agree to the terms,

  And the painter sits on the sand and readies his palette.

  He introduces himself as Bob Oyster,

  And helps himself to an apple, saying between big bites:

  “Seeing you together against the sky and the sea,

  Is the loveliest sight in sight—are the two of you married?”

  “No,” says Hafez, “But that is our plan.”

  Asks the painter: “An immediate plan or a long-range plan?”

  Hafez does not like the question:

  Is this stranger with trusting eyes and the sweetest smile

  Suggesting that their love is temporary and insincere?

  “Immediately as soon as we can manage,” he says sharply.

  “That is wonderful!” says the painter.

  “I just happen to be a man who marries people—

  When not looking for seashells or people to paint, that is.”

  “You are a minister?” asks Mitra eagerly.

  “Goodness no! Only a village clerk,” the painter says.

  “I also sell dog licenses and collect parking fines.”

  Hafez and Mitra study each other’s eyes, until their hearts talk.

  “Can you marry us now, Bob Oyster?” asks Hafez.

  “Certainly, as soon as the portrait is finished,” says the painter.

  “No,” says Mitra, “Marry us first.

  I want us to be husband and wife in paint as well as in life.”

  The painter’s trusting eyes and sweet smile turn to Hafez.

  “That is what you wish, too?”

  Says Hafez: “How could I possibly have another wish?”

  The painter reaches into his jacket and pulls out a bundle of forms.

  They sign where he says to sign, and on the bottom line

  He scribbles BOB OYSTER as if he were the John Hancock of God.

  “Now for the ceremony,” he says. Do you …”

  “Wait,” says Hafez.

  “Marry us while we are in the sea naked and clean,

  Free of all national religions, boundaries and laws.”

  The painter is flummoxed: “Naked? In the water?”

  They beg him and he reluctantly agrees.

  Hafez and Mitra join hands and wade into the water,

  And in just a few steps are up to their shoulders.

  They remove their clothes and toss them to the shore.

  “Make the ceremony as beautiful as our love,” Hafez demands.

  Promises the painter:

  “I will try to make it as beautiful as the two of you.”

  First he asks them to dunk, to come up as fresh children,

  A cleansing, a baptism, a new beginning,

  For two who have become one.

  Then he says: “By the authority of the creator of all things—

  Of the seas and skies, all lives and all lights,

  By the authority of the creator of love,

  And by the authority of love itself,

  I announce that the two of you have married the two of you,

  And now are not two but just one of you.”

  Hafez and Mitra hold their faces close,

  And gasp softly—as the very first creatures

  To crawl ashore surely must have gasped.

  The painter continues:

  “Now kiss one another, for all the universe to see,

  The proof of your love, your love of all loves.”

  Hafez and Mitra embrace and kiss.

  And kiss and kiss, and kiss and kiss.

  Their kiss sparkles across the applauding waves,

  Inviting the fish to dance and the seagulls to sing.

  “Even for Long Island that is a long kiss,” laughs the painter.

  The painter tosses them their clothes,

  And turns around so they can dress and wade ashore,

  Soaking wet but supremely happy.

  Then he joins them on the beach,

  And while the ocean foam teases his shoeless feet,

  He kisses their foreheads, wishing them a never-ending vasal.

  Hafez raises his brows: “Bob Oyster? You know this word vasal?

  This ancient word of unity and fruition?”

  The painter is surprised: “I thought everybody knew this word!”

  He retreats to his canvas, quickly getting busy with his brushes.

  “Let me capture you in a kiss,” he calls out.

  And so they kiss the longest of all Long Island kisses yet
,

  As the painter paints and paints.

  When the painting is finished, and most of the food gone,

  The painter summons them with his impatient arm.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  Mitra looks at the painting and cries.

  Hafez looks at the painting and smiles.

  The painter has not only captured their faces, but also their souls:

  Mitra’s young and perfect soul, his old and rebellious soul.

  Hafez bends and puts his lips to the painter’s ear,

  And whispers in the faintest of whispers:

  “Thank you, Mowlana, old friend.”

  The afternoon eases into evening, evening into night.

  The ocean resurrects the moon,

  And sends it ever higher into the ever darkening sky.

  To watch it, Hafez and Mitra must ever lift their chins higher.

  “We must find a motel soon,” Hafez says.

  Mitra, resting in his arms, on a sandy knoll,

  Teases him with an elbow-poke in the ribs.

  “A motel? We’ve been married not even one night

  And romance is leaving you the first night?

  I want to stay here tonight, to pretend just for one night,

  That this is the only night that ever existed,

  That you and I are the only lovers who ever existed,

  And this beach is the only love bed that ever existed.”

  “But the shore gets cold at night, Mitra Jaan,” worries Hafez.

  “We will freeze into the only ice cream cones that ever existed.”

  “Then we can camp out in the cab,” she says.

  “That back seat is big enough to hold our love, don’t you think?

  If we get cold, we can hold each other closer, like clawless cats.”

  “But Mitra, my wife! It isn’t safe! Hungry crabs the size of whales

  Might crawl from the sea and devour us in our yellow can.

  Clams the size of alligators might drill

  Right though the seat and pinch us to death!”

  Mitra laughs: “You are being silly, Hafez Jaan.”

  “Silly but not so silly, my wife,” he laughs back.

  “Spending the night here could be dangerous,

  And more than likely against the national religion.”

  Mitra is all the more persistent:

  “You run away with me and marry me,

  And suddenly you are worried about danger and me?

  Suddenly you are worried about laws?

  Hafez Jaan, I want to cuddle up with you in

  The backseat of your taxi tonight—and nothing will stop me,

  Not the big bad dogma, not alligators or gods.

  And don’t worry about the crabs and clams, my husband,

  Nothing could penetrate the skin of that cab.”