animosity towards mullahs were the common denominators among the escapees. At that moment, despite their overwhelming anxieties, they unknowingly became a group, on their way to a much dreamed of places – splendid countries, that could offer them safety and freedom – a world that could let them start their lives again with some degree of certainty.
The blonde woman removed her green scarf also. Her long naturally golden hair glittered in the bright midday sun and tendrils of it danced above her manicured eyebrows. “It's been more than a year since my hair has seen the sun,” she said with a noticeable and cute foreign accent, talking to herself, but almost everyone heard her words. Rayan was walking close to her and commented, “Those self-appointed opportunist authorities think a woman's hair radiates an invisible ray that excites men.”
“That’s stupid! Oh, the hell with those backward wrecks! They're full of shit up to their eyebrows and under their turbans!” Fatemeh said with the flash of a smile. “I will bet you anything that those bastards would give their right arms to kiss the golden hair of that girl,” pointing at the blonde woman. Looking at her, a smile still lingering on her face, she then added, “I bet you want them to drop dead before you let them touch that beautiful hair of yours. Is that right, honey?”
The blonde woman smiled widely in response and replied, “You’re absolutely right!”
“Those buffoons can come and kiss my koon [ass]. Can you believe it? Those monkeys believe that a woman’s hair, skin, and even her voice is sexually ... what is the word they use, honey?” she turned and asked the blonde woman.
“Provocative,” the blonde woman replied, laughingly.
“Yes. They say it’s sexually provocative. We must cover ourselves and not be heard in public. Provocative? My butt! I say, if men don’t like to look at my hair, skin, and don’t want to hear my voice, they can close their goddamn eyes and plug their ears.” Fatemeh released a small dose of her accumulated frustration and the sounds of their laughter became several decibels louder.
“No one knows why those holy men dedicated to God’s work are so much against anything beautiful,” Javad commented.
The other women, including the blonde woman's daughter, removed their scarves with quick moves of their hands. The short nervous old man, who was walking behind Fatemeh turned to her and asked, “You're Zee-Zee, the famous singer, aren't you?” The question turned everyone's attention to her. Referring to his past generosity, he boasted, “I used to throw thousand-Toman bills on the stages where you performed.”
With blood rushing to her face, Fatemeh turned quickly and responded with bitterness, “I used to be Zee-Zee. I hate that name now. Call me Fatemeh!” There was an underlying anger in her voice. “Hey you, mister, you wanna know something? The money you used to throw on the stages where I performed, I always tipped the stage boys with it!”
“I didn’t mean any harm! You ...” the short nervous old man registered his disapproval of Fatemeh’s remarks, but Fatemeh did not let him continue. “You see ... I didn't give a damn for you or your money then, and the same goes for now. Do you hear me, mister?”
Fatemeh’s harsh, cold and furious words struck the man unexpectedly. He froze and remained silent for a moment, then summoned his courage and responded, “Yes I do. But I was just gonna say that you look fantastic ... that's all!”
She gave him a sidelong glance while trying to control her rage, and said, “Come on, man! You can do better than that!”
“What do you mean?” the man asked, confused.
“Look. You're as full of shit now as you were then!” she answered coldly.
Apparently, the man didn’t find enough courage in himself to summon a response to Fatemeh’s last harsh remark and instead lowered his head and kept up the pace.
Akbar soon reached the hilltop. He waited until everybody caught up with him and then without uttering a word, disappointing the tired ones, whose faces were drenched in sweat, he started the descent to the other side. Inhaling the smell of the earth on the cool April breeze, he led them, heading down towards the valley below where a thick long line of medium-tall willows and aspens were protecting a riverbank. From a distance, with their branches bent, the willows appeared to be trying to quench their thirst in the river. And the shining aspens, without bending their bodies, were cooling their feet by washing them in the river’s crystal clear water. The breeze spread spring’s smells over the highs and lows of the land. The lecherous sun was shamelessly kissing the trees’ leaves and their branches. The river curved through the lowland, like a long snake, extending to the far horizon. The earth glowed in the sun.
It took them more than forty-five minutes of downward walking that was hard on their knees to reach the river. Once there, the vastness of the green valley, spectacularly stretching to distant mountains, where the fast flow of the river had carved a large opening into the seemingly impenetrable boulders, was spread out in front of them. The different shades of green in the valley met the sky’s turquoise blue at the horizon that gradually turned into a deep sea-blue higher above. There were small scattered, twisted, snow-white clouds plastered motionless on the sky. The world was as still and shining, as if it had been freshly painted. The province of Kurdistan was at its glorious best. But it appeared that no one had the spirit or the energy to notice, to take in and enjoy all that beauty the earth and the heavens were generously offering.
“Let's sit here, for just a short break,” Akbar said. “I gotta tell you a few things.”
With most of them by now tired and dragging their tired bodies, everyone gathered around him and sat near the water. “My name is Akbar ... Akbar Jafary. I am a Kurd. The going is gonna get very tough from here on. If we don't see any soldiers, guards or Komoleh’s fighters, we've got about six more hours of walking. If we find soldiers along the way, then we gotta travel only at night and lie low during the day. If not, we will camp at night and tomorrow someone else will take you to the next stop. There are two more days of walking to reach the border. ... Now eat and drink. We gotta cover as much ground as we can. Oh, don’t forget to take as much water as you can carry.”
He talked as if he were reading from notes, emotionless, for he spoke his mind clearly. He then took off his backpack and automatic and placed them against the trunk of a tree. He drank from the river with his hands, filled his canteen with fresh water, and sat against the tree trunk chewing on some dry meat. Everyone drank, chewed some snacks and sat back to rest.
Feeling guardedly comfortable with each other and their surroundings, they began to introduce themselves to one another but took care to reveal as little information about themselves as possible. Rayan was the first one who seized the opportunity to go around and introduce himself to everyone. The young man with the tense and resolute face and the young slender woman he traveled with introduced themselves as Rasol and Jaleh and explained they were husband and wife. The beautiful blonde with the cute foreign accent was Maryam. Her son, Jamshid, and daughter, Zohreh, blushed and waved their hands timidly when introduced to the others by their mother. Javad also introduced himself to those who were interested in meeting him. Rayan then introduced his wife, Pary, to everyone. The short man with gauze wrapped around his wounded head did not show any interest in meeting the others and kept himself occupied nursing his wounds. But in the course of that conversation he had unwillingly introduced Fatemeh to the others.
A westerly breeze has accompanied the mid-April warmth from the mountainside, making the shade of the trees very pleasant. The women had shed more of their heavy clothes, and everyone’s mood was slowly changing. They were more talkative and sociable and appeared to be in better spirits than earlier in the morning. Perhaps breathing the fresh air of freedom blowing from beyond
