Translated with the permission of the author from the Persian blog

I don’t know how many people in the subway know of the affair. You can’t tell from their eyes. You can’t tell from their clothes their wrists their talk. We are holding on to the bars so we don’t fall over. before, when the doors opened, we ran in the trains so we could get chairs. those who didn’t want to run were ran into the trains. Most of the crowd got off at Abassabad and Mosalla- they wanted to go visit the book fair. The train becomes quiet. A tempting quiet. I start imagining myself, standing in the middle of the train and suddenly talking out loud. Saying “Please listen to me for a moment”. I looked around in fright, looking at the faces, trying to see if I could tell anything from them. I couldn’t.

They first think I am peddler. They look at my hands, which are empty. I am carrying a backpack. I say: do you know what happened yesterday? Did you hear? I start reading the letter of the teacher. I show them his photo, beside his students. the photo is passed from hand to hand, and everyone is struggling to have a look. I read the letter from Shirin. I tell them: we can’t read this in the newspapers, we can’t see it on television. Somebody like me must tell you of the pepole who were here yesterday and are no longer here today.

Everybody must be somebody. Somebody must tell the stories of these people. It doesn’t matter if they don’t tell it with a loud voice. they can just sit in a corner and tell it to two or three others. And those can tell it to two or three more. People are staring at me, bewildered. Some have tears pouring down their faces. Some will tell this to their wives and husbands and children, later this evening. people ask me questions. But why? But I am not there to answer. I have vanished. They start to talk amongst each other.  The talk continues, from this line of chairs to the next, from this wagon to the next. Soon, all the poeple in the subway train  from Gheitarieh are talking of Farzad, Shirin, Mehdi, Farhad and Ali.

Yes. This is my duty and the only thing I can do.


  1. FoXy

    And how brave this person is to imagine all this!!!

  2. thenewcomer

    Well, perhaps even imagining is an act of bravery is some circumstances- at least a lot braver than going under your blanket and pretending nothing is happening (though I admit, I am doing the same, only my blanket is called Canada)

  3. FoXy

    Well, under my blanket I don’t encourage other ppl to be BRAVE n complian that they’re not.

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