That Man Arrived
By: Nazli Farokhi
Wednesday 14 May 2008
Translated by: Golriz Farshi
Once again, legal inequalities and the petition of the Campaign posed as an excuse to listen to a friend’s laments. She told me of that which has been stolen from her by force.
She told me of her loneliness and insecurities, of how she is now alone.
And her days were filled with thinking of that which was once hers. But this ownership was not recognized. For days, while she felt surrounded by loneliness and frailty, her hands that now seemed so empty, were building.
My friend told me of her fears and encounters and the law. She often had to defend herself from the laws that never protected her. But the self was looted so atrociously it had no energy to defend. No energy to imagine the day when the accusing finger is pointing at her again. The more she sought and read, the fewer rights she found for herself. Especially since she had gone with her own free will and now had no right to complain.
She shared her grave loneliness with me and told me of a sorrow that was heavier than her shoulders could bear. She told me of a body that she felt no longer to be hers.
Her tears and distress of loneliness took me back to the grief I experienced many years ago.
This piece is a compilation of her, me and loneliness.
That Man Arrived…
And I was left with tears that had dried up before they were shed and a scream that was trapped in my throat. Like all my nightmares. And his rough hands that appeared larger than everything to me. As if he could hold my chest and my voice in his fist and take my voice from me.
And my body—the temple of my soul in my solitudes of pleasure and security—he arrived and took my body from me. Took it and carried it away—this, my only possession. The only property that I knew belonged to me and me alone. “This is mine,” I had screamed to myself many years ago. For him to come now and take what is “mine” and carry it away. And I am left without a body. With two empty holes in place of my breasts that always reminded me of security and my moments of pleasure and delight.
I want them to be gone, to disappear, never to remind me of my insecure, violent and pillaging moments again. Times when the scream was trapped in the throat and the tears dried up in the eyes.
I must return. I must return to find my feelings, regain my scream and anger and take back my body which was left behind. Fill my empty breasts once again. Once more, scream my ownership and make everyone understand, no one has the right to invade my body, even if my feet were guiding me to it. Make the people, my family, the law and everyone understand.
It is a difficult war and I am the only warrior, alone with thousands of enemies.