Atiq Rahimi - A Thousand Rooms of Dream and Fear

ALSO BY ATIQ RAHIMI

EARTH AND ASHES

THE PATIENCE STONE

Other Press edition 2011

Copyright 2002 P.O.L. diteur
First published in Dari (Afghanistan) under the title Hazr khnah-i khvb va ikhtinq

Translation copyright 2006 Sarah Maguire and Yama Yari
First published by Chatto & Windus in Great Britain in 2006

The publisher is grateful to the Arts Council England for a grant toward the translation of this book.

Production Editor: Yvonne E. Crdenas

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from Other Press LLC, except in the case of brief quotations in reviews for inclusion in a magazine, newspaper, or broadcast. For information write to Other Press LLC, 2 Park Avenue, 24th Floor, New York, NY 10016. Or visit our Web site: www.otherpress.com

The Library of Congress has cataloged the printed edition as follows:

Rahimi, Atiq.
[Hazr khnah-i khvb va ikhtinq. English]
A thousand rooms of dream and fear / Atiq Rahimi; translated from Dari by Sarah Maguire and Yama Yari.
p. cm.
eISBN: 978-1-59051-362-0
I. Maguire, Sarah, 1957- II. Yari, Yama, 1980- III. Title.
PK6878.9.R34H3913 2011
891.543dc22

2010038973

PUBLISHERS NOTE:
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

v3.1

To my mother and her abandoned dreams

Unless sleep is less restless than wakefulness, do not rest!

SHAMS-E TABRIZI

Father?

Fuck your father!

Have I got my eyes shut or is it dark? I cant tell. Maybe its night and Im dreaming. But then why would I be thinking like this?

No, I am awake, but my eyes are closed. Im sure Ive been asleep. I remember having a dream where a child cried out, Father.

What child? Ive got no idea. I didnt recognize his voice. Maybe it was me when I was a child, looking for my father.

Father!

The same voice! So it wasnt a dream. The voice seems to be coming from somewhere above my head. I must open my eyes.

Who are you?

Trying to speak is absolute agony. A violent pain shoots right through my temples. Darkness descends. Then total silence.

What has happened to that child? His voice is shaking with fear, and his breath is foul. Its as though hes calling to me from a cesspit or from the bottom of a dried-up well.

Father!

It sounds like hes fallen down a well and hes trying to get his father to save him But what well? Arent I at home? I must be at home. Im home in bed, asleep. Im asleep and Im thirsty, so Ive had this dream about a dried-up well.

Father?

But no, that voice isnt coming from the bottom of a well. I cant possibly be dreaming. That voice is coming from directly above my head.

I can actually feel it. I can feel its vibrations. I can feel the hot, anxious breath spilling its words on my frozen skin.

But why cant I see him?

Father!

Be quiet! Go inside!

And now whose is that other voice? Is it my mother?

Mother!

My own voice chokes in my throat. I am still in a dream. Not a dream, a nightmare. A nightmare where you scream but cant make a sound. A nightmare where you think youre awake but youre unable to open your eyes or move a muscle. Where youre completely paralyzed.

My grandfather used to say that, according to Da Mullah Saed Mustafa, when youre asleep your soul leaves your body and wanders around. And if you wake up before your soul has come back to your body, you get trapped in a terrible nightmare where youre paralyzed and totally powerless. Struck dumb. Petrified, abandoned. And you stay like that till your soul returns. My grandfather used to say that my grandmother had a heart attack because she tried to get up before her soul returned to her body.

I mustnt get up! I have to stay here in bed till my soul comes back. I mustnt open my eyes. I mustnt allow myself to think about anything other than this. The only thing youre supposed to do in bed is say your prayers. Its forbidden to think about anything else. In bed, Satan can take over your thoughts. Thats what Da Mullah Saed Mustafa told grandfather, and grandfather told me. I will stop thinking. Ill do nothing but say the Kalima till my soul comes back home. In the Name of Allah

Ive collapsed. Ive been kicked into a ditch by two jackbooted men.

Theyve cursed and sworn at me.

Fuck your father!

Before falling asleep, I must cross my arms over my heart and recite one of the ninety-nine names of God one hundred and one times. Al-Baith, one. Al-Baith, two. Al-Baith, three My grandfather used to say that Da Mullah Saed Mustafa told him that by reciting the ninety-nine names you can tame all the creatures in a nightmare. Al-Baith, four. Al-Baith, five. Al-Baith, six

I can smell stale shit and fresh blood.

Father!

But how can I possibly be having a nightmare? That childs voice is as real as the stench of shit and blood.

Who are you?

But the words die in my throat. Im too weak to think straight. I must open my eyes but I cant see a thing.

Darkness nothing but darkness.

No, I cant be asleep. Ive been taken over by the forces of darkness. The djinn have come, they are squatting on my chest. My grandfather used to say that, according to Da Mullah Saed Mustafawho was more important than ten Mullahs put togetherthe djinn live in those rooms that dont have a Koran. And when youre asleep at night and your soul has gone wandering about, they come and take over your body. They sit on your chest. They pin down your arms. They blindfold your eyes. They gag your mouth. Then they insult you and curse your family. But you must ignore them completely. Otherwise theyll have got you forever. Your only hope is to say your prayers. Call out the name of God! If you dont pray, the djinn will stay squatting on your chest, and your soul will never come back.

Brother!

Thats not my mother. Its my sister, Parwaneh.

Parwaneh, my love, is that you? Parwaneh, little sister, please get these djinn off my chest! Parwaneh, can you hear me?

No, she cant hear me. The djinn have imprisoned my voice in my chest.

If only she could see them!

But how could Parwaneh see the djinn? Shes not important enough. My grandfather used to say that only Da Mullah Saed Mustafa could see the djinn. He was so powerful hed even cast a spell on them and they were at his command. The djinn were his informers. Everyone had to speak well of him, even behind his back, otherwise the djinn Maybe these really are Da Mullah Saed Mustafas djinn. The djinn my grandfather said were watching us all the time at home, so wed get found out if we were naughty. But I used to curse the djinn. At night, when I was outdoors with my cousins, we used to find a big tree in a corner of an abandoned orchard behind a ruined wall, and we used to piss there, hoping we had pissed on Da Mullah Saed Mustafas djinn. Tonight those djinn have come back to piss on my chest.