The Septembers of Shiraz Read Online Free PDF Page B

momentum. Isaac swilled his arrack. He was grateful to the drink, revered it now more than anything or anyone. He even felt a sudden pang of affection for his drunk father, perhaps for the first time in his life.
    He left the coffeehouse with them, American army hat on his head, and along the moonlit streets of Abadan he sang Frank Sinatra’s “Shake Down the Stars,” which he had recently added to his record collection. When the lyrics escaped him he simulated the sinuous sound of a trumpet, and the girl sang along, her mellow voice curving against the walls of sleepy homes and reverberating in the dark.
    They reached the villa-turned-military-station and thesoldiers playfully bade him farewell. The girl looked at him with glassy green eyes. “Stay with me,” she said. Isaac was speechless. How was it possible that the girl with the coral-red hair, transplanted at this time to this place thanks to some maniacal despot in Europe, wished to be with him, a lanky boy from Khorramshahr? And what right did she have to be so indiscreet, so chancy, so resolute in her request? “Stay with me,” she repeated. Isaac sensed the lightness in his head weighing him down—his limbs, his eyes, most of all his eyes—as though bits of lead were swimming in his blood. He felt an overwhelming desire to sleep.
    The memory tickles him now, as though the event had occurred only recently. His headache persists, a steady pounding that refuses to let go of his temples. He ignores it as best he can.
    â€œGet up!” the American girl had said. “You have to leave!” He saw her frantically rummaging through the sheets, producing from the comforter’s folds articles of clothing—his trousers, his white shirt now creased and damp, one sock, and his underwear, the sight of which paralyzed him, leaving him lying flat on his back, watching pieces of himself brought together by a stranger’s hands. She threw the shirt in his direction.
    â€œYou have to go!” she repeated. “It will be daylight soon.”
    He despised himself at that moment as much as he had marveled at his charms just a few hours earlier. The event he had fantasized about since the onset of puberty had come and gone. He sat up, slid one arm into the shirt’s sleeve, then the other. The moist cotton stuck to his back. The smell ofhis own sweat, blended with her pungent perfume, wafted to his nose. He watched her now as she sat on the edge of the bed, her bare back facing him. When she reached for a carton of cigarettes on the night table, he caught a glimpse of her breasts, as though for the first time. He held the swelling between his legs like a prisoner, wished he could release it.
    â€œI’m sorry,” he said. “I am new…at this. But I can do better, I promise.” He felt ridiculous.
    She pulled the sheet up with her free hand to cover herself and turned to him.
    â€œOh, baby,” she said, a cloud of smoke trailing her voice. “Nothing like that. You’re not supposed to be here, that’s all. You understand that, don’t you?”
    She explained that she was Lieutenant Holman’s secretary, that all day long she shuffled papers dealing with the railroad operation carrying supplies to Russia. He felt better suddenly, could breathe more easily despite the smoke in the room. Yes, he could understand that. Army policy. She was doing good, was helping the global force against the Reich, and he, by putting on his clothes as quickly as possible and vanishing from her quarters, would be doing his bit for the war effort too.
    As he dressed he wanted to ask if he could see her again. Instead he said, “How long will your unit be in town?”
    â€œWhat do you think, this is a circus act?” She laughed. Her voice sounded older to him now, more bitter. “I don’t know how long,” she said.
    He was all dressed except for the sock missing from his left foot.