I was 18. It was the summer I broke up with my first love, and it was a summer that a lot of things happened. Things that became stories I will always carry with me.
There were six of us if you count the German Shepherd, Darya (sea). Mani had called two days before, about a family house that was abandoned for a decade, near a village in Taleghan, north of Tehran. After a long court battle with the villagers their family had taken the house back, and he wanted to go for a visit. Did I want to join? Yes. So did Elham, and Pooya, and Kourosh, and of course, his Darya.
We drove for six hours and smoked many cigarettes and listened to many songs on repeat, from Archive to Mohsen Namjoo, and it was beautiful. When we got to the village it was after midnight, and the drivers (yes, I had the privilege of the passenger seat) were exhausted. We drove up on the village hills, through the narrow passages, slowly moving past the curious eyes of a few sleepless men, and finally, the car could go no further. We parked.
The way ahead was dark and the sky was hiding behind the trees. We jumped over a little river, holding a stick to pass on some of the heavier bags like how they do in movies.
It all felt like a movie.
Our adventurous laughs and comments were tainted with a silent anxiety as we ploughed through the branches and marched ahead. Finally, there it was, like a haunted house, sitting sooty and lonely on top of a hill. We’d been going through the garden; that wild, unkempt, savage thing. The building was more ruined than we expected – I had counted on running water and I didn’t have a sleeping bag. But there were enough cigarettes, and food, and everything else a handful of girls and boys might need. And mushrooms, edible mushrooms.
We went up the stairs and on to the porch that was covered with shattered glass. Someone had really hated the house, for they had punctured the walls and ripped out the wires, smashed the windows, and locked the entrance gate with a chain. The chain? What was with the chain? Mani tried calling his dad but there was barely any reception. He tried using his key but it wasn’t working. As our confused, panicked conversations went on, we heard another pair of voices. And no, we were not nearly high enough to hallucinate anything like that. So we went quiet.
“Hello?” Mani said. “Who’s up there?”
The sound was coming from the second floor.There was someone walking around. Unmistakably, someone or some people were inside.
After a few seconds, there came a response, “Who’s there?” the voice demanded. “This is my house!” Mani replied.
We were scared. It wasn’t funny anymore, we didn’t have anything to protect ourselves with: no guns, no pepper spray. But hey, there were three guys and a German Shepherd, so it was okay, mom.
Pouya stayed with Elham and I, while Mani, Kourosh and Darya went around the porch to find the man and talk to him.
There were murmurs, Pouya joined them, we stayed away. The guys came back with a smile on their faces.
“So?”
“It’s nothing. They’re two Afghans. . . they have ran away and are just staying here.”
“Okay. . .right! And so, are we going back to Tehran?”
“No. . . I don’t want to kick them out in the middle of the night. They thought we’re the police. Told them we’ll sleep outside tonight and they can leave in the morning. Or we do.”
This was 2006, by the way, and Osama Bin Laden was still on the run. And somehow my childhood best friend’s brimming affection for two refugees inhabiting a deserted house while we slept outside, us being a bunch of “rich Tehranis” whose lives and/or wallets could get these guys going for a while, was not appealing to me.
But somehow, it made sense.
We made a fire and cleared the glass, roasted some mushrooms and opened bags of chips and played music. Elham and I were determined not to fall asleep, but the oxygen, the warmth of the fire mixing with summer scents and the incredible depth of the sky speckled with stars: it was all a lullaby.
When we woke up at the crack of dawn, all bunched in and around each other, my head on Elham’s lap, someone’s head on someone else’s, there was fresh yogurt and bread from the village waiting for us. Our Afghan friends had brought them before leaving. (Where did they go? Where are they now?)
From that altitude, the dam was crystal clear and the steep way ahead begging to be discovered. We stayed for three beautiful days.
It will stay with me forever.