Mahboob, Short Story

The city seemed deserted. It was only nine o'clock at night, but as always, people had to stay in. War had changed everything in Kabul.  The suffering and insecurity of the city were reflected in its people. Everyone was always vigilant, living in fear, and selfishly they cared only about themselves and their families. 

On this cloudy and chilly night, the city was darker than ever. Mahboob walked swiftly in the small and muddy street without fear.Even though the city was considerably secured by American soldiers, a feeling of uncertainty gripped its inhabitants. 

With all the problems and harsh realities that consumed Mahboob, he knew the destructive force of desperation had broken his real nature, and that made him miserable. And as much as he believed that his parents did not purposely fail him and his two brothers, now at age sixteen he was keen to survive by putting his needs aside. For months, he convinced himself that ordinary people must do astonishing things to survive. He had to do something to support his broken family.

As much as he was aware of the dangers of this life, he was confident in how to deal with risks and danger in this war-strike environment. He had to empower his will by taking chances and breaking any boundaries to escape such shallow hopelessness.

Four years ago, his father—a man of conviction and hard work—was injured in a bombing incident in northern Kabul.
The event not only deformed his father's face, but it also took his ability to think and remember anything clearly. And even though his father never demanded anything from his wife, a woman in her late thirties who had suffered severe migraines for years, now he was indefensible. His inability to function on his own turned him into a bitter, angry man.

By thinking about good days when his father was healthy, Mahboob gained more courage to move forward with his plan without regret. His mind drifted to his layers of good memories as a child, recalling the happy times when he helped his father at the small shop, spending hours with his dad, feeling grown up and cherished. 

His father, a man of taste and literature, always carried a selection of poetry by Hafez. Through his passionate reading, he introduced his son to the height of art.

Mahboob’s father was a good man, honest and kind. But as people's appearance can change during the years of enduring hardship and illness, their inside can transform, too. And now his father had changed as well.

Mahboob made a promise to himself that he would get his brothers away from home, a place that was poisoned by misery and poverty. And as he experienced his pain and bitterness, he knew he had to grow stronger and become an active risk taker to make a change in his family’s life.

And now, in the midst of a cloudy night that on which he was going to meet his thirty-five-year-old cousin, an opium drug dealer in Nimruz Province, Mahboob was terrified and uneasy. If his parents found out about this meeting, they would be outraged. But he’d rather take his chances and put a stop to this terrible ordeal of suffering once and for all.

Mahboob also knew that courage and goodness should be rewarded somehow. In the end, his parents would understand that their son's action was within the bounds of priority and goodness. With all that in mind, his uneasiness subsided, and he continued to walk swiftly in faith, trusting that he was doing the right thing.

Since he practically lost his father to the bombing in Kabul four years ago, those had been the worst years of his life.
With both parents suffering from ongoing pain, with no money and healthcare system available in a society that breathed and produced misery, and with no hope to look after their needs, the strong-willed yet sensitive young man was forced to jeopardise his safety by turning to such a degree.

Mahboob was confident that pain and poverty could drive some people to the edge of madness. He knew that sometimes, people tend to forget what's more important to them.

As he was diligent and honest, Mahboob had to sacrifice his soul to gain some hope and freedom. But he had no idea how to manage such an incredible transformation.
How could he make a plan or even think about such life changes—to leave school and to care for his ill parents and two small brothers? The idea made him shudder with horror.

He was going forth when suddenly thunder struck, and rain began to fall.

Mahbob started to run. He found a shelter. At the corner of the street was a general store with a dim light. Without hesitance, he pushed the door open. The store was ghostly, abandoned and mysteriously quiet.

He could not see anything, but he could hear someone's slow breathing.  He said: “Is anyone here? I am sorry I just barged in like this. I saw the light on.  I'll leave as soon as the storm passes through.”

There was no any sound except the painful moaning of a woman. He froze, fearful. He couldn’t imagine what was going on here. He decided to leave. But the rattling whisper got louder, and he knew he had to help. He was drained emotionally, but his mind suddenly became sharp and alert. Carefully he got closer to the sound, and started again: “Who is there? Ma’am, where is your husband? Can you speak?”  No more sound came.

He inched toward the noise. A small lamp on the table dimly lighted the store. The sound was coming beyond a curtain in the back corner. 

Mahboob hurriedly took the oil lamp and pulled back the curtain, revealing a tiny storage room. The room was full of products and fabrics hanging on two sides, with a few yard tools in the corner.   He saw the body of a woman lying next to a large bag of rice. A long dark green dress and black head cover veiled the woman, whose head was bent to her chest. She was motionless but still alive.

Mahboob put the lamp down and carefully touched the woman's shoulder. “I will help you. Do not be afraid! Are you injured? Did you fall? Where is your husband?” Mahboob was overwhelmed, but he thought, I will not give in to panic. I have to be gentle and careful. After a short pause, the woman slowly lifted her head toward Mahboob and he saw a kind face that showed her wounded soul. Sluggishly, she began to talk: “My neck and head are injured. My husband hit my head with his shoes several times, and then he tried to choke me. I believe he got scared and ran away.”He gasped. “It's all right! Do not talk anymore. Let me pick you up from the floor.”

“No, please, don't! Just leave the lamp with me, and you can go. I do not want my husband to see you here. He might return any minute. If he does see you here, it will make everything worse.” Even though she looked scared, she had a kindness in her shaky voice. She looked at Mahboob with soft pleading eyes and continued: “You know this incident is against my husband's good character. He is a good man, but since he is using street drugs for coping with the stress, he gets out of control. And some days, not having enough customers boils his anger.  Now, please leave and do not tell anyone about this. You know how society is—everyone is tempted to brag and gossip about someone else's problems. And if we lose our honor, we might lose everything we have achieved.” Mahboob was far too unimpressionable to defend such a man that takes his stress out on a woman, but he knew it was hardly the time and place to argue. The woman seemed to care for her husband, despite what he had done to her. Very gently, Mahboob said to her: “Do not worry about nonsense. I will never tell anyone. I will stay here until the storm has calmed, then I'll take you home.” The woman did not say anything and just kept looking at the floor. Her tears ran down her youthful face. Suddenly Mahboob knew this was terribly wrong. The whole picture, the ordeal of the circumstance—everything was completely wrong. In his mind, a woman should never be in this condition. A man should never hurt his wife. And a man should never seek refuge in drugs and violence. A fresh wave of hope—one without fear—decisively surged through his heart. And now he was in a rage that life can bring anyone to this level of uncertainty and risk.

He knew that his path has been decided for him. He was sure that he would never stoop so low to deal with drugs. And he would never feel proud and triumphant for hurting others for money. Mahboob knew that he could not close his eyes to such a reality. He tried to conceal his inner thoughts from the injured woman, who was clearly a victim of her husband’s violence. He grew embarrassed when he realized the woman had drifted off into sleep. Mahboob looked down on her with kindness and felt an extraordinary relief that this day was finally over.

Shahla Latifi

May 19th, 2017

Painting: Imān Maleki (born 1976), an Iranian Realist painter