The Melancholy

By Abdul Hotakey

This book is dedicated to the loving memory of my brother, Babai, who went missing in action while serving in the Afghan National Army in 1990. We love you brother and we miss you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jan 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781481709224

Book preview

© 2013 by Abdul Hotakey. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/23/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4817-0921-7 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4817-0922-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013901158

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

About the Author

This book is dedicated to the loving memory of my brother, Babai, who went missing in action while serving in the Afghan National Army in 1990. We love you brother and we miss you.

Chapter One

It was a little before seven o’clock in the morning when Adam Khan, an Afghan army officer, woke up from a deep sleep. He yawned, stretched, and at last opened his eyes completely. For a couple of minutes, however, he lay in his bed without moving, like a man who is not yet quite sure if he is awake or still asleep, whether all that is going around him is real and actual, or a continuation of his confused dream. Very soon, however, Mr. Adam Khans senses began to receive their habitual senses, more clearly and more distinctly. The dirty green, smoked begrimed dusty walls of his little room, his chest of drawers made of reddish brown wood and imitation mahogany chairs, the table pained red, the square and without arms upholstered seat with the red flowers on it, and finally the clothes taken off in a hurry over night and flung in a crumpled heap on a sofa, all looked at him familiarly. At last the gray fall day, dull and dirty, peeped into the room through the dirty window with such a sour grimace that Mr. Adam Khan could not possibly doubt any longer that he was not in the no mans land but in the war torn capital city called Kabul, in his own home made of mud. Having made this important discovery, Mr. Adam Khan closed his eyes, as though regretting his dream and convulsively wanting to bring it back for a moment. But a minute latter he jumped out of bed at once seriously thinking about his scattered and wandering thoughts. From his bed he ran to a little square looking mirror that stood on the chest of drawers. Although the sleepy, week-sighted face, and rather bald head appearing in the mirror were of an insignificant character at first sight they would certainly not have attracted anyone’s particular attention, yet the owner of the face was completely satisfied with all that he saw in the mirror. what a thing it would have been, said Mr. Adam Khan in a subdued tone of voice. what a thing it would have been if I were not up to see this day, if things were all messed up, if some unauthorized ugly pimple had made it’s appearance, or anything else unpleasant had happened; so far, however, there is nothing wrong, so far all goes well.

Greatly delighted that all went well, Mr. Adam Khan, put the mirror back where it belonged, although he was barefoot and in the dress in which he used to go to bed, he ran to the window and with great interest began looking for something in his backyard, which the windows of his house fronted. Apparently what he was looking for in his backyard quite satisfied him too; his face beamed with self-satisfied smile. Then after the first peeping, he looked into Spangle’s room and made sure that he was not there. Spangle was an orphan whom Mr. Adam Khan had adopted as a child after his parents were killed when the Russians bombarded their village.

Mr. Adam khan then tiptoed to table, unlocked the drawer in it, and, with his hands moving awkwardly in the farthest corner of it, took an old wallet. He opened it cautiously, and with care and interest peeped into the remotest, secret fold of it. Probably a bundle of green notes, looked at Adam Khan too, friendly and approvingly: his eyes and looks were beaming with joy, and he laid the pocket book in front of him and rubbed his hands vigorously in great pleasure. Finally, he took it out-his comforting wad of notes-and, for the tenth time since the previous day, counted them over, carefully rubbing every note between his forefingers and thumb. Nine hundred and fifty dollars, he said at last, in a half-whisper. Nine hundred and fifty dollars, it’s a lot of money, he went on in a trembling voice somewhat weak with gratitude, as he squeezed the money with his fingers and smiled significantly; a very good amount of money! This is the kind of money that people would kill for, I am wondering which fool would consider this a small amount of money. If someone finds out that I have this much money, he would certainly come and harm me, or god knows how far such an amount of money may lead a man. I wonder how life would be in America? I certainly wish I could go to America and have a good life like they have. But why am I thinking about this stuff now? I am too old for this, but, why does this even matter? what’s the meaning of all this though? thought Mr. Adam Khan; where is Spangle?" And still in the same dress he peeped behind the partition again. Again there was no sign of Spangle; and alone the samovar standing on the floor was beside itself, fuming and raging, threatening every minute to boil over, sounding like birds emitting short and quick notes. In it’s strange lisping, it was making continuous rapid buzzing, probably telling Mr. Adam Khan something like take me my good man, I am perfectly ripe and ready.

Damn the fellow, thought Mr. Adam Khan. That lazy bum might really drive a man crazy, where is he wasting time now?

In a righteous and scornful anger he went out into the hall which was giving access to other rooms at the end of which was a door into the entry, and saw his servant Spangle among other dawdling footmen which consisted a number of local domestics and some outsiders. Spangle was talking and the others were listening. Apparently both the subject of the conversation and the conversation itself were not to Mr. Adam Khans liking. He promptly called Spangle and returned to his room, displeased and even indignant. That beast would probably sell a man for a few Afghanis, and especially his master, he thought to himself; he has probably sold me out too, he certainly has. I bet he has sold me for next to nothing. Well?

They brought your clothes, sir, said Spangle.

Leave them there and come over here, said Mr. Adam Khan angrily.

When he put on his clothes, Spangle, with a stupid smile on his face, came into the room. His costume was as strange as it can be. He had a much-worn green Russian army coat, which was over worn and deteriorated, apparently it’s previous owner, a former Russian soldier was a yard taller than Spangle. In his hand he held a gray looking round Afghan hat, trimmed with gold braids and with red feathers in it, and he was also carrying an old Russian AK=47 rifle. Finally, to complete the picture, Spangle, who had a weakness for informal dress, was barefoot. Mr. Adam Khan examined Spangle from all sides and was a apparently satisfied with what he saw. The dress was apparently hired for some sort of special occasion. It was also noticeable that during his master’s inspection, Spangle watched him with strange expectancy, and with marked curiosity followed every movement he made, which extremely embarrassed Mr. Adam Khan.

Well, and what about the taxi?

The taxi is here too.

Did you hire it for the whole day?

I did, and, it’s going to be fifteen hundred Afghanis.

And have the boots arrived?

Yeah.

The idiot didn’t say yes sir this time, he whispered to himself, go ahead and bring them here.

Having expressed his satisfaction that the boots fitted, Mr. Adam Khan asked for his green tea, and for some warm water to wash and shave. He shaved with caution and washed very carefully to avoid making a mess, so that he wouldn’t have to clean it afterwards. He hurriedly sipped his tea and proceeded to the final process of dressing himself: he put on an almost new pair of trousers; then a shirt with double buttons which were made of yellow alloy of copper and zinc, and a very bright and agreeably flowered waistcoat; on his neck he had a silk tie, and he finally drew his full-dress coat, which was also brand new and carefully brushed. After he was all dressed up, he more than once looked lovingly at his boots, lifted up first one leg and then the other, admiring the shape of his boots which almost looked like cowboy boots, kept talking to himself in a half whisper like a man who has lost his mind and don’t know what to say, and from time to time made expressive grimace in response to his thoughts. Mr. Adam Khan was, however, extremely absent-minded that morning, for he hardly noticed the little smiles and grimaces made at his expense by Spangle, who was helping him get dressed. At last, having arranged everything properly and having finished dressing, Mr. Adam Khan, put his wallet in his pocket, took a final admiring look at Spangle, who had put on his rather polished boots and was therefore quite ready, and, noticing that everything was done, and that there was nothing else left to wait for, excited with commotion he then ran hurriedly down the stairs, all vibrated with a persistent rhyme of emotion. The light yellow hired cab drove thundering up to the steps. Spangle, exchanging winks with the driver and some loiterers, helped his master into the cab; and hardly able to hold an idiotic laugh, whistled and then shouted, go ahead..He then got into the back seat. The taxi, which was an old Russian Volga, rolled towards downtown, clattering and rumbling. As soon as the light yellow cab passed the gate, Mr. Adam Khan rubbed his hands uncontrollably and went off into a quite, noiseless and inward laugh, like a man of a cheerful disposition who has succeeded in playing a splendid trick, and is very pleased with his performance. Immediately after his access of delight fulness, however, laughter was replaced by a strange, anxious expression on the face of Adam Khan. Though the day was damp and cloudy, he rolled down both windows of the taxi and began carefully examining the people who were passing by to the left and to the right, at once practicing to show appropriate and dignified behavior in case if somebody looks at him. At the corner of the street he was scared by a most unpleasant sensation and, wrinkling his eye brows as if he was in displeasure or serious thought like a poor rabbit who’s claw has been accidentally stepped on, he quickly coiled his body into the one side of the seat, and sat there silently.

The fact is that he had noticed two of his colleagues, two young officers employed in the same army unit as he. The officers, on their part, were also, it seemed to him, extremely bewildered at encountering their fellow officer in this way; one of them, in fact, pointed out Mr. Adam Khan to the other. Mr. Adam Khan even thought that one of those fellow called him by name, which, of course, was very unseemly in the street. Mr. Adam Khan concealed himself and did not respond. The silly youngsters! he began to reason with himself. Why, what’s so strange about it? A man in a taxi, a man needs to be a taxi, and so he hires one. Now this what I would call trash. They are simply trash. I know those scamps, they are nothing but rogues. They are the type of guys that go about idly in search of pleasure and they have no shame, none whatsoever, and that’s all those rascals think about. I would certainly like to tell them a thing or two, but…

Mr. Adam Khan broke off suddenly, as if he was paralyzed with fear and astonishment. Suddenly a black car drove by on the right side of his taxi. The gentlemen riding in the car, happening to catch a glimpse of Mr. Adam Khan, who had rather incautiously poked his head out of the taxi window, also appeared to be extremely astonished at the unexpected sight and, bending out as far as he could, looked with greatest curiosity and interest into the light yellow taxi in which Mr. Adam Khan was trying to conceal himself from being seen by those fellows. The gentleman in the black car was Col. Maharat Khan, section head of the army unit in which Mr. Adam Khan was employed as an officer. Mr. Adam Khan, seeing that Maharat Khan recognized him, that he was looking at him open-eyed, and that it was impossible to hide, flushed to the root of his hair.

To salute or not to salute? To recognize him or not? He wondered in indescribable anguish, or shall I pretend that its not me, its some one else who resembles me, and look like nothing is the matter? Its just not me, that’s all.

Soon, however, the black car passed the taxi, and the magnetism of Col. Maharat Khan’s eye was at the end. Yet he went on blushing as if he stole something, smiling and whispering to himself in a barely audible manner.

I was a fool not to have saluted him, he thought at last. I should have taken a bolder line and behaved with gentlemanly frankness. I should have said, this is how it is, Col. Maharat Khan. I too have a dinner invitation, and that’s all.

Then, suddenly recalling that he had messed up, he flushed as hot as fire. He wrinkled his brows, and cast a terrible, defiant glance at the front corner of the vehicle, a glance that would have reduced instantly all his foes to ashes. At last he told the driver to stop the car, he told the driver to turn around and drive to the other end of the street where his doctor Elias Yazdani’s office was located. The fact is that Mr. Adam Khan, probably for the sake of his own peace of mind, found it urgently necessary to say something very interesting to his doctor. He had made acquaintance with doctor Elias Yazdani quite recently, having, indeed, paid him only a single visit the previous week to consult him about a medical issue. But a doctor, as they say, is like a priest to whom people go and confess. Therefore, he thought it would be stupid for him not to go and pay a visit to his doctor, who was indeed in duty quite clever to know his patients. Will it be alright, though? Mr. Adam Khan went on, getting out of the taxi at the entrance of a four story old building with multiple bullet holes on it’s muddy walls. Will it be alright? Will it be proper? Will be appropriate? After all, he is my doctor, and I don’t need to be ashamed of anything. Why should I be? He went on and on talking to himself as he went up the stairs out of breath and trying to check the palpitation of his heart, which had the habit of palpitating on other people’s stairs. After all, I am on my own business and there is nothing blameworthy in it¦.It would be stupid to avoid him, I need to make sure for myself that I am okay. I would just pretend that I was passing by and I just stopped by to see him… He would see that it’s all just is it should be."

Reasoning like this, Mr. Adam Khan, mounted to the second floor and stopped before flat number five, on the door of which there was a unique golden plate with the inscription:

DR. ELIAS YAZDANI

DOCTOR OF MEDICINE AND SURGERY

Stopping at the door, he made hast to assume an air of dignified behavior, and even of certain amiability, and prepared to press the bell. As he was about to do so he promptly and rather appropriately thought that it might be better to come tomorrow, and that there was no very pressing need for the moment. But as he suddenly heard footsteps on the stairs, he immediately changed his mind again and while he was about it, pressed Dr. Elias Yazdaniâs bell with an air of great determination.

Chapter Two

The doctor of medicine and surgery, Elias Yazdani, a very strong, healthy, and elderly man, bequeathed with thick eyebrows and whiskers that were beginning to turn gray, expressive and sparkling eyes by means of which alone he routed every disease, and, lastly, with a distinguished order on his breast, was sitting in his office that morning in his comfortable armchair. He was drinking tea, which his wife had made him with her own hands, smoking a cigar, and from time to time writing prescriptions for his patients. After prescribing medicine for an old man who was suffering from severe heartburn and seeing the elderly man out by the side door, Dr. Elias Yazdani sat down to wait for the next patient. Mr. Adam Khan walked in. apparently Dr. Elias Yazdani did not at the least expect or desire to see Mr. Adam Khan, for he was suddenly bewildered for a moment, and his face involuntarily assumed a strange, and one may almost say a displeased expression. Mr. Adam Khan was extremely shy and felt uncomfortable about talking to someone regarding his own little affairs. He felt as if he has lost the presence of his mind, and on that occasion, too, he was thrown into considerable confusion. Having neglected to get ready his first sentence, which was invariably a stumbling block for him, on such occasions, he muttered something-apparently an apology-and, not knowing what to do next, took a chair and sat down. But, realizing that he had sat down without the doctor’s permission, he was immediately conscious of his mistake, and made haste to efface his offense against etiquette and good breeding by promptly getting up from the chair he had taken uninvited. Then, collecting himself and dimly perceiving that he had committed two foolish mistakes at once, he immediately decided to commit a third one, and he did. He thought he was doing the right thing at that time. He muttered something, smiled, blushed, was overcome with embarrassment, subsided into expressive silence, and finally sat down for good and did not get up again. Only, to be on the safe side, he secured his position by fixing a defiant look which had an extraordinary power of crushing his enemies and reducing them to ashes. This glance, moreover, expressed Mr. Adam Khan’s full independence-which was he said plainly that there was nothing the matter with him, that he was by himself, like everybody else, and that, in any event, he minded his own business. Dr. Elias Yazdani coughed, made a sound of fatigue, apparently in token of approval and consent to all this, and bent an inquiring, questioning gaze upon his visitor.

I have come to trouble you a second time, Dr. Yazdani Mr. Adam Khan began with a smile, and now I beg you to tolerate me for a second time. He was obviously lost for words.

Hm, yeah, what can I do for you? said the doctor, sending a jet of smoke from his mouth and putting down his cigar on the table," but you must follow the treatment prescribed; I have explained to you on your