A Good Country
Page 24
Do not fear death. What is offered in God’s paradise is far greater than anything on this dry earth.
The commander speaks now and Reza catches every other word, every odd phrase.
The prophet says, I have been given victory by means of terror. We spread our message by the sword. To build this state for our sons and for the sons of our sons.
Reza looks around at the other men in the truck and sees that most of them twitch a hand or a knee. Some keep their eyes closed and nod their heads and a few keep nobly still. He thinks of the sons he wanted and he thinks of the sons these men desire or have left behind and Reza remembers a comment by a recruit from Lebanon, that the Hezbollah fighters are given pills, an aggressive kind of ecstasy, that turns the mind red and the body into a fast, efficient machine, and Reza wonders why the commanders don’t just give them all pills. He would take a pill now in the place of all this talk.
God is great!
Think, brothers, of the wars waged on you. Your fathers taken into slavery by the enemies of Islam, your mothers turned into whores, you yourselves kept in prisons, kept powerless, kept from the glory of our caliphate!
God is great!
This morning K is ours!
God is great!
The recruits scatter slowly through the valley and Reza walks away from them as quickly as possible to walk the cold ground and leave boot prints in the thin frost. He wonders how long they will stay here, tucked away, worrying before battle. Thoughts of Fatima prance nimbly at the far corners of his mind and he finds himself staring at his boot prints pressed through the frost and knows the sun will come up and erase them and day will finally begin. He tries not to let his mind fail him, to loop back to the life he has quietly and slowly cursed these last weeks and months, but pushes toward the dream of her, the sense and smell and sight of her ahead of him like a mirage. A small sparrow hops toward him, its eyes and neck and chest flit and flit with ceaseless tiny energies. Reza stares at the bird and the bird, a silly serious thing, a creation of God, stares back. He tries to remember a simple prayer, to say a blessing for himself. Nothing. He tries to remember Fatima. Nothing. He closes his eyes against the day and finally it is quiet. The valley. The morning. His mind. Reza looks around and feels it, the passing over and passing through of all fear and all courage until he is left alone, not a convert and not a coward, no hero or martyr, simply the flesh of a man who walks the earth in search of his woman, and maybe his god and maybe a home on the other side of this battle, if it is to be.
The sparrow hops and then jumps up and flies away and behind him as the trucks start their engines and turn their steering wheels in the direction of town. Reza rises, all the fight drained from him now, and jogs to his truck and hops in next to the others, some with green faces, some with darkened eyes, and sits among them and joins them as empty a man as he can be, a man ready to fire the bullets or receive the bullets, a man ready to give himself away and be received by love.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To the people who make books come into the world. As ever, Ellen Levine and Alexa Stark and the stellar team at Trident Media. Anton Mueller and Alexandra Pringle for your support of this trilogy from word one, remarkable editors with lovely long-distance vision. To all at Bloomsbury who put these words before the readers’ eyes, managing editor Laura Phillips, and copyeditor Steven Henry Boldt. Many thanks to Payam Nahid for his help with issues of English futbol and to Karl Mendoca for his assistance in finding that last reader.
Motherhood and writing novels are not, by their nature, compatible endeavors and for this story to come to life I relied (heavily at times) on the gracious hearts of family and friends who must be named and celebrated. David Deniger for his support when the book was just a notion and would have stayed such if not for his help sending a then two-year-old to day care. Andre Julien, who received said two-year-old in his warm and nourishing home. Mary Sue and Patrick Kelly for their availability and kindness week after week, year after year. Antara Medina and Diana Montes Ortiz, whose generosity of heart allowed me to exit reality and enter into the world of fiction.
And most urgently my gratitude goes out to the people to whom I return, season after season, for inspiration, support, and love, who mix art and life such that they are one: Muthoni Kiare, Keenan Norris, Joel Tomfohr, Saneta deVouno Powell, Ramona Ausubel, Micheline Marcom, Cristina Garcia—thank you. To Kamran and Fereshteh and Kamyar, who have supported my adventures in fiction year after year.
Timothy: there is no language for my gratitude, without you this book would not be. To Keon and little (for now) Kassra: you keep me dialed to the station of love, thank you.
A NOTE ON THE AUTHOR
Laleh Khadivi is the author of The Age of Orphans, a Barnes & Noble Discover Great New Writers pick, and The Walking. She has been awarded a Whiting Award, a Pushcart Prize, and an NEA Literature Fellowship. Khadivi lives in Northern California.
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First published 2017
© Laleh Khadivi, 2017
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ISBN: HB: 978-1-63286-584-7
ePub: 978-1-63286-586-1
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION DATA
Names: Khadivi, Laleh, author.
Title: A good country : a novel / Laleh Khadivi.
Description: New York : Bloomsbury USA, 2017.
Identifiers: LCCN 2016050042 | ISBN 9781632865847 (hardback) | ISBN
9781632865861 (ebook)
Subjects: | BISAC: FICTION / Literary. | FICTION / Coming of Age. | GSAFD:
Bildungsromans.
Classification: LCC PS3611.H315 G66 2017 | DDC 813/.6—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2016050042
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