Dear friends and supporters,

I am pleased to announce that my novella The Loader has now been translated, right on schedule. Your support was crucial, and much appreciated, during the writing, and in covering translation costs, so thanks again.

I am also excited to let you know that a publisher who knows my work asked to read The Loader, and I have sent it to them for consideration. I am keeping my fingers crossed that they will accept it, but as you probably know, finding a publisher can be a long process. Originally, I had planned to self-publish, and send you those copies as your thank you gifts. But I am encouraged about my chances of formal publication, so I am asking for your patience in receiving your "perks".

For now, here is a short excerpt, which I hope you enjoy.

With love,
Fatemeh Zarei

Persian text here

He rarely wore that cloak. It was his finest cloak. I remember he looked taller in it. If we forget about his later years, he was not bad looking at all. He was tall. When he would wear this cloak and put his rifle on his shoulder, I would feel a shiver down my spine. He had pure charisma. But what is the point of missing him now?

When I got married, I was too young to know what a man is, and what he is good for. All I knew was that a man was the pillar of the house. The day after he and another man were guests at our house, my father told me

- You will go to his house.

- What’s wrong with our own house?

- You can see for yourself what’s wrong. This very question means I should’ve married you off earlier.

I still regret asking that question. Maybe if I hadn't, I would’ve stayed longer with my mom and sisters and brother. At least until I had figured out what getting married means.

In those days, I had no idea how sweet the fear of a man can be. I was a little child, shivering in his hands. He was a good man, though. He was very gentle on our wedding night. Actually, we didn’t have a wedding, I just mean the first night I was his. It was not his fault that I was scared. It was my fault for not knowing a single thing about marital relations. He was truly patient.

Maybe it was my fate to grow in his shadow. He lived such a short life that I didn’t have the chance to serve him more. He was not a bad man. He was nice to me. As if I was his wife. I was. But not in the normal way. Actually, it is a normal way. But a woman who has been bought from her father doesn’t have the value and the place of a woman who has been proposed to. A sold woman doesn’t have a wedding ceremony. Her price is low. Coming from poverty, she is destined to remain in poverty. As if she is not even worthy of being fed.

But he was kind to me. It’s not that he was never harsh with me. Take my father, for example; he hadn’t bought my mother, in fact he had proposed to her, and she was from a respectable family. But he used to punish her a lot. Even though my mother was a good woman and had delivered many children for him.

I have no idea what happened to my younger sisters. My older sister had a suitor, and she married him. Those days my father still had his legs, and had a job, too. He sold me after he stepped on a mine. I was eight or nine years old, but I was even shorter than my seven year-old sister. We were both thin, as we were both starving.

My husband was a nice man, but his father was not. The night I came to their house, when I didn’t obey the rules of marriage, he didn’t do anything. But in the morning, when his father found out, he punished me, and said I wasn’t a virgin. He scolded his son, saying he had no dignity, being commanded by a woman in bed. This attitude will make you helpless in battle, too. Maybe you will let your enemy command you as well?

He was right. My dear husband was killed in the war, but I don’t believe he was afraid of the enemy. He was fearless. I had seen his rage; his eyes blood-red and bulging. He never joked. The knot of his eyebrows was never untied. His word was the last word. Period. If his commands were not taken seriously, his anger would tie the earth and sky together. How could fear find a place in this man’s heart?

That punishment was the worst of my life. Not that I hadn’t been punished before, no, but the terrible part was being dragged bare-footed to my father’s house. At first, I was happy to be back home. I knew for sure that my father would beat the hell out of me, too, but after that I thought I would stay home. I was not afraid of punishment, starvation, or even the disgrace of not being a virgin. But when we reached our home, my father-in-law declared that he would take his money back from my father, and I realized it would not be so easy, and wouldn’t end well. I begged him to bring me back to their home. I said I would go to the room of whomever he ordered. I begged him not to take the money back from my father. I was sure no money was left, with so many hungry mouths to feed. I kissed his feet, but it didn’t help. He kicked me to the door just as my father opened it.

When I opened my eyes, I was happy and sad at the same time. Happy knowing the money had not been taken back, for I was with my in-laws again, but sad for knowing that everything was finished. I would never see my parents again. Or my siblings. I can’t even remember how many sisters and brothers I had, but I had a lot.

- I forgive you this time, but I don’t want to hear another word about your home and your family. That’s it.

- Sure.

My right eye was painful and I couldn’t open it completely. I never found out what went on between them. How did his anger subside? Did he fight my father? I hoped he hadn’t beaten him. I guessed he was stronger than my father. I had been punished by my father before, but not as hard. Whether he was weaker, or had some paternal love, he had never beaten me like that. I never found out what happened. Anyway, when he ordered me not to talk about my family anymore, he was not as furious as before.

When I could finally open my eyes, I found myself in the same room with Gharib Agha1. The door banged shut. It was just me and him. I didn’t resist anymore. I didn’t have the stamina, and I had no option but to surrender.

What he did to me was far more horrific than his father’s punishment. I’m too embarrassed to tell you what happened. I found out what virgin means. When his father had said that I wasn’t a virgin, I had guessed that it was a kind of qualification that I didn’t have. The blood which covered my body wasn’t his fault. I was small and terrified. Other girls my age were slightly bigger than me, but I was slow to reach puberty. My sister married at about the same age, maybe one year older, and she didn’t have any problem. Or maybe she did, and we didn’t find out. Anyway, I think Gharib Agha expected it, as he had prepared some cloths to clean me with.

His good cloak was stained with my blood. I was shivering. He wrapped it around me, sat me on his lap and caressed me. I was ashamed of the blood, and that I had ruined his cloak. He laughed and said, No problem, you’ll wash it yourself. Wash it with cold water. He didn’t blame me. If it had been my father, he would have blamed my mother for sure. He was kind to me. Thank God I washed the gown right away, otherwise the bloodstain wouldn’t have come out, and I couldn’t have sold it today.
 

1 “Mr. Stranger”