Black Scene

After the fight with Juan, my heart broke. I had to go to the street.

I went to the street to walk.

The night was black. I couldn't see anything.

My heart was heavy. I no longer had the strength to live this miserable life. I felt a weight on my shoulders and back. It was as if someone was sitting on me. The weight was getting heavier.

The tranquilizers had worked. They had locked my heart in my chest. They were tingling my heart.

The blisters at the base of my throat from cigarette smoke haven't healed. My chest is wheezing. It feels like my throat is being chewed.

The streets talk to me like every night with a gray breeze.

The sorrows stored in my chest are endless. They bother me.

Every day, debts digest my pain like a tumor. I can't stand it anymore.

My only happiness is the photo in the right pocket of my heart.

The girl I waited for years. She didn't come back. She left me more alone.

The last memory was the news of her death at midnight.

I remember the oak eyes and red hair. With the photo, I feel she is with me. It calms my heart.

I will never forget that moment of my birth. Manya took the photo out of her pocket. With a chewed pencil, she wrote her name and mine on the back of the photo. She used an old notebook for happy moments. She wrote the first letters of the names. She drew a heart. She said, don't take this photo apart.

I said I love you so much that I will never take it apart.

I vowed not to forget. I put the photo in the pocket of my brown coat. It was a hassle, but I always carry it. I find peace.

Juan is jealous of the photo. He wants to tear it up. I stopped him. It is the only memento of Manya.

The fire of his love is burning in my heart. I still love him. I wish I could dream. My pain would ease.

I went back home.

The smell of cigarettes was clear from two meters away.

Juan hadn't come. It was a few hours after midnight.

I smoked so much that I fell asleep on the sofa.

Poor Shervin goes from house to house with his mother every day. His life is restless.

Juan works as a maid at night. He makes ends meet with little money.

***

It was morning. I woke up with bloodshot eyes.

I smoked a cigarette in the morning. A dream. A house. A bag of memories that remain. My chest burns. Cigarettes kill my chest.

I live only in drunkenness. I survive in this life of misery.

I played with a glass of wine on the table. I bent the glass. One glass. Two glasses. Not enough. Insatiable thirst. I should eat more. The bitterness of the world is washed away with alcohol and smoke. Me and a glass of wine and unheard words from my heart.

Exhausting theater work. Same workdays. Only the audience changes. Same role. Same hall. Same actors.

The route to the theater is the busiest. I leave two hours early.

Theater salaries are meager. I work under duress. The only theater that has come to terms with old age. The role is low. I accepted the duress. Other theaters want young people. I am not passionate. Life makes you old quickly. The sorrow of love is a heavy burden.

Today's work is finished with the role of Farhad. The audience was enthusiastic. The story is different with Shirin and Farhad. Majnun hits Khosrow with an axe. Khosrow does not reach Shirin. Farhad and Shirin live happily.

It is a watery subject. A loss of dignity. But I have to work. Bring something to the table.

Repetitive monotonous work. Repetitive scenes every night.

The manager apologized. He talked about the ridiculous role.

Manager: Mr. Turkashvand, you must have asked why I brought you here.

Turkashvand: Yes.

Manager: You might think it's a lowly role. But it's not. The role is top-notch...

He made some silly remarks. It's like the theater is Beauty and the Beast or Romeo and Juliet.

Don't worry. I know your theater is worthless.

In short, I have hope for you. Don't disappoint me.

I said to myself, "You think I don't know, you're showing off your boss."

I lowered my head. I left the miserable room.

We value people. In practice, they're not valuable. Like wood. One makes a chair. One throws it into the water. One makes an idol and worships it. People value them. They grow up.

Like the boss's employees. A group made a god. A group is indifferent. A group is a ladder for goals. A strange atmosphere.

It was night. Terrible darkness.

I came out of the theater. I didn't know the time. I was lost in the role.

I took out a pack of cigarettes. I lit the lighter. Low gas. The cigarette was lit.

The cigarette was damp. The first taste was the tea grounds of two days ago. The tobacco fell to the floor. It wasn't rolled properly. Oh, damn cigarette.

I walked. I lit another cigarette. I took a bite. My breath was held. Everything was vague. I was looking at the world through the smoke.

I got home. I collapsed on the couch. Let's see what happens tomorrow.

Shame on the monthly salary. I love my family. I make love. It's an indoctrination. I carry constant sadness. The companion of loneliness is pain.

The pain of the family on one side. Debts on the other.

***

It was morning.

The repetitive routine began.

I got up. I tidied the couch. I only thought about feeding the family.

The sound of a baby crying from the next room. I became discouraged. I thought about Juan's night shift. It's tiring. We're spinning the wheel of life.

It was a mistake to have children. We're spinning our lives on money.

It was a dream theater. Now it's a nightmare of torment.

I wish I had a glimmer of hope. I could get out of this predicament. Sometimes the old tree in the garden breathes. In the hope of the next spring.

The path of life is one-way. There's no turning back. It never ends.

I'm tired of this situation.