A Curse on Dostoevsky by Atiq Rahimi

his, stroke it, that they might delight in this loving moment. But his hands do not move. They are trembling, dripping with sweat.
    “Have you decided to stop speaking?” asks Sophia desperately, staring at Rassoul’s unmoving lips.
    After a short hesitation he jumps to his feet to go into the house, find a pen and paper, and write it all down for her. But he is stopped by a noise at the gate. Someone wants to come in. Is it Nazigol, back already? Rassoul throws down his cigarette and rushes to hide in the darkness of the corridor. Sophia goes to the gate. “Who’s there?”
    “Nana Alia?” asks a deep, male voice. Sophia, panicking, replies: “No, she isn’t here.”
    “What time will she be back?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Who are you? Nazzi?”
    “No, Nazigol isn’t here either. I’m their maid.”
    “No! Sophia …?”
    “No …”
    “Of course it is! Be a sweetie and open up! It’s me, Commandant Amer Salam.” He pushes hard on the gate, which Sophia struggles to keep closed with her fragile,trembling hands as she cries: “No … No, I’m not Sophia … they told me not to let anyone in.”
    “And I’m
anyone
? Come on, open up!” He starts pushing again. Hopeless—Sophia quickly attaches the security chain. Amer Salam shakes the gate even harder.
    Rassoul surges out of the darkness to rush at the gate and yank it open. Taken aback, Amer Salam asks loudly: “Isn’t Nana Alia in?” No, gestures Rassoul furiously. The commandant peers over his shoulder for Sophia, and says: “Then tell her that Amer Salam will be coming tonight with some guests. There will be seven of us, seven!” And with that he leaves.
    Sophia collapses weakly to the ground from her hiding place behind the gate. Rassoul closes it and watches helplessly through the gaps in the wall as Amer Salam wanders back to his car, parked a little way off. Then he moves away, nervously lights a cigarette and goes to sit on one of the terrace steps. Sophia stands up and walks over to him. He stares at her as if to ask
And who is Amer Salam?
    Come on, Rassoul, you love asking questions to which you already know the answer. He must be one of Nana Alia’s regular clients, who comes here to watch young dancing girls. Leave Sophia alone.
    She puts her head on her knees and weeps, silently. Rassoul, confused, doesn’t know whether to comfort her or drive her away.
    Why drive her away? She deserves to be comforted, loved, honored.
    Tenderly, hesitantly, he puts his hand on her shoulder. She is soothed, as if not expecting this moment of grace. She huddles into his arms and starts sobbing in earnest. Rassoul strokes her back. If he could speak, she would hear him say: “It’s all over, Sophia. That dirty whore is gone. I killed her. Calm down!”
    She is still crying. She doesn’t want to stop. She doesn’t stop. She will never stop, not while Rassoul is stroking her. May this moment last forever—these tears, and this stroking!
    But sadly, it does end. Rassoul is on edge, not so much because of Sophia as from his strange experience of being in the house. He feels as if someone is watching them from the corridor. He stands and peers angrily behind him. Then he gestures to Sophia to leave right now. “When Nazigol comes back.” No, this house is cursed! He runs to the door. “But if they come back and we aren’t here, Nana Alia will kick us out of our house.”
    Nana Alia can go to hell! I’ve killed her.
    He throws his cigarette into the courtyard, opens the gate and runs out into the lane. Sophia, horrified, chases after him. “Rassoul! Do you know what’s happened to Nana Alia?” Don’t try and find out what he’s done to her, Sophia! You will lose him. “What’s the matter? I’ve a right to know.” He stops and stares at her, both oppressed and oppressive. How to tell her that she’ll find out soon enough, that he himself will explain. “Damn! My chador! Hang on, I’ll go back and get it.”She goes. Rassoul