The Winning Card – Anwar Abasi / Short Story
Anwar Abasi
Translated by Tara Korkmaz
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The last time I spoke to him was this last night.
Of course, I should mention as well that I often dream in my native language. I don’t mean only the words exchanged in those dreams. Instead, I’m talking about the dreams’ ambience and general context. Except, I don’t know what happens that every time he is in my dream, everything turns into his language. It is how I experience this feeling, and I cannot come up with a reason for it. I told this to Chawa as well.
Actually, Chawa had a different name, but since his childhood, for the sake of his beautiful eyes, everyone used to call him Chawa, which somehow was conveyed to me. I had no knowledge about his childhood and happened to know him in this prison cell. Since the first greeting, I addressed him by that name.
Do you believe it? No! I know you will say no, but you haven’t seen his eyes. Considering the time in my sentences, I must rather say: You had not seen his eyes.
The last time I spoke to him was this last night.
Of course, Chawa is not beside me anymore to describe my dream for him to response being there: If you can handle him in your sleep, you can knock him down when you are awake as well. In fact, I planted these words in his mouth, myself. The first time that he told me about one of his dreams was about execution day. When he tried to escape from executioners, and unknowingly and out of nowhere, he ended up arriving on a treadmill and running for his life. He kept running in place and not moving forward. Soon the hangmen had caught up and apprehended him. Then I had told him: If you can do something in your dream, you can do it in real-life. Afterwards, every night he was trying to dream.
The last time I spoke to him was just last night.
How did I come up with this phrase? For the first time, I heard it from Kahlla (Head). Kahlla’s real name also was something else, however. Since he was somewhat of a bully and thickheaded amongst his peers and “almost” no one could put up with him, the name reflected his personality. In my language, Kahlla also means a young bull. Of course, you should not attempt to pronounce it because you will fail. One must pronounce the “L” in a very thick and robust way, which is uncommon in your language.
Almost no one. The culprit of that “almost” was me. Every now and then, I would try to take a stand against him, and although each time I was beaten by him more than the other way around, our confrontations continued.
At the same time, we were friends. It is strange right? There is no reason to think otherwise. So; from here on, you will not need a rationale because I am admitting that it is strange. Once I told him about grappling with someone in my dream, he said: If you can manage to beat a person in your sleep, you will also be able to do it when you are awake. Well, of course, I didn’t tell him that the altercation in my dream was with him. There was no need. Maybe he had found out… In any case, it is not crucial since afterwards, I never fought with him. I already beat him up in my dream, and he acknowledged that when you defeat one in a dream, you will achieve the same in reality. At least as friends, our problems were the usual adolescent disagreement. I didn’t have a significant problem with him, and he had not taken away anything from me. We never fought together again. Not even in a dream!
The last time I spoke to him was this last night.
Why I wouldn’t call him by his first name? Why I wouldn’t say Ali wimpy? Or say: Hey, Ali jackal? Who would call a rival by the last name during a fight? And also, without any belittling affix in front or at the end of it. I used to say things that mostly ended with his last name: Khamenei! I don’t recall all sentences, but without a doubt, it was to provoke him into a fight and making the first move.
Since childhood, I was used to letting my opponent throw the first punch. It had nothing to do with masochism or psychological things. For me, it was more of a prerogative. As if I received the first punch, it would have entitled me to beat the hell out of my opponent… without any guilty conscience. Of course, sometimes I think this improper habit was the real reason behind my losses to Kahlla. The first fifty punches lasted less than one second, and in that time, I was occasionally able to throw my one lousy punch. It appears somewhat exaggerated. Right? Your response is positive, and I understand. However, this is what I sensed, and I can’t have a logical reason for it. This is precisely the way I was feeling.
The last time I spoke to him was just the night before. He already had knocked out everybody, all of us. A massacre. Why was I waiting for him to throw the first fist? At that moment, I even thought, what if he, too like Kahlla, threw fifty shots in one second? Instantly, I cursed myself: who is this dog to be compared to Kahlla? Even I might have said it aloud. As if he could read my mind. Simultaneously, I felt that my hands were tied to something and his hands were free. I saw his artificial hand that was of molten steel. I repeat, his both arms were open, and mine were numb from my shoulders. This was at least the tenth times I has this dream. In the nine other times, he had terrified me. There was no beating. Solely, the paralysis of my arms and his hands being free had caused my defeats, and I would jump out of my sleep drenched in sweats. I remember the last time Chawa twitched out of his sleep. Gently, with a smile, he moved a little and woke up—only a drop of perspiration on his sideburns.
The last time I spoke to him was just the night before. At this point, I am talking about Chawa. The day after, he was startled awake one final time; he had said: If you can knock someone out in your dream, you can also do it in reality. Afterwards, he was taken away, as he chanted a revolutionary song the entire distance between his cell and the gallows. A song that only made sense in our language. I was not there, but, for sure, even on his lifeless face, there was a smile which was his winning card. I described it in my dream. He listened with enthusiasm and his eyes — What beautiful eyes he had. You must have seen them.
The last time I saw him in my dream, as always, my hands had become numb, and his hands were free. Usually, I must have startled out of my sleep; however, some subtle changes had happened. The scene seemed familiar…I even called him by his first name. Of course, in my head. Although he could read my mind; Therefore, one could say I had said it aloud.
I explained all of this to Chawa. I told him how at the end, I saw something in my numb hands that I cannot explain, but I know what was there. Similar to a tiger that cannot describe a deer but knows what to do with it. I felt it, and perhaps by now, you realize that you shouldn’t ask me for a reason for everything.
A “thing” resembling a winning card was in my hand. My hands were smiling.
