The Damned

By Isidoros Karderinis

Ali Mohamedi, an Afghan worker, lives with his wife, Zaira, and their four children in Kabul. Ali is born and grown up in conditions of extreme poverty and misery, a reality that continues to also exist after his wedding. A series of dramatic events that seal indelible in his life will lead him to migrate with his family to Greece.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9781496945907

Isidoros Karderinis

Isidoros Karderinis was born in Athens in 1967. He has a degree in economic science with postgraduate studies in tourist economy. His articles have been published in Greek economy magazines. He has published the following books: 1) In my father’s memory, Poetry, Ellinika Grammata, 2006. 2) One year of tears, Poetry, Ellinika Grammata, 2007. 3) In the net of loneliness, Poetry, Iolkos, 2007. 4) The photograph of my heart, Poetry, Iolkos, 2008. 5) The longing of the refugees, Poetry, Iolkos, 2008. 6) The flower garden of the parents, Poetry, Iolkos, 2009. 7) The trip of the light, Poetry, Iolkos, 2011. 8) The corrupted, Novel, Iolkos, 2011. 9) The damned, Novel, Panektypon, 2013. His novel “The corrupted” released in Great Britain in 2014 from United p.c. publisher with title “Corruption and punishment”. His poems have been translated in French and have been published in literary magazines.

Book preview

1

It was a peaceful August afternoon. The sun with its golden rays was burning ruthlessly in the sapphire sky. The crows with their black, sharp wings were crossing as jets the hot wind. The grey rocks were shining as crystal mirrors on the surrounding hills of Afghanistan’s capital. The trees with their green foliages were silently exhausted in the yellow heat of the summer. The big river with its green blue waters was crossing with a thunderous sound the valley of the vast Muslim city.

That time in the poor district of Jamal Mina, on one of Kabul’s hills, a thin man, thirty years old, with handsome face, somewhat tall, with sparkling brown eyes and straight black hair, was returning home from his work. From the gravel roads a cloud of dust was rising as he was walking with slowly, heavy and tired steps. The scattered stones were signing the rugged road of life. The dirty, still waters that had overflow from the sewers and the putrid gutters were emitting a particularly nasty smell.

When he arrived at his low, brick house, he put the rusted key in the keyhole and opened the wooden, faded door.

-Good afternoon Zaira, said to his wife, as soon as he saw her.

-Good afternoon Ali, she greeted back.

-How is the kid?

-Unfortunately, he still has fever.

Ali Mohamedi entered a small room and approached the only mattress that was there on the concrete floor. On it was heavily sleeping his five years old son. He bent and with the right hand he stroked affectionately his black hair. Hamid was sick with measles since two days now.

Ali after a while left the room and sat on a corner, on an old, red, threadbare carpet, in the so called living room of his house. Then came and sat around him the other three children of the couple, Jamal, ten years old, Nadia, eight years old, and Gazala, six years old. Zaira brought food and also sat cross-legged on the floor.

-Zaira, I am very much worried about the child!

-Me too, Ali! Zaira added in a sad expression. He has constantly 39,5 fever and it is not dropping whatever I do.

They had finished the lunch when they heard from Hamid’s room a loud cry. Ali and Zaira stood up immediately and ran to their sick child.

-What is wrong, my child? Zaira asked fearful, while she bent and kissed him lovingly on the forehead.

-My tummy aches very much, Hamid murmured writhing in pain.

-Ali, we have to take the child immediately to the hospital.

-Yes, Zaira.

Zaira went to the marital room and put on a plum burqa, the thick wrap that was covering in whole the woman’s body, from the hair to the ankles, leaving only a small opening for the eyes. Ali took Hamid in his strong arms and they went out.

He prepared shortly the cart and they climbed on. Zaira was holding now Hamid in her arms. Ali pulled strongly the bridles and they started to the hospital.

Jamal Mina’s roads were almost empty. People were closed inside their houses. The heat that time of the day in the poor district was really unbearable. The wheels of the cart were turning hastily as it was travelling through the steep, downhill roads. The warm sweat on the dark-skinned face of Ali was running as stormy raindrops.

-Ali, the child cannot breathe! Zaira shouted very scared at some point.

-Zaira, I will do as fast as I can Ali said in a loud voice and simultaneously he whipped the donkey.

After long time they had already reached Kabul’s centre where the hospital was. Then the unexpected happened. The grey donkey suddenly rampaged. Ali tried with all his power to hold it back. But he didn’t make it. The rampaging animal went out of the street and entered an empty plot. The wagon was no longer controllable.

-Ali, we’re going to be killed! Zaira shouted in panic.

Those seconds were shocking. The indescribable agony was painted in the most gloomy colours on her hidden face. Hamid was crying loudly. Ali was seeing the disaster coming, without being able to do something.

In the next moment the wagon tumbled as it hit a huge rock, and the three passengers jettisoned on the brown soil. Ali hit his head. Zaira hit her legs, while Hamid was still crying in his mother’s arms that were a net of safety for him, since he came out of it unscathed.

After a while, Ali first who had big bruises on his face, sat up. Dizzy as he was, he directed staggering toward Zaira and Hamid.

-Zaira, how are you? He asked in his giddiness. How is the child?

-My legs hurt, Zaira whispered moaning.

-Is the child all right? Ali asked again.

-I think he is fine.

Then Ali helped Zaira to sit on the ground and moved to the street, to ask for help. But at that moment no one was around.

So, Ali had no other choice but to wait patiently by the edge of the empty road. In about ten minutes an old, rickety wagon with an old couple appeared. Ali waved with his right hand. The wagon approached slowly and stopped.

-What happened to you? The man asked as he climbed down his seat.

-We were taking our child, who is sick, to the hospital, Ali replied in low voice, and the donkey all of a sudden rampaged. It went out of the road, entered the empty plot and the wagon overturned.

-Are you all right? The man asked.

-I hit a little my head, Ali murmured, my wife her legs and our child is all right.

Immediately after, Ali, the man and his wife were directed to the spot that Zaira was sitting holding Hamid. When they arrived, Zaira gave the child to the woman and Ali with the grey-haired man lifted her up. Then they brought her to the wagon and raised her up. In the next seconds the rest of them climbed on and the wagon started to the hospital.

-What’s your name? Ali asked the man.

-Halil Rahimi, he replied in a hoarse voice.

-And your wife’s name?

-Aysa.

-I would like to thank you by the depths of my heart for the valuable help you gave us.

After fifteen minutes the wagon was crossing the open gate of Kabul’s General Hospital. It stopped in front of the main entrance and the passengers stepped down and went inside.

Hamid was transferred to the pediatric clinic and Ali with Zaira went to the surgical department. There, they had the necessary tests and they found out that Ali had a mild concussion and Zaira a slight sprain to her right leg. They were given the first aid and then they went to the pediatric clinic.

-What is wrong with our child? Ali asked the fat doctor that was responsible for Hamid’s treatment.

-The measles has caused pneumonia, he replied darkly. Things are very serious.

-You mean his life is in danger? Ali asked full of agony.

-Yes, there is danger, but we will do the best we can to make him well.

Immediately Ali went out of the doctor’s office, and went to Hamid’s room. Zaira was already at the side of child who was sleeping deeply.

-Zaira, the child has pneumonia. The doctor told me that his life is in danger.

-Ali, you scare me!

-Zaira, let’s be calm. Allah is great!

It was already dark. The crescent moon in its silvery dress had risen in the clear, summer sky. The platinum lights of the city had switched on. The heat had died down and a slight breeze was moving the green foliages of the trees in the overgrown garden of the hospital. The birds had roosted in their nests to sleep.

-Water! Hamid shouted loudly. I’m very thirsty!

Ali stood up in a flash from the chair and brought a glass of water in debilitated Hamid, who drank it greedily. The child was continuing to burn with fever and had difficulty in his breathing.

It was three after midnight. In the hospital deathly stillness prevailed. Then Hamid begun to cough heavily and his mouth filled with foamy sputum containing blood. At the same time he was covered in sweat and his skin was pale and cold.

When Zaira saw this scene, she was terrified and shouted:

-Ali quickly!… Go get the doctor!… Our child is not well!

Ali ran and called for the doctor, who came along with two nurses. Ali and Zaira went out of the room and the doctor leaned over Hamid. Immediately he noted that he had acute pulmonary oedema.

-Saba, quickly get the oxygen mask! He said in a loud voice to one of the nurses.

Saba put on the mask to Hamid, who had great difficulty in breathing. Those seconds were the most critical for his life.

After a while, and while the doctor was giving a tough battle to keep Hamid in life, Golshifteh, the other nurse, remarked:

-Doctor, he has no pulse!

The doctor found out that it was so indeed. Hamid had a heart attack.

The doctor did attempt of resuscitation. However didn’t succeed. So, now had the most difficult role to announce the death of their child to Ali and Zaira, who stood in agony outside the room.

He walked a few steps, glum and sullen, and opened the door. Then Zaira rushed in with excess agony and asked him:

-Doctor, what happened?

-Unfortunately, I’m very sorry!… He had a heart attack!… Your child is dead!

When Zaira heard these ominous words, she collapsed. Ali, mentally dissolved, he ran to her, so as the doctor. In a while they revived her and put her on a chair to sit. Then she said:

-Ali, what was this thing that happened to us?… We lost our youngest!… while the tears were running down her cheeks as torrential rivers.

-Courage!… Zaira, Ali encouraged her while his broken heart was tore by pain.

The next day Hamid’s funeral took place in a small mosque in Jamal Mina. The relatives, friends and acquaintances had filled the Muslim temple. Ali and Zaira with visible sorrow on their sore faces couldn’t believe at all the sudden and unjust loss of their child.

After the end of the funeral the procession to the cemetery started. When they arrived, the white coffin was lowered to the already dug tomb and the black soil covered the lifeless body of the child. Hamid had left too soon this futile world.

2

It was Friday noon. The summer with its hot climate hadn’t abandoned yet the Muslim city. At that time the muezzin was standing on the minaret’s balcony in Jamal Mina and was calling through the loudspeakers for the believers to come to the great temple to pray, since this day, according to the Quran, was holy for the Muslims.

-Zaira, I have to go to the mosque to pray, Ali said decisively when he heard the calling.

-Yes, Ali, go, Zaira said while she was sitting on the red carpet in the living room of their house.

-Zaira, when I’ll return we will go to my brother’s Omar house. He has invited us for dinner.

-Yes, my Ali.

Then Ali went out of the low-ceilinged house and he took the road to the mosque.

While he had crossed only a few meters, he met his neighbor Islam Abdalah, who was about ten years older than him.

-Good afternoon Ali. Are you going to the mosque?

-Yes, Islam, and you?

-Me too.

-Let’s go then.

They arrived at the big mosque after ten minutes and went directly to the fountain that was in the mosque’s courtyard, for washing. They took out their dusty shoes and socks and washed very well their feet, their hands and their face.

After a while they went inside the square chamber of the prayer which was covered with famous carpets of Islamic art. The walls were decorated with arabesques and verses from the Quran. Ali and Islam went to the front row and stood. The Muslim temple was slowly filled with men who wore their traditional Afghan costumes.

The imam, who was already in the chamber of prayer, was standing straight and imperious on the pulpit, in front of the gathered believers. On the given time he began to pronounce the projected verses from Quran. The believers, who were turned toward an alcove on the wall, that shows the direction of the holy city, Mekka, were praying executing rhythmically the designated moves from the prayer’s ritual. The believers, more specifically, bent their head and raised it slowly again. Immediately they knelt and fell forward with their face and the front part of their body to the floor, and after a while they rose all together in a kneeling position. After some time they rose to their feet and repeated the same movement.

After the prayer’s ending Ali and Islam went out of the mosque and headed toward their brick houses that were close.

While they were walking slowly, Islam said:

-Ali, I was very upset with Hamid’s death. He was such a good boy!

-Let it be, Islam, our soul is black!… He died so suddenly and unfairly!

-Ali, I wish Allah to protect now you, your wife and your children.

-I wish the same for you, Islam.

Ali returned to his home in a few minutes, and when he prepared the wagon they all climbed in to go to his bigger brother’s house, which was at the other edge of Jamal Mina.

After some time they arrived. That moment the other two brothers arrived on their wagons. Rashid, who was the second youngest, with his wife Layla and one of his three girls, and Mahmoud with his wife Elina and his younger son. Ali was the youngest of the family.

After they greeted each other with brotherly warmth, they went inside the house.

-Come…Welcome!… Omar and his wife Latifa told them almost simultaneously, while their faces were shining.

-We are happy to see you too, they greeted back one after the other, at the same time that were embraced each other and kissed.

Their wifes that in the meantime had taken off their burqas went to the kitchen to help Latifa in the food preparation, while the children went in a room to play with Omar’s other two children.

The men sat on a very old brown carpet in the poor living room. Then Omar said:

-Well, Ali, my brother, we were hurt very much by Hamid’s unexpected loss.

-Yes, Omar, it was a great tragedy! Ali uttered with a sigh. We lost our child from an absolutely curable childhood disease.

-I wish Ali from now on to always be lucky, intervened Rashid.

-May Allah be always with your! Mahmoud added in his booming voice.

At that moment Layla entered the living room holding in her hands two big plates.

The women prepared the ground table and after a few minutes they all sat around to eat. They were giving wishes for health and happiness in a brotherly atmosphere.

Ali, Zaira and their children stayed for about three hours in Omar’s house and around the afternoon they returned home.

3

Two months had already passed since the unfair death of Hamid. The autumn had come for good. The trees had shed their green, fluffy cape. The thick black clouds were setting in the moody sky. The fallen, yellow brown leaves were swirling by the wind on the melancholic streets. The angry whistles of the wind were heard everywhere in the greyish city.

That cloudy October morning Zaira had come out alone from her house. She was walking on the pavement in a central Kabul’s street, while the few, white drops of the autumn rain were falling on her blue burqa. In the edge of the asphalt