The Acquaintance From Iran - Part 2 // Quatrains by Claus Hebell

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The author had begun his travels in Iran as a pedestrian always walking. He remained on foot aided by an umbrella he had acquired in a basar for household goods. The rows of air-conditioned coaches passed him on his way. The inmates looked down at him with astonishment and incomprehension. He inhaled their exhaust fumes. As a pedestrian he remained on his own for some time. But then he found companions who saw things in a similar way.
One was a girlsomewhat like a weird fairy godmother with extraordinary temper, the other a retired geography teacher bearded like a wallross-prophet with somewhat peculiar views. The small company moved with strangely unspoken understanding through the country from sight to sight. They were so well received by the locals that slowly they began to feel like in a big bang of hospitality: People offered them sleeping places, strictly separated according to gender, they ware accompanied to train stations, recommended all sorts of sights, people drew city maps on napkins, they were invited to home celebrations with tea and scented cakes, introduced to uncle, aunt, grandma and grandpa, treated to national food, they were to be cooked for which they politely declined because they thought themselves a nuisance, they were asked about their experience of life, their way of thinking and interests. They were photographed with the hosts and again without.
The author sometimes gasped for beath, this was was beyond his psychology.
And Iran, the country: The Naqsh-e-Jahan Square in Isfahan, the Garden of Abad Dalat, the old City of Yazd, the Mosque Nasir-ol-Molk, the Zoroastrian fire temple of Amol, Aran-o-Bid Gol with its
shrines, the Blue Mosque, Nashabad with its underground dwellings, the tomb mosque in Qom, Masouleh, the village in high mountains which is inhabited only in summer, Shiraz where Hafiz lies, the worshipers resting their hands on his tomb. In what other country would a literary person have joyd such veneration? The Zikkat in Chogho Zubil, the tomb of Cyrus, the Ruins of Hatra, the Amir Chaghmagh Mosque. The author stumbled through thousands of years of miraculous archicture.
Suddenly the door had slammed shut behind him with a bang. The noise reverberated in the region. The country descended into chaos. From one day to the next it became hazardous to enter it, Non-natives were advised to leave. The acquaintance from Iran had affirmded that something like this was to be expected. The author looked for orientation. He seemd to be rather ignorant of the country.
Nassim sent selfies on whatsapp. One showed him near the burnt out skeleton of a car in front of the remains of a street restaurant. Fire was in the background. Tires, scooters and barriers were piled up. Smoke was swirling up in black clouds. Another showed his shoe, as the text went, near the remains of a chared bench in a street with crowds running. "War…on hair…boom…clot… ck..
..tiotion… crack.. reb…“ Some letters were in Farsi, Arabic and Latin letters merged.
Another selfieshowed part of his jacket in front of what seemed to have been a bistro. Road signs were scattered on the ground, people were looking for shelter.
The author read Khayyam´s quatrains again. In his essays he deals with transcendence, determinism, universal principles of reason and the free will which was particularly important to the author.
He found examples such as: „Into this unverse and why not knowing/ Nor whence like water willy-nilly flowing/ And out of it as wind along the waste/ I know not wither willy-nilly blowing/“. The efforts of science and philososhy seem to be treated here: „ For in and out, above, about, below/ Tis nothing but a magic shadow show/ Played in a box whose candle is the sun/ Round which we phantom figures come and go/“. In the centuries of interpretation one gets lost in irreconcilable assumptions. Some see Khayyam as a Sufi striving to transcend the natural sphere in mystical asceticism, others call him a hedonist without regard for religion using philosophy as a pretext for his drinking habits.
Nassim no longer seemed to be in Tabriz where the author had seen him. He didn't want to tell his whereabouts, it seemed to be insecure, the internet was switched off and on. “One point seven million square kilometers, lakes, deserts, houses danglimg on a lock…if any other organs are affected will be announced later...," the message went. Fragments followed: "Goats and religion,...sepsis of all organs... „. Are there more specific explanations?“ the author asked” "Nine
one one!" He remembered this to be the emergency number of the New York telefone system. More messages were not transmitted. The connection broke off. A gray hole appeared on the WhatsApp phone and remained there for good.
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