By Gholam-Hossein Saedi
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| Gholamhossein Saedi |
At the beginning of the street, people gather in a queue in front of a telephone booth. The weather is cold and rainy. Restless people stare intently into the booth. A man holding the receiver is talking on the phone. He pauses but doesn’t pay attention to anyone. He laughs and shrugs it off. He takes out a cigarette and lights it; the conversation heats up again. The people at the door get anxious; their nerves are tense. They talk among themselves. One impatient person steps out of the line and disappears into the dark night. One or two more men also consider leaving the line but then dismiss the thought. The person at the front of the line knocks on the booth’s door. The man inside shakes his eyebrows and gestures for them to be patient. Everyone’s protests become louder, but the man inside speaks quickly. He laughs, puts down the receiver, grabs his notebook, and leaves the booth. He can barely contain his joy. The crowd looks at him angrily and insults him under their breath. He, however, walks away with indifferent steps and disappears into the darkness.
Another man enters the phone booth. He is very angry. As he lifts the receiver, his eyes catch the shadow of the man who disappeared into the darkness. He pulls out a notebook, flips through it, and drops a coin. He collects numbers and starts talking. When he begins to speak, his face relaxes. He loosens the knot of his tie. He talks and talks and talks again. One man hits the glass. The man inside the booth does not pay attention. The man outside hits the glass again. The man inside wrinkles his face, signaling that he must be patient. He keeps talking, laughs heartily, puts down the receiver, gathers his papers, tightens his tie, and leaves the booth. Everyone looks at him with hatred. He, too, leaves without paying attention to anyone and disappears into the dark.
The next man enters the booth angrily but closes the door behind him immediately. He is reckless and spits on the ground. He lifts the receiver, drops a coin, and talks while stamping his feet. Eventually, he calms down and smiles. The restless people waiting outside start hitting their hands and sometimes their knees. A few others leave the line and vanish into the darkness. The man inside the booth leaves, belches, gets into his car, and speeds away.
A fat woman carrying a walking stick under her arm enters the booth. She pauses briefly to catch her breath, then lifts the receiver, drops a coin in, and begins to speak. She asks questions and receives surprising answers. Growing increasingly uncomfortable and restless, she neither listens nor understands. She keeps talking, again and again. The people waiting in line grow fed up. One angry man pounds the glass with his fist. The woman pays no attention. She leans forward, pushes past, tosses aside her walking stick, and stomps her foot on the door to keep anyone else from entering. Those outside have also lost their patience.
The next man entering the booth is a ten-year-old boy. He lifts the receiver and talks and talks. Everyone is in a hurry. After the boy leaves the booth, the impatient people in line enter one by one, arguing and talking without paying attention to those waiting outside. It’s as if the booth is a power center.
The last man is an old man. He enters the booth with a bag full of garbage in his hand. He is tired and worn out. He looks outside through the window — no one is there. He lies down on the floor. Just as he stretches out to rest, someone starts knocking on the door with fists. It’s the wind knocking.
The old man leaves the booth and lies down on the wooden bench. The wind enters the booth and lifts the receiver. The rain hits the glass with its fists.
Turkish (Azerbaijan) translation: https://anlamlar.blogfa.com/post/63