Sunday, December 03, 2006

- I WANT FUCK! SAYS GHITA (FUCK THE REVOLUTION!)

CHAPTER 9
- Boob, she sighed and kissed me and from then on: let the car roll. As we slowly ascended the mountain, from Boulevard Darya to the “roof of Tehran” where the rich and innocent live, the rain gradually turned into, almost, snow. She had taken off her scarf and instead she was wearing a fur coat with a soft and brown hood covering her head. There was no camera now, so instead I had turned on the mp-3 recorder, the microphones stuck into my ears like earphones, and so I wanted to say something, something significant, Bobbish ... But without Thomas, I just don’t know what to say, I am alone now, lost, if I had had a god, I would have asked him to save me, Inshallah! I don’t. And so what? The darkness has long since swallowed the mountains and deep below us the endless chaotic Tehran is glittering, as if it was all there is, - this, Ghita says, - is the house of my husband, and there, she points to the other side of the street, - my mother lives, and here, she stops in front of a marblewhite, posh, but already dirty new block, - is my house.
It was vodka, off course, Absolute, but pure this time, no Mandarin, Lemon or Cranberry flavours, in the end it is Absolute pure. She took off her hood, lit one of those long Fine cigarettes, held it between her beautiful teeth, emptied the bottle and mixed it with orange juice. - Drink! she said. But the thing is: I can’t. Thomas can drink, holy Mission! he drinks like a Greek god, he could conquer the world just through drinking, but me ... if I drink I just want to die, fast and violent, or fight somebody, yeah, fight & die. - The women! Thomas said, the new revolution goes through the women! - But... I said, - no no, he said, the men are completely under control by the regime, the men are paranoid chickens afraid of each other, - but the women! he said, they are untouchable, inaccessible, and so, - Nielsen! he said from under his white sheet, - off you go, all the way through, touch the untouchable, unveil the most secret, enter the inaccessible, go, we’ll revolutionize this country from the inside!
And now it is all up to me, - drink, Bob! Ghita says and empties her glass and disappears into her bedroom. And immediately I empty my glass into hers and instead fill it op with orange juice, pure, and when she reappears, she is not just unveiled, oh no, her neck and shoulders are all naked, white, like the skin of virgins in Greek mythology. - I want kiss! she says, and so I take out the camera. - No! she says and puts on a scarf. And while she goes for her glass, I take off my jacket (for the first time in one and a half months I take off my jacket in front of a native) and hang it over a chair next to the sofa, where - I suppose, I fear! - the Mission must be completed, the microphones hanging casually from the inner pocket.
It went on for hours, and the night was so silent, it was as if the entire population, the ten millions of Tehran, were holding their breaths, just waiting for me to come through. And then every second minute a sound from behind a concrete wall, a crack from far down a corridor, and for a moment, minutes, she would be stiff as a corpse, waiting, listening, holding back all signs of life, as if neighbours in Tehran weren’t neighbours, but just yet another form of - even more secret - police.
I know, I’ve said it before, but I really didn’t want to do it. I am the wrong man on the right mission, I’d rather meet the Evil (regime) face to face in the middle of Revolution Square, but Thomas lay in his bed and he pointed at me, there was no other, and so I just had to do it. - Kiss me! she says, and so I take a sip of her vodka and juice, and do it! But then she starts to take off my tie! This is it! I think, now there is no way back. And suddenly I know I can do it, let’s go Bob! I think, - just a moment, I says. - What? she says. - I ... I have to go to the toilet! And off I went. Why? It could have been the one fatal step that ended our Mission. It almost turned me completely off, I had no Idea that the holy shrine of Iran could be so profane: The bathroom of Ghita Noerby, it wasn’t a bathroom, oh, no, it was just a third world hole in the ground. I stood there, defenseless, no tie to hold on to me, and stared into the stinking dark of that hole, and I tried not to think, but I couldn’t help it, I’m too European: How does SHE do it, how the hell does Ghita Noerby manage to relieve herself into this primitive hole in the ground, what unthinkable position does she have to degrade her self down into?! I couldn’t bear it. How in the world are we going to revolutionize this country, this nation, this people, when even their prima donna, the seemingly most aristocratic and excellent, the absolute first lady of Iran, in The End, when all the veils have been torn down and aside and she stands naked before the Revolution, is nothing but a squatting animal.
- I want fuck! she said as she lay in the sofa, and so what could I do. It was a conspiracy, two against one. - Booob, she sighed in the final crescendo, - Boob Booob Boooob!

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