Uncle Anoosh

Dear Uncle Anoosh,

I always wondered when you had been. My parents told me that you went back to Russia. I thought this wasn’t true. You were just on a trip, they said. I didn’t understand why they would lie. Being on a trip, that’s most likely the definition of someone being dead. Uncle, I was so afraid that you were dead. But you weren’t, you were in prison. I did not understand why they wouldn’t just tell me. Why didn’t they? Why didn’t you?

You were my hero, uncle Anoosh. You went to prison. My father never did and I was angry about that. You were my super hero, Uncle. Even though I had never met you then, I knew you were a hero. You went to prison. When I first met you I wanted to know everything about you. How old you were, if you had any children, if you were married. You answered them all, but there were so many other questions I wanted to ask, before, you know, you would die.

When I visited you in prison you told me that I was the star of your life. But, dear uncle Anoosh, now you are my star in heaven. I know you did not have that much love in your life. That night remember, when I first met you, you told me your story. About how you needed to stay with your nice uncle, your father said. You were only eighteen, when your uncle Fereydoon and his friends proclaimed the independence of the Iranian province Azerbaijan. Fereydoon elected himself as minister of justice of the new little republic. Your ideas were the same, you said, but your dad thus my grandfather remained faithful to the Shah. Grandpa called you a traitor, for only your good thoughts. Not only did he call you a traitor, as well as he said that you were going to be executed, next to Uncle Fereydoon, his own beloved brother. But you weren’t, you were his secretary.  Because of a nightmare you were afraid, the next morning you saw Shah’s soldiers and you ran away. Fereydoon was arrested and you were on the run. Hunger, freezing cold. You didn’t care, you kept on walking. Until you finally reached home, on the edge of life you fainted. Dear grandma wanted to help you through but grandpa was stubborn. Only when he saw you in your bed, with your life hanging on a thin, thin thread, he was giving up his stubbornness. Your mother was right, she told him that it was too late to show affection. That he needed to think of that before he would call him names.

I asked you if you were married, when my dad told me to take it slow. At a point that night you gave me a photograph. You, your two daughters and a lady. A lady without a head. Well, I was sure she had a head in real life, but on this photo it was scratched out. I asked you why, you told me it was your ex-wife and that you were divorced. ‘’Russians aren’t like us’’ you said. They do have heads, but no hearts you told me. ‘’They do not know how to love.’’ After the separation you felt lonely, and you returned back home. Incognito. But you failed. You were arrested and put in jail for 9 years. I remember I thought that I would tell Laly that you were better than her father.  My true hero.

But dear uncle Anoosh, why did you die? Why did you leave? I told God to get out. I am so confused. I know I am writing this letter, but how are you ever going to read this? Maybe you are looking along, just over my shoulder. I feel like I am lost, although I am here in my room where I have been so many times before. I am floating through air, and I have nothing to hold on to.

I miss you already,

Marji