The Weary Generations by Abdullah Hussein Page A

said, there was madness in his heart. I only want to tell you the truth of how it was, so that you know the real nature of your father and not end up hating him. When he moulded those objects from cold iron, they turned into living things in his hands. It was like love; if he stopped making them, his life would ebb away. How could they take that from him? Soon he was at it again. Roshan Agha the elder said to him, “Niaz Beg, you will bring destruction upon the whole village.” Your father took the tools from the workshop into a room in the house where wheat chaff was stored, shut himself in there and carried on. He made ten-chamber revolvers that nobody had ever seen. Well, this time a whole police guard came with a white officer at the head. It was as if the villagers knew that they were coming. People had disappeared into their houses, shutting the doors behind them, and cattle wandered in the streets unattended. They took all his firearms, got every single thing in the house, including cots and clothes, made a heap outside the house and put a torch to them. My brother spread his hands before them, saying that these were his “toys”, that he only played with them. “No bullets. I make no bullets,” he said, weeping, “I don’t know how to. Not a single bullet has been fired from them. These are toys. My ornaments.” The British officer took his revolver out and fired into the burning heap. “I will burn the whole village down,” he shouted, so that those inside the houses could hear. Then they took him away. In the end he was sentenced to twelve years of rigorous imprisonment, on a charge of mutinous treason, plus confiscation of all our lands, save a few acres.’
    Ayaz Beg covered his face and wept silently for several minutes. His voice had been pressing on Naim’s heart as if a massive stone were being lowered slowly on it. He felt relief when that voice broke down. Before he got up to go out of the room, Ayaz Beg spoke his last words. ‘Your parents want to see you. You can go. But you must come back soon. I can’t go. Even today, if the government comes to know that I see him, I will lose any position that I have earned.’
    Naim climbed up the stairs to the roof and lay down on his cot. After a while he went to sleep. He woke up only when the sun crept up andstarted to burn his skin. He dragged his cot to the shade of the parapet. Tossing and turning, he went back to sleep. He was drenched in sweat when he awoke. The sun was setting on a hot day. He took off his shirt, made a ball of it and pressed it on his face and chest to dry himself. Ayaz Beg had come up several times to look while Naim slept. Hearing the noise of his waking, Ayaz Beg climbed up to the roof once again to ask whether Naim would like to accompany him on a stroll. ‘I don’t feel like it,’ was Naim’s answer. He sat on the cot where he had slept for a long time, his limbs feeling leaden, until the sun went down and stars began to appear one by one in the clear sky. Ayaz Beg was long gone on his evening walk. Naim got up, put on a clean shirt and walked straight out of the house.
    Azra was sitting by the fountain out on the lawn reading a book in the light of a table lamp brought out on a long flexible wire.
    â€˜What have you been doing today?’ she asked.
    â€˜Sleeping,’ Naim answered.
    â€˜Sleeeeping!’
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜It was hot.’
    â€˜You should have taken a bath,’ she said, laughing. ‘We all waited for you.’
    â€˜Who?’
    â€˜Who what?’
    â€˜Who waited?’
    â€˜Pervez. Jamila.’
    â€˜Not you?’
    Azra silently extended her hand to catch the cool drops of the fountain on her fingers.
    â€˜Why not you?’ asked Naim.
    â€˜Why, why!’
    They laughed quietly. For the first time in all these days, Naim felt that through the jokey exchange and the low self-conscious