The initial interrogation and the complimentary beating concluded!
He was then barely eighteen years of age. Terrified, bleeding, and in pain – still wearing the heavy and odorous wool bag over his head (used as a blindfold and a measure to keep the identity of the guards and the interrogators secret) – he was guided by a guard down the hallway…
All he could see was the dirty vinyl floor beneath his feet.
Turn to your left and stop. The guard commanded.
He heard the clanking of a heavy metal latch followed by the screeching sound of the metal door as it swung open on its rusty hinges.
The guard, now standing directly behind him, in a swift move, removed the blindfold and simultaneously kicked him in the middle of his spine.
Unable to breath and disoriented, it took him a few seconds to realize what had just happened… He found himself, now, inside the holding cell as he heard the metal door screech again as it was shut behind him…
The cell, a very cold and damp 5’X5’ room with walls painted in pistachio green which held six prisoners (including him). They had all crouched over sitting on the floor and leaning against the walls. They all had wrapped themselves with standard army-issue blankets to keep warm.
Prisoners shuffled around to open up room for him to sit.
The floor was covered with more than 20 blankets, but they were all damp and cold.
Now sitting against the wall with his knees under his chin, still bleeding from his mouth, nose, and the corner of his left eye, he surveyed his surroundings. The cell was lit with a single 60 watt light bulb mounted on the high ceiling, had a very small 8”X12” window above reach, barred and missing glass. It was snowing outside, and because of the broken window the wind blew snow inside the cell and it was collecting in a smile pile in the middle of the room.
To his right, sat a Kurdish man in his late forties. His name was Ghader (meaning able). He seemed warm hearted and kind and was genuinely concerned for the young man’s condition.
Where were you arrested? Ghader asked him.
Outside the city of Khoy right at the three-way pass. The young man replied.
Just a month ago-before I got arrested-WE were in control of that road and we were arresting these damn Hezbollah pigs. Ghader proudly proclaimed.
…
Two days passed. Same routine… Interrogation, beating, and back to the cell.
On the third day, as he was sharing a hardened loaf of bread with Ghader for breakfast, they heard a raven’s call outside the window. It was odd and unusual because the raven didn’t stop and went on for at least 10 minutes.
Ghader turned to him and said: The raven’s call… It is an omen of good luck. Something good will happen today. I promise.
Later on that day, at 11:30 pm to be exact, the Guards came and took Ghader away.
A few minutes later Ghader’s screams and cries echoed through the entire cell block. 20 minutes later, everything went silent!
At 2:00 am the guards came back.
They called him by name and announced that it was time for his trial. They asked him to put on the head cover once again as they slid it through the small hatch in the cell door used for passing food and water.
He did as he was instructed.
And as the guards walked and guided him down the hallway and away from the cell, once again, all he could see was the dirty vinyl flooring beneath his feet. But this time, it was stained with blood. Ghader’s blood on the floor as they dragged his lifeless body from the interrogation room to god knows where.
He was tried and freed that night...
And now, decades later, still, every time he hears a Raven’s call, he is reminded of Ghader’s claim that it was an omen.
An omen that foretold his freedom and Ghader’s death!
With that, I will give you my latest painting: Raven’s Call
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