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The Blind Owl 
A novella by Sadeq Hedayat Translated by Iraj Bashiri 
Copyright Bashiri, 1984
 
In life there are certain sores that, like a canker, gnawat the soul in solitude and diminish it.Since generally it is the custom to relegate theseincredible sufferings to the realm of rare and singularaccidents and happenings, it is not possible to revealthem to anyone. If one does talk or write about them,people pretend to accept them with sarcastic remarks anddubious smiles, while adhering either to prevalentbeliefs or to their own ideas about them. The reason isthat as yet man has not found a remedy for these sores;the only remedy now is forgetfulness induced by wine or,artificial sleep induced by opium and other narcotics. Itis a pity, however, that the effect of these drugs istransitory and that after a while, instead of soothing,they add to the pain.Will it come to pass one day that someone will penetratethe secrets of these supernatural happenings andrecognize this reflection of the shadow of the soul whichmanifests itself in a coma-like limbo between sleep andwakefulness?I shall only describe one such incident which happened tome and which has shocked me so much that I shall neverforget it; its ominous scar will poison my lifethroughout-from the beginning to the end of eternitywhere no man's understanding can fathom. Did I saypoisoned? Well, I meant to say that I am scathed by itand will remain so for the rest of my mortal life.I shall try to put down whatever I recall, whatever hasremained in my memory of the relations that connect theevents. Perhaps I can make a universal judgment about it.No. I want merely to become sure, or else to believe itmyself, because it is immaterial to me whether otherpeople believe me or not. Simply, I am afraid that I maydie tomorrow but still not know myself, because in thecourse of life experiences I have realized that a
 
frightful chasm lies between others and me. I also haverealized that I should keep silent as much as possibleand that I should keep my thoughts to myself. If I havedecided that I should write, It is only because I shouldintroduce myself to my shadow--a shadow which rests in astooped position on the wall, and which appears to bevoraciously swallowing all that I write down. It is forhim that I want to do an experiment to see if we can knoweach other better, because since the time I severed myrelations with the others, I have wanted to know myselfbetter.Absurd thoughts! It may be so, but they torture me morethan any reality. Are not these people who resemble me,and who seemingly have the same needs, whims and desiresas I do--are they not here to deceive me? Are they notshadows brought into existence merely to mock and beguileme? Isn't that which I feel, see and measure imaginarythroughout and quite different from reality?I write only for my shadow which is cast on the wall infront of the light. I must introduce myself to it.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. .
In this base world, full of poverty and misery, for thefirst time I thought a ray of sunshine had shone on mylife. But alas, it was not a sunbeam, rather it was onlya transient beam, a shooting star, which appeared to mein the likeness of a woman or an angel. And in the lightof that moment, lasting only about a second, I witnessedall my life's misfortunes, and I discovered theirmagnitude and grandeur. Then this beam of lightdisappeared again into the dark abyss into which it wasdestined to disappear. No. I could not keep thistransient beam for myself.It was three months, no, it was two months and four dayssince I had lost her, but the memory of her enchantingeyes, no, the attractive malice of her eyes, remained inmy life forever. How can I forget one who is so pertinentto my life?No, I will not call her by name, because she, with thatethereal body, slim and misty, with those two large,wonder stricken, sparkling eyes behind which my life wasgradually and painfully burning and melting away, she nolonger belongs to this base, fierce world. No, I shouldnot disgrace her name with earthly things.After seeing her I withdrew from the circle of people. I
 
withdrew completely from the circle of the fools and thefortunate; and, for forgetfulness, I took refuge in wineand opium. I passed, and still pass, my life daily withinthe four walls of my room. My whole life has passedwithin the confines of four walls.My daily occupation was the painting of pencase covers;my entire time was dedicated to the painting of pencasecovers and to the consumption of alcohol and opium. I hadchosen the ridiculous profession of pencase-coverpainting to kill the time.By a lucky chance my house is located outside the city,in a quiet and restful spot, away from the hustle andbustle of people's lives. Its boundaries are well definedand around it there are some ruins. From beyond theditch, however, some low mud-brick houses are visible andthe city begins there. I do not know which madman orwhich ill-disposed architect built this house inforgotten times, but when I close my eyes, not only allits nooks and crannies materialize before my eyes but Ifeel its pressure on my shoulders. It is a house thatcould have been painted only on ancient pencases.I must write about all these events to assure myself thatthey are not figments of my imagination. I must explainthem to my shadow which is cast on the wall. To beginwith, before this incident there had remained for me onlyone source of cheerfulness or of content. I used to painton pencase covers within the confines of the four wallsof my room, and I used to pass the time with thisridiculous amusement; but after I saw those two eyes, andafter I saw her, every work, every movement lost itsinherent value and meaning entirely. What is strange,however, and what is incredible is that, for some reason,the subjects of all my painted scenes have been of thesame type and shape. I always used to draw a cypress treeunder which an old man, wrapped in a cloak, hunching hisshoulders in the manner of the Indian yogis, sat in asquatting position. He wore a shalma around his head, andhe put the index finger of his left hand on his lips as asign of astonishment. Opposite him a girl, wearing along, black dress, was bending to offer him a lily. Shewas bending because a brook intervened between them. HadI seen this image before, or was it inspired in a dream?I do not know. I only know that whatever I paintedrevolved around this scene and this same subject; my handdrew this scene involuntarily. And still more incrediblethan this is the fact that there were customers for thispicture. I even used to send some of these pencase coversto India in care of my uncle, who used to sell them and
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ali_svgs6702

hello and thank's for the best book

reply01 / 22 / 2009
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