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144 pages, Paperback
First published February 2, 2016





My view of the world amounted to a few centimeters of space above the ground, and a few pairs of feet, sometimes with shoes, sometime without. You have to have survived a place like Heaven to understand how and why a world reduced to an insignificant patch of floor can suddenly become so vital. You have to have a real hunger for life, in spite of Heaven, to be able to capture that random shot of a pair of feet that spend more time kicking you than walking by. The net of your blurred gaze beneath the blindfold is the only thing connecting you to the world, and most of the time it is reduced to a pair of boots, shows, or worn-out old slippers splattered with blood, snot, or puke."The Heaven here is no paradise, but the name of a notorious prison where the enemies of the Theological Republic are secreted, tortured, or murdered. The speaker is not even there for her own crime, but as a "bait" — Bait 455, to be precise — to be tortured as a means of breaking her dissident husband. But the woman is apparently unbreakable, withstanding every sort of degradation with no more than a single visceral "No!" Be warned, though, that this quotation is nothing; many of the early pages of Farida Hachtroudi's short novel call for a strong stomach.
Fantasies. You in my bed and me inside you. In a little while, maybe I'll hear the magic words: Mr. 43221, your file is closed. Your case has been settled. The authorities, and God the father along with them, believe you. The appellate judge has handed down his decision: accepted! You have the right to become a citizen. The right to our documents. To our freedom. To our security. The right to live without trickery, without nightmares, terror, or the obligation to flatter anyone. The right to give the finger to the Supreme Commander, to forget him, to loathe him along with everything else. For you it's the light at the end of the tunnel.This, of course, is the Colonel dreaming of the resolution of his case. But note the second sentence; all his monologues are framed as though they were letters to his wife back in his former home; he remains madly in love. She too is called Vima; she is beautiful, independent, and smart, with the determination to obtain a doctorate in astrophysics at a time when education for women was frowned upon. The other Vima, the torture victim, also thinks constantly of the spouse whom she has left behind, but she does not know whether he has betrayed her, still loves her, or even if he is alive.
One last interview with an asylum seeker who's a bit of a problem, said my interlocutor, who was not anyone I knew. He went on It's a Colonel from the Theological Republic. But - I read your file. "Refuses to do any simultaneous translation for military or government personnel from her country of origin."