1
That night, in the office of the Homeland Saviors Party, a pipe burst. The office was located in the basement of Colonel Varasteh’s house on Yusef Abad’s nineteenth street. It had come to life just after the migration of the colonel’s wife and children, and from the beginning, Colonel Khoshrou and Mr. Hamidi had joined Colonel Varasteh hand in hand. There hadn’t been a single session they missed. Mrs. Khoshrou, the wife of Colonel Khoshrou, had passed away several years ago. After years of battling cancer, she passed away without bringing any children to Mr. Khosrow. Mr. Hamidi, on the other hand, had never taken a wife, and he still lived with his elderly mother. He had nothing but his mother and a framing shop in Yusef Abad, which he had rented out a long time ago, and the new tenant had turned it into a tea-house.
Hamidi’s acquaintance with these two individuals dated back to their service together in the logistics department of an auxiliary office related to the Air Force. During those times, he had ordered numerous picture frames of the Shah and Farah for various rooms from them.
Honestly, none of them held the rank of Colonel; they had retired with the rank of Brigadier General. However, they insisted that if justice prevailed and the high-ranking officers were not so corrupt and nepotistic, they would have surely attained the rank of Colonel. Eventually, in their old age, they inaugurated the party office and pledged to gather together to take a step towards the salvation of the homeland.
Every day at ten or eleven in the morning, they would arrive at the office, and after singing the anthem “Ey Vatan,” they would discuss the affairs of the nation. They talked about the latest regional and international developments, and before noon arrived, they would arrange the drinks stall, sitting down with booze glasses to enjoy shallot yogurt, Roudbar olives, and occasionally welcoming other friends and comrades who brought kebabs. Life was complete with such pleasures.
Mr. Golfam, Mr. Sakhaei, and Engineer Roshangar were who, on certain days, joined the main ranks of the party. The days when everyone gathered were the best days, and on those days, drinking was even more enjoyable. Those were the days of kebabs, traditional bread, and fresh basil, and everything was perfect and sufficient.
Although these pleasant times, much like the good old days, were short-lived. Engineer Roshangar, one day during his morning exercise, suffered a stroke and passed away. A little later, Colonel Khoshrou, due to a blocked coronary artery, was hospitalized and underwent surgery. After that, he could never make it back to the party office.
Sakhaei and Golfam, who used to come less frequently before, gradually became even less regular, and much later, rarely showed up at the office. At best, they’d pop into the office, once every couple of months.
That night, when the pipe burst, Colonel Varasteh was alone in his bedroom, fast asleep, completely oblivious to the pipe’s rupture. Come morning, he ventured downstairs solo, only to discover a watery mess. He quickly contacted Mr. Hamidi to come over. It didn’t take long for him to arrive, and both, with water up to their ankles, struggled to locate the broken pipe. Meanwhile, picture frames, bottles, and other items that were on the floor or against the walls were floating in the water. They rotated in circles to find the pipe, but the more they hunted, the less they found, and as time passed, the water rose even higher.
Eventually, they went out to the backyard, sat on the worn-out folding chairs in the corner, and contacted the water and sewage organization and even the fire department. Each of them lit a cigarette and teased the cat that had just given birth, and its playful kittens climbing on its back. It didn’t take long for them to realize from the sound of sirens and other noises that the fire department and officials from the water and sewage organization had arrived. They extinguished their cigarettes and returned to the basement.
