Flight year

Bagul Atayeva

Flight year

(to the blessed memory of Jonathan Netanyahu)

There are some different times in a history of mankind when being on the six or seven side streets, you have to choose which way to go. And every way has its own ends. Then people will start looking for help from others. If it is in vain, they`ll turn eyes to the sky. Notwithstanding to this, the sky will not answer as quickly as they want. Hopeless, they shrug shoulders, silently asking for reason. In the hope of clarification to what heaven circle their prayers have soared, they will often more look at to sky, but day by day there will be little hope and eyes will begin to grow dim. Only the bravest will try to rekindle the extinguished sparks of the eyes asserting that the Lord will certainly answer them. At dawn they, like angels with white cape, will pass in crowds through the narrow streets of Baghdad. Old man David ben Solomon with tight eyes from the dull yellow light of the lamp that he holds in hand will be able to see only the white cape of the last of them. He will seem to him either as cousin who lives in Amadia or the son of neighbor – Jacob ben Isaac. At times he introduces himself instead of guy with the white cape. It happens, that he is dozing by the window in the hope of seeing him again. Then the shadow of his chubby average height falls on those dawn passers, by supposedly catching up with them. Peaceful breeze of peaceful Baghdad is mixed with the heavy sighs of the old man. In this silence he ca

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It really should be like this – says the eldest son of the old man Yerschalaim – I wonder how many times a day?

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With every breath – answers the youngest son John.

The eldest son has a small store in the central market of Baghdad where he sells ink nuts. John works as his helper. But sometimes the old man gets the idea that the guy in the white cape might be his youngest son, John. At the sight of a young man, the old man’s knees begin to tremble. Barely showing up he evanesces like a mirage. Despite the fact that the old man several times tried to talk about it with his son his desires were not crowned with success. “They are, probably, rabbis who in the morning go to read the Talmud” – said Yercshalaim. With the question of whether they would see Jerusalem again, the old man turned to people every day. Not having received an answer, he began to ask from everything that surrounds him. People did not consider it necessary to pay attention to the fact that the old man was completely weakening and talking to himself. It happened in those days. David ben Solomon, sitting on a log that is located on the edge of his small garden, took of his turban. At the same time his youngest son John appeared. For the first time in a long time he saw his father’s sparse hair white as precipitation.

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Messengers came – he a

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– They say that they are intermediaries of David Allruy, that they came to take us to Jerusalem – he said later with some kind of trepidation, still staring in disbelief. He was afraid to break his father’s dreams. The old man’s silence meant his consent. This was an omen that John should be careful. From the curious eyes of his father, he realized that his caution wasn’t in vain. A person who lives long in hope is very trusting. John foresaw that this news would please his father and hurried to inform before anyone else. Firstly, he wanted to see his father’s happy smile, secondly, he wanted to check his attitude to this news. Old David’s face was as calm as the sky of Baghdad. If left him in this position no one would be able to think of his homesickness.

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Finally – he said with a deep breath. At that time his eyes were in the stage of revitalization. When he stared at his son they had already begun to perk up. Sparks hit in the brown eyes of the old man. John realized that the more the father believes in this message, the more he himself doubts it. This was especially felt when the father walked by with a barely concealed smile. Some hidden sense of contradiction intensified his fear of the veracity of this news. During the day all baghdadians heard it. They, entangled in their narrow, endless streets, joyfully hastened to a