Nemet Metin - ‘My God’

The rustle of the trees, the sounds of the birds and the wild animals, purling of the rivers in the boundless forests didn’t let me think properly. My thoughts were tangled. If only you knew what I had seen when I was in exile. I ran wild seeing those who ran away to the forest as big as Azerbaijan, then returned regretfully, those who committed suicide by jumping from the mountain after axing our commanders, or who ate human meat. Vasif didn’t have anything except a box of matches when he ran to the forest. At night he made a fire and wished to sleep hungrily but seeing a hairy creature walking towards he scared to death. While the creature walking towards the fire with heavy steps his face was lit up by the flames, but nothing was seen. His face was covered with hair. Not only his face but his entire body, his hands, feet and forehead were hairy. His beard and moustache were tangled. Only when the scary creature approached the fire Vasif realized that he was a human being. The hairy creature was Vadim, who many years ago could be escaped from the exile. It appeared that for eight years he had been living in the forest, he cut his nails by rubbing the stones, but he had nothing to shave his face. When he was talking with Vasif he took a piece of dried meat that resembled a black gum, and put it into his mouth. Thanks to the dried meat he could be survived. The words Vadim told him at the end of their talk caused Vasif to return to the death camp.

‘You won’t be able to escape from the forest. You have only two ways. You will either pass away in this thick forest, or to return to that hell- to the camp. Life is sweet, I advise you to return to the camp.’

‘Well, I wonder why the hairs on your hands, feet and forehead grow.’

‘It is the result of eating raw meat. That is why the animals are hairy.’

So, Vasif said goodbye to Vadim and came back to the camp, and spoke to all the men who knew the Azerbaijani language about his meeting with Vadim in the forest. Afterwards Vasif learned the Russian language and he told that episode to the Russian-speaking prisoners.

When they cut the trees in the forest at least five or ten prisoners were injured, even some of them died. Some prisoners either fell from the tree, or fought with each other and pushed each other from the mountain. It was impossible to come back from there. Those who could be survived after they had fallen from the trees would be smashed by the thick branches of the tree. The unhewn parts of the trees rolled down till the slope of the mountain, from there they fell into the river, from there the flow carried them away. Then they were loaded into the lorry and were sent away.

Once in a week the prisoners were given five liters of water. Though they tried to wash themselves, the water was frozen in the air when the wanted to pour it over their head. Those who could do it were glad, because if you didn’t often wash your body in a frosty weather you would freeze. Even their spit was frozen. When they urinated the line drawing a zigzag trajectory landed on the ground in the shape of an ice. At night it was so cold even when you held the axe in your hand a bit more, its handle stuck on your hand. I waited for to go to the room where the firewood- stove was and to warm myself.

Tuberculosis was so widely spread among the prisoners we didn’t consider it a disease. Those who were infected with tuberculosis were glad that they might live a bit more. Those whose bodies were covered with wounds were shot. That was why we made efforts to remain clean.

As if the time was tied to our feet. As we were lost in the jungles of Russia the time was also lost. After many years some prisoners had become fathers. They learned the news of being a father from the letters of their relatives. That night they shed tears and drank till the morning. ‘The drink’ was a blue liquid made of from boiling of the machine oil. It was like a poison. The tea was considered a narcotic and if they saw any prisoner drinking tea, their punishment was increased three years more. They increased my punishment too. I have been rotting in the prisoner camp for ten years. My yellow hair fell because of the lack of vitamins and stress. I lost my weight, I am forty seven kilograms. Today we heard that white bread would be given to us. Every other day we were given a piece of black bread. Even at times they didn’t give it too. We hunted crows, bears and rabbits, and ate their meat. We were hungry persons attacking the bear with an axe in our hand. The hunting was like the fighting area. Either the crows pecked the dead bodies of the humans, or the humans fried the crow meat in the fire and ate it hungrily.

I have got a notebook. I write the interesting and frightened episodes on it. Writing doesn’t let me to lose my spirit. Yesterday I wrote the followings in my notebook.

‘Oh, thanks God, there are dogs. If there weren’t the dogs today we wouldn’t eat rabbit meat.’

On one of the sunny days we again headed to the forest to chop trees. In the forest I parted from the others. I was alone. From a distance I could hear the sound of the falling trees. As if the trees were crying. Recently I have become much sensible. I threw the axe on the ground and sat under a tree. I was lost in thoughts. Suddenly I noticed a tree, on the trunk of which somebody had drawn some letters. I took my axe when I stood up. I approached the tree and read the words. There were written ‘Javid’. As if a little warmth fell into my heart. As if the tree was Javid. I hugged the tree and sobbed. When I calmed I came back to the camp to which I was sent a year ago. They often changed my place. I wondered who Javid was. I asked Vasif about it.

‘Javid was a poet. Who knows maybe he is still alive. They took him a year ago, some days before you had come here. To my mind, his name was Hussein. At nights he wrote poems and read them to the Azerbaijani-speaking prisoners. Nothing was left from him. Because after reading his poems to us he threw the papers into the firewood-stove,’ Vasif told me.

 I said goodbye to Vasif and headed to the camp which reminded me my years of service. Afterwards it appeared that it was our last meeting with him. After a week they sent me to other camp, and I could be survived from there, and at last, after twelve years I should return to Azerbaijan.

But I couldn’t forget the word ‘ Javid’ drawn on the trunk of the tree. Afterwards I married, my children came to life. The day came when my son studied at 7^th grade, and my daughter studied at 4^th grade. During those years I often read them poems from the poetry collection of Hussein Javid. Recently while reading his poem

 ‘My God’ I was moved to tears…

I didn’t enjoy from the parties, from society,

I can’t enjoy from wars or politics.

I understand nothing from philosophy or wisdom,

My God is beauty and love!

Translator: Sevil Gulten