...always belonged to someone else...

Mahmoud Khan called from France this morning and asked to speak to my father, who wasn't at home. Then he asked to speak with my mother, who was in the shower. I am afraid this means that my dai Bahman died sometime in the night. And he didn't want to tell it to me himself.

It is not as if this would be unexpected. For the past two years lung cancer has been overwhelming Bahman, while spreading to his kidney, bones, liver and finally, blood. He was strong throughout, until suddenly two weeks ago when there was a turn for the worse and suddenly my family experienced a mass exodus to France to see him, and be there for him, even though by this time he was primarily unconscious and could not have been aware of it. And now, it was coming down to just days.

And then Mahmoud Khan called from France this morning and asked to speak to my father, and this is where we are. Somewhere on the other side of the ocean my uncle is dead or dying and I am scared to death, and angry beyond anything I can express because three nights ago, when they began to tell me how serious it had become and why my mother had just bought an express ticket to France and run off to find an emergency passport renewal, my father paused in his story to light a cigarette.