Translated and editted by the Author
Annotation
Azerin, a little girl sicked with thalessemia, haunted by memories of an unhappy childhood and fear of dying, looking through the window for her parents / In a Orphanage at her bedside she fevers, hearing the doctors’ speaking on her untreatable illness-thalessemia. Here Lack of Blood has two meanings; morally and physically. The first means that world and mankind are suffering from the global illness thalassemia / the second point is that human beings are lack of blood that means they almost lost their humanity. In a series of interior monologues, directed toward herself and her poor parents, she eventually understanding and forgiving her died mother, but not loosing hope to see her father again.
The story is narrated by Azeri herself, ten years old girl, after her death.
I died when I was ten years old; I died because I was able to differentiate between black and white, hot and cold. I wonder if all those children living ten years in the world are thinking like me? If so, then why don’t they die, why? All colors for me useful and attractive to the same degree. I just was used to these colors. There wasn’t any bad thing for me; but in the deepness of my heart I was afraid of something. Then I understand that this frightening thing is illness. A person dies when he is ill. Once, in the orphanage my nanny whispered that “this girl is sick with thalessemia, she will die”. She thought that I am sleeping. But I was awake despite of closing my eyes and heard their talks with the manager of the orphanage. I didn’t know what is the “thalessemia”. But, I felt very anxious for the words “will die”; understood that this is something bad. Since that day, I started to think of this bad news; all my thoughts mixed. I couldn’t behave naughty, mince and none could calm me. I stared at the road all the day and night; couldn’t remember my mother. My father was always saying that she is in the hospital and will come back as soon as she is well. I believed in my father, waited for him until I died; this sorrow gave me pain. I was thinking that I wouldn’t die and think of my death if he takes me from here. Because, he was the strongest person for me...
I came to the orphanage in my father’s arms. I couldn’t forget my father’s misty face during five years. I started to understand everything very early, started to think and these thoughts gave me an uncomfortable life. Then I realized that these thoughts accelerated my death. What can you expect from a child started thinking since she is five years old? How can be the life of a child given to the orphanage since five years old? I couldn’t forget the misty memory of the talk between my father and the director of the orphanage.
- Her mother died, I can’t take care of her... Please... pleading... she is ill...I am not reach enough to look after her... – my father was saying.
- Has she got documents? – she examined me from head to foot.
- Ready... all documents are here...if you need more...
- Daughter, what is your name?-the manager asked.
- .......
I was looking at my father. I was in fear. But I didn’t know what was scaring me. I kept silence. I didn’t know why I kept silence. My father seated me next to him and said by sleeking my hears:
-She is asking your name, daughter... (This was the last address of my father to me that I remember and I can’t remember anything more.)
- Azerin...
- Mashallah![1] How old are you? - asked the director with a serious tone.
- Five... will be six next year... - I said.
- God save you!
That day my father left me to the manager and went out. It was strange that, I didn’t cry. I didn’t say him “father don’t go”. I even didn’t say him “good bye!”. I think this surprised the director very much. She took me to a room with a lot of children. When we entered the room, she told a round-faced aunt looking like her:
- Bahar, please take her, she is also new...The number of children increased by one.
Aunt Bahar smiled, took by my hand and told to children:
- Children, see how nice girl came to us? What is your name, darling?
- Azerin...
- Azerin, you also come and join these children; you see Natig, Flora, Nihad, Jamal, Lyuba, Firdovsi, Andre, Gatiba, Juliya... how nice pictures are they drawing? Can you draw a picture?
- No...
- Then we can teach you how to draw…Aren’t we, children?
-.....
The children kept silence. Everyone looked at me with great surprise. I was wondering why they were looking at me with such a great surprise? Am I so much interesting?
Aunt Bahar showed me a bed.
- Look, you will sleep here...Next to the window...
During five years I have slept next to that window; watched the yard, the gate, the street and the newsstand out of that window. Where the entry gate is located my father asked that swarthy, kind uncle; the owner of the newsstand looked at my father and me friendly and pointed the gate with his hand. Then by saying “God bless you” he saw us until the gate. I always found a similarity between my father and him. I thought that the uncle, looking like my father, opening the newsstand every morning knows my father and also knows where my father is; every morning when he opened the newsstand and placed the newspapers I was thinking that he will wave me hands and call me to him by smiling, sleek my hairs and say that “daughter, your father has come to take you...”
These all were just a dream whispers with myself. The uncle at the newsstand didn’t see me and he didn’t tell me nice words. But I started almost all my mornings by watching the newsstand, how the uncle working at the newsstand and looking like my father neatly places the newspapers and journals in front of the newsstand. I was thinking that just now from the other side my father will appear and will ask the uncle at the newsstand my place and the uncle will show my window to my father. Then, everything will be ok, everything... But my father never appeared.
In this orphanage, only aunt Bahar could calm me a little bit. Once she said me that “you are the calmest and cleverest among these children. You are obedient, dutiful, don’t hurt anyone. We love you very much. You eat your meal, sleep and wake up on time, all the day you stay in front of the window and watch outside. You are the very child.”
In such times, I was thinking that I am waiting something else. This could be alive or dead. Then, what was that thing? I was always missing something, some feeling or sense inside me. Aunt Bahar was saying that she is both my father and mother. Actually, I couldn’t remember my mother, my feelings to her also died with her. But I remembered my father?! Then why all these memories did not replaced with love? I don’t know.
When I remember my father’s misty face, those unclear feelings died and revived from time to time; but the mixed feelings inside me flamed and every morning the feeling of longing my father instinctively brought me to the front of the window of this orphanage. This place was my waiting point; this window was my hope, my refuge. I loved this window very much. This window was my warm and cold, consolation place. And from this window I was watching the yard, green pine-trees in the yard, I heard and saw how the birds were chirping, then I was watching to the street, cars in the street, and lastly to the newsstand of the uncle looking like my father; different people, various cars, mothers, fathers... I was happy to see them from this window. I was dreaming of being among them with my father sometime in the future. The most important was uncle’s newsstand; when it was open I was thinking that my father will find the way to the orphanage as he see the newsstand...
It is a pity that all these were left behind, my dreams and hopes died with me. Of course, I didn’t know the day when I will die and I couldn’t know. I was leaning tired in the bed in front of the window. Sometimes aunt Bahar came and put her hands on my forehead, looked at my inert eyes, whispered something and left. I remember that I had an injection and blood transfusion twice a year. But in last days I had much more injections and cures. Every time when I saw a doctor in white my heart was throbbing. I was wandering when these doctors will stop these injections? Because all my blood vessels were in a bad condition due to the pains and injections...
...Eight hours were left to my death. This great disaster would be happened in the dawn, at five o’clock. In the evening aunt Bahar visited me with a group of uncles and aunts in white. As usual, she sleeked my hears with her hands and asked:
- How are you, Azerin?
- .......
I didn’t have strength to answer. Aunt Bahar turned to uncles and aunts, then said:
- These children need blood! They need the blood much more than the meal, do you hear me?
- No blood!
- But, what can I do, what? Where to go, whom to say?
- Blood-donors decreased... They don’t give blood...
- Should these children die, then?
- We will think something. What can we do? There are so much such patients in the world that we can’t reach all of them...Just wait...Maybe we will have tomorrow?
I understand that, something strange and terrible incident will happen. I started moving in my bed. Then, I realized that all children living in this orphanage were lack of blood like me. Blood was a very good thing and when they inject it into your body you don’t die. Oh my God! Just see how many children are waiting for blood! Flora, Lyuba, Aytaj, Gatiba, Jeyla, Firdovsi, Nihad, Andrew... These children were also injected blood during these five years like me. Now uncles say that there isn’t blood in the world, the blood of the world decreased. Let’s take that the world doesn’t have blood. ..Then what happened with people? They don’t have either? During these five years, singers often visited us. They were bringing us warm clothes, various toys, delicious sweeties. They played, sang with us then left. There were a lot of these kind of concerts. But now I don’t need a concert. I need a blood, red blood. Then where are they now?
Aunt Bahar took the guests to other room in anxiety. Stopped at the door, looked at me for the last time and turned to uncles as if saying very important thing and said:
- She is in a very hard condition, her spleen and liver are expanded... She will die...They say that her mother also was like her...We have informed her father...
That day I waited my father until the dawn. I was such believing that he will come...I was thinking that he will come and bring me blood. Will take me with himself and I will be alright...
In the morning I felt some strength, got up and opened the window. I saw that a big crane took the newsstand that I watch with hope every morning and put it in a lorry. After some time all small shops around the newsstand disappeared either. They destroyed all of them. I suffocated with sorrow. Then how will my father find this orphanage? Whom will he ask?...
...It was a day-break. The light wind of Baku was moving the pine-trees in the yard slowly. The gate was closed; the clouds of dust were raised on the other side of the gate and the people with the newspaper selling uncle were shouting and talking loudly with the owners of lorries. The shouting and the noises of engines of lorries have broken the silence of the dawn. Then, the wind became more stronger and the husky voices of people heard around. Nightingales and other birds started warbling in the yard. It seems that they have their blood and that is why they are singing loudly. How happy are the birds?
This was the last happy weather I remember....
2008.