It is sunset. People sit scattered along the shore on the damp, rain-soaked firewood they have kindled. Thick smoke drifts toward the sea. Children dig holes in the sand, build castles, or immerse themselves in the water as dusk settles. The adults, half-watching the children, sit around the fires in their orange glow, eating, cracking sunflower seeds, smoking hookahs, or murmuring to one another. A hungry gull flies low near the shoreline in search of fish. Nothing but the sound of the sea can be heard. The waves drown out the voices of the people. It is as if everyone is speaking in silence.
Suddenly, the steady rhythm of a goblet drum (tonbak) rises in the air. The sound gradually draws nearer. Now, the faint strains of a feeble violin join in. Soon, the musicians emerge from the darkness into the firelight: a frail young boy playing the drum and a thin man with a bow in hand, playing the violin. The violinist stops, closes his eyes, bends his knees, and begins to play Reng-e Baba Karam—a lively Persian dance tune.
A plump young man in white shorts rises from the crowd, claps his hands, and shakes his belly and hips while standing in place. A middle-aged man with a cigarette between his lips steps forward, his back slightly hunched. He spreads his arms, twirls, and bends his knees in rhythm. The crowd claps and cheers. Another young man, bald-headed and holding a hookah, wearing only a sleeveless undershirt and shorts, rushes in with rhythmic movements, swirling his hips in circular motions. The crowd bursts into laughter, but a loud crashing wave drowns out their mirth. Now, synchronized clapping echoes louder and louder. The signs of joy are evident: more people join the dance, singing and stomping their feet. The drum and the feeble violin continue playing in the background. The restless, stormy sea pounds the shore with relentless force.
A lone gull, likely still hungry, occasionally plummets into the water like a stone, then rises again. Away from the crowd, a hunched old man tries to walk alone along the stormy shore, avoiding the commotion.
Suddenly, the drumbeat and dancing come to an abrupt halt. A strong hand, clad in the sleeve of a khaki uniform, grips the violinist’s arm, trying to pull him away from the crowd. The young drummer hangs his tonbak from one hand, wailing loudly with tears streaming down his face. The crowd scatters in an instant. A burly young man in a khaki uniform shoves the frail violinist forward, pushing him onto a sandcastle still bearing the imprints of children’s hands. The weeping drummer joins them—now the only two left in the scene. The sea continues its assault on the shore, roaring fiercely. A towering wave crashes upon the violinist and the child.
The shore is silent and desolate.
بدون دیدگاه