The Blind Owl (Authorized by The Sadegh Hedayat Foundation - First Translation into English Based on the Bombay Edition). Sadegh Hedayat

over, offering a bruised morning glory to him with her right hand, meanwhile, the old man was chewing the fingernail of his left index finger.

      The damsel was right in front of me, but it seemed as if she was completely unaware of her surroundings; she looked without having looked, an involuntary smile was frozen on her lips, as if she was thinking about someone who was not there—It was from there that—those terrifying and enchanting eyes that seemed to bitterly mock one, those restless, wondrous, threatening and promising eyes of hers, and my lifeblood fell onto those meaningful and shiny globes and was absorbed into their depths—this mesmerizing looking glass pulled at my entire being to the point where the mind of man becomes feeble—slanted Turkoman eyes that had a supernatural and intoxicating brightness, which attracted and frightened one at the same time; it was as if, with her eyes, she had seen supernatural and frightening scenes that not everyone could see—prominent cheeks, a high forehead, slender eyebrows that were conjoined, full-bodied lips that were half open, lips that seemed to have just separated from a long, warm kiss, but still insatiable. Her black tousled hair covered the edges of her moonlit face and one of its tresses hung over her temple—The delicacy of her limbs and heedlessness of her ethereal movements spoke of her frailty and impermanence, only a Hindu temple dancer could have had the same graceful movements as she. Her sad expression and her joy filled with sorrow, all of these showed that she was not like ordinary people, for certain her beauty was not pedestrian, she appeared before me as having stepped out of an opium-laced paradise.

      She created an arousal in me like that which is derived from mandrake. Her long and slender limbs and the symmetric line that went down from her shoulders, arms, breasts, chest, buttocks and calves seemed as if they had just been torn from her lover’s embrace—as if she was the female mandrake that had just been torn from her lover’s embrace.

      She was wearing a wrinkled black dress that clung tightly to her body. When I looked at her it seemed that she wanted to jump over the stream that separated her and the old man, but could not—Then the old man started to laugh, it was a dry, grating laugh that made the hairs on one’s body stand on end. Without his face changing, he gave out a hard laugh that was degenerate and mocking, like the echo of a laugh that has made it out of a void.

      Flask of wine in hand and confused, I jumped off the stool—I do not know why I was shaking, it was a trembling that was full of fear and pleasure, as if I had just awoken from a refreshing and frightening dream—I placed the flask of wine on the ground and held my head with both hands—For how many minutes, or hours, did this last? I do not know—as soon as I came to, I grabbed the flask of wine and entered the room, I saw that my uncle had gone and that he had left the door cracked open like the mouth of the dead—the sound of the old man’s dry laughter was still ringing in my ears.

      The sky was turning dark, the lamp was smoking, but the aftereffects of that terrifying and intoxicating trembling that I had sensed within myself were still with me—My life changed from that moment—one glance was enough, because that heavenly angel, that ethereal damsel, to a degree that is beyond the understanding of man, left her indelible mark on me.

      During this time I was beside myself, it was as if I had known her name from before. The sparkle of her eyes, her color, her smell and movements all seemed familiar to me, as if in a former life, in the realm of purgatory, our souls had been conjoined, of one source and one substance, destined to join again. I must have been close to her in this life, I never wanted to touch her, the invisible rays that were emitted from our bodies and that became intertwined were enough—This frightening occurrence that immediately seemed familiar to me, do not two lovers always have this same feeling, that they have seen each other previously, that a mystical relationship once existed between them? In a wretched world such as this, I either wanted her love or the love of no one—how could anyone else affect me so? But the dry, grating laughter of the old man—that inauspicious laughter tore the ties that bound us together.

      All night I was thinking of this, several times I wanted to go and peer through the opening in the wall but I was scared of the old man’s laughter, and the next day I only thought of the same. Could I really tolerate not seeing her? The day after that, notwithstanding my intense fear, I decided to place the flask of wine back in its place—But as soon as I pulled the closet’s curtain aside and looked inside, the dark black wall, with the same darkness that has covered my entire life, was in front of me. There was absolutely no trace of any opening or passage leading to the outside—The small square opening was completely closed off and had become part of the wall, as if it had never even existed. I pulled the stool forward, but no matter how many times I madly pounded on the wall and listened, or brought the lamp forth and looked, the slightest trace of that opening could not be seen and my blows had no effect on that thick and sturdy wall—it had become a solid mass of lead.