TO KILL THE JARISH
By Mahdi Mousavi Nejad
We are going to hunt Jarish. I have to sit near their cave and wait, until they come and drink from my breast. Years after years I come with the hunters to hunt. Now I know the tricks. In the tribe it is only me who obeys the Sheikh’s advice; I am either pregnant or breast-feeding. My children never feed from my breasts, these milks belong to Jarishes. Are Jarishes my real child? I think about that, whenever my husband shows me a child and says: “This is our baby”.
Spring is the season of Jarish hunting, and other nine month is the seasons of my pregnancy. When hunting season arrives, hunter’s messenger comes to me. He puts his hand around my breast to see if they are full. They usually are so full that his hand gets wet with a little squeeze, and then he talks to my husband. They never speak loudly or in my presence. He goes to the corner of the room, where my husband lolls all day and whispers hunter’s message in his ear. From the smile on my husband’s face, I know that I can or cannot go for the hunt. They speak for a while and at last, write something on a peace of paper and sign it with their fingerprints.
They say this year Jarishes are plentiful. I can see them gamboling on the faraway hills. They look like goats with a small horn on their heads. So nimble and so nifty! They are sagacious, nothing can enthrall them except my white full breasts.
The hunter took my blouse, and my brassiere. I’ll go and sit where they showed me, half-naked. Others will hid, until I motion them. I must sit and wait for hours until a Jarish comes along.
I sit down on the boulder. The weather is dull and cloudy. Usually in this time of day Jarishes are not in the cave. In an hour or two they will come back. And then my job begins. When he sees my bare full breasts and white body, it comes forward with hesitation, looks around fearful, by every step it takes toward me hands it becomes confident. I hold my breast, with the other hand pull its head toward myself tenderly. It sniffs me and comes closer. That’s it, everything is finished. It starts sucking the milks out of my breasts.
Its eyes when it is feeding from my breast are so gorgeous. Its large black eyes become dreamy. Pleasant sense of releasing from the stiffness in my breasts rush through my body. I look into its eyes that are getting sleepy “oh lovely little Jarishe, in the whole wild world it’s only me who can huge and caress you when you are alive”
It starts drizzling. Rain drops on its soft fine brown hairs are so beautiful! I caress its forehead and listen to the sound of milk going down its throat. Bon appetite!
Drink my dear Jarish! Drink my dear lonely Jarish! Drink until you become drunk and sleepy in my arms. Then I will stand up and surrender you to the hunters.