There’s No Choice
A Jam of Jar - There’s No Choice
Working in the IRGC Cooperation was a heavy responsibility. I mean, it didn’t have a specific time. It always engaged your mind. It might be hard to believe now, but most of the time we were pretty busy. The work time was determined by our energy and stamina, although, sometimes we lacked energy. Every day, our office got full of mothers and fathers who were nervous. They had no news of their sons. T hey were worried for their spouses. T hey even asked about any news of their was the most missing son. The missing difficult problem of all. Many came each day and sat there until noon. Sometimes they got so sad they wept. Sometimes some got tired and started shouting. That day was one of those busy days. Some of these bored guys got angry. “The more we ask, the more you say that you don’t know, he is missing. What does it mean “he is missing”?”, they said. “You sat here and sent our sons to the frontline!”, one said. “He’s right. Why are you sitting here? Why aren’t you on the frontline?”, another said. Respecting the families of martyrs was a work and ethical code for the boys in Cooperation. Sincerity didn’t let us say a word and lump was sitting in our throat like a mine right below our chin. I was sure it would explode if I swallowed my saliva. Right in that moment, one of the boys looked us. “Guys, there’s no choice. Reveal everything”, he said. Then, he pulled up his artificial leg and put it on the table before everyone. The next pulled out his eye. Families left the room one by one before the third colleague did anything. No one talked and the office was in peace for a while. Although, the .boys regretted what they had done
