Page 127 - And the Mountains Echoed (novel)

Six

February 1974

EDITOR’S NOTE,
Parallaxe 84 (WINTER 1974), P. 5

Dear Readers:
Five years ago, when we began our quarterly issues featuring
interviews with little-known poets, we could not have anticipated

how popular they would prove. Many of you asked for more, and,
indeed, your enthusiastic letters paved the way for these issues to
become an annual tradition here at Parallaxe. The profiles have
now become our staff writers’ personal favorites as well. The
features have led to the discovery, or rediscovery, of some
valuable poets, and an overdue appreciation of their work.
Sadly, however, a shadow hovers over this present issue. The

artist featured this quarter is Nila Wahdati, an Afghan poet
interviewed by Étienne Boustouler last winter in the town of
Courbevoie, near Paris. Mme. Wahdati, as we are sure you will
agree, gave Mr. Boustouler one of the most revealing and
startlingly frank interviews we have ever published. It was with
great sadness that we learned of her untimely death not long after
this interview was conducted. She will be missed in the
community of poets. She is survived by her daughter.

It’s uncanny, the timing. The elevator door dings open at precisely—precisely—

the same moment the phone begins to ring. Pari can hear the ringing because it
comes from inside Julien’s apartment, which is at the head of the narrow, barely
lit hallway and therefore closest to the elevator. Intuitively, she knows who is
calling. By the look on Julien’s face, so does he.
Julien, who has already stepped into the elevator, says, “Let it ring.”
Behind him is the standoffish ruddy-faced woman from upstairs. She glares
impatiently at Pari. Julien calls her La chèvre, because of her goatlike nest of
chin hairs.