Landslide

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I walked towards the sound in a daze, wondering how a landslide could be happening in the middle of Tehran, barely noticing the quiet streets and the doors leaning open on crooked hinges. I began to see a few people running towards the square and heard chanting. Wafts of smoke drifted over my head, and children wailed desolately from the apartment buildings. I began to hurry as I grew closer to the square, almost expecting to see falling rocks. Instead, I saw young men with traditional keffiyahs on their heads. They ran by and shouted insults about my bare face and western clothing. One came over and kicked my briefcase out of my hand. It flew high into the air, hit a flag protruding from a building, then broke open. My papers showered out and fell upon the dusty street. I madly dashed in circles for a while, collecting what I could. Suddenly, a boy grabbed the sheaf from my hand, then set it on fire, screaming, “Allahu Akbar!” And then the crowd began to surge from the square, young men and old men, women in trousers jostling against women in burqas. Groups of men were burning flags and screaming towards news cameras. Imams were carried aloft, waving their arms. Chanting mixed with howling and excited cries. I couldn’t distinguish one noise from another. The crowd buffeted me, then engulfed me. I was carried along in the flow, careening from one side of the street to another. We squeezed into a narrow street, moving at an incredible pace. Finally, I twisted and pushed and was spat out into an alley. I fell on my knees, dirty and hoarse: perhaps I, too, had been shouting, or perhaps I had been screaming? My glasses were bent, my sport jacket was gone, but I seemed to be uninjured. I bent over and inhaled slowly. All I could think about was getting back to my apartment. I moved in a daze, pushing my crooked glasses up my sweaty nose over and over. Windows were broken and signs were knocked down. Wary faces peered out of windows. The street was littered with debris. I barely recognized the neighborhood. Suddenly, three army jeeps careened around the corner, full of grim-faced soldiers carrying guns. I jumped backwards to avoid the, and jostled against an ancient crone. She pushed against me and snatched a dirty rag to her face, glaring at me spitefully. She stepped backwards, then spat on my shoes. “You don’t understand yet, do you?” she hissed. She glowered at me and waved her arm. I shook my head and tried to move around her. “Look at you,” she said in disgust, her foul spittle spraying my face. “Take heed. Listen and take heed.” I shook my head uncomprehendingly. She muttered something, then wiped her face with the dirty cloth. I bent down to listen. “It is changed now,” she murmured. “You will see. It is changed forever. Everything will be different now.”

~~~

During a landslide, particles of dirt mix with particles of water and creating a raging torrent of mud. That is liquefaction. Trees are tossed about and broken into pieces and carried along the river of mud, but when the mud comes to rest, the pieces of the trees are light enough to rise to the top of the flood. True, they are not really trees anymore, just pieces of wood jutting out of muck. The beautiful mountain is gone, and the trees are smashed to bits.

The scientific maxim is that matter cannot be created nor destroyed. This is a truth that we must understand and accept as scientists. Even though all the matter has changed, it is all really the same. And yet, when we observe it, empirically, it is radically different.

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