SUNSHINE

For nine days in a row - one entire workweek and the better part of two weekends - the rains have fallen on Dushanbe, not the soft and cleansing rain of Ireland, or the angry but thrilling downpours of the tropics, but a persistent, nagging, everpresent hard drizzle, driving heads under umbrellas, turning the streets to slippery mud, and dripping, dripping, dripping in a debilitating water torture. For nine days in a row, dirty wet clothes stayed dirty and wet for lack of clean hot water in which to wash them, and for lack of electricity to heat the water. Four days ago, the demigods of thermal comfort determined that the interests of someone would be best served by turning off what little heat my apartment building had, and, of course, the weather immediately turned cold. With no electricity, of course, space heaters won't work, so one does what one must: shiver.

But today, with the suddenness of the houselights after a sad drama, sunshine replaced the rain. Umbrellas went back to their hiding places and people appeared on the streets like some dark precipitate in a warmed jar of liquid. Nearby, four little girls, two in jeans, two in rainbow Tajik dresses, played by the curb, taking weeds recently pulled by some city worker or other from the planting strip and carefully replanting them, one by one, along the edge of the curb, drowning their roots with cupsful of water drawn from the storm drain, laughing and giggling at the sight of their accomplishments. The boys in the back yard resumed their endless soccer game, the booms of foot against ball and ball against concrete echoing through the neighborhood. Women bundling against the cold wind unrelieved by the strange new warm sun went about their errands. Young men took their places once more in their designated spots on corners and in doorways, cradled in the camaraderie that only unemployed young men can share. It is day again after a seemingly endless night, and one dares to call life good.

It will rain again tomorrow, they say, that this sunshine is only a cameo. No matter. Sunshine taken for granted, like a stranger growing accustomed to a far land, is bittersweet.