Before the war, the park in the Bustan al-Qasr neighborhood of Aleppo was a public playground called Cobblers' Garden; now it is a makeshift cemetery known as the Garden of Martyrs. Benches and swing sets, stripped of their burnable parts, stand among the trash and weeds. Because most of the park falls within the range of government snipers, it is usually empty. In one corner, a metal fence separates a rough patch of earth from the street; scores of shallow graves lie beneath a tall tree....
more »Before the war, the park in the Bustan al-Qasr neighborhood of Aleppo was a public playground called Cobblers' Garden; now it is a makeshift cemetery known as the Garden of Martyrs. Benches and swing sets, stripped of their burnable parts, stand among the trash and weeds. Because most of the park falls within the range of government snipers, it is usually empty. In one corner, a metal fence separates a rough patch of earth from the street; scores of shallow graves lie beneath a tall tree. Nailed to its trunk, a cardboard sign reads: "May you pray for the souls of the martyrs. May God have mercy on their souls." None of the dead have been identified, and all were discovered in the River Queiq.
The river runs the length of Aleppo, Syria's largest and once most prosperous city. After entering from the north, it meanders south: through the western neighborhoods, which are held by government forces; through the no man's land between opposing front lines; and through the rebel-held east, starting at Bustan al-Qasr, a formerly vibrant part of the city, with outdoor markets, sidewalk espresso stands, and narrow, winding alleys hemmed in by laundry-draped balconies. If something is tossed in the Queiq on the government side, eventually it makes its way to the rebel side. Jerricans, plastic jugs, tattered tarpaulins--all manner of detritus washes up.
In recent months, the jetsam has included bodies. At the end of January, a hundred and ten murdered men and boys were fished out and laid on a concrete bank, their hands bound behind their backs, their skulls broken by bullets. The killings became known as the River Massacre. Those whom no one recognized, or who were unrecognizable, were taken to Cobblers' Garden. Since then, the graveyard has steadily grown. Recently, while I was there, a small pickup arrived with the two-hundred-and-thirty-fourth victim from the river, the ninety-fourth delivered to the park. . . . (if you wish to continue reading this story, please follow the instructions on the following link:
http://archives.newyorker.com/?i=2013-04-29#folio=040)
« less
