Mahmoud Dowlatabadi - Missing Soluch

Moslem didn’t listen to this and kept staring at the clenched fist of his nephew’s hand. Hamdullah said to Abbas, “Why don’t you throw him out?! What are we paying you to host us here for?”

Abbas spoke up, grabbing Moslem’s thick wrist between his hands and shouting, “Okay! Get up! I’m not a fool to want to split the host’s take, giving a payout to the likes of you. Get up. Open up this space, you!”

It was impossible to move Moslem from his place. He was like a block of stone. He didn’t listen, and he wasn’t easily moved. He kept staring firmly at his nephew’s fist until Abbas was somehow able to pull him into a prone position on the floor of the stable. But that didn’t end the problem; Moslem simply started bellowing loudly, sounding unlike any other living thing. If his familiar and unsettling cry was raised for too long, it was likely that all the neighbors would make their way to Soluch’s stable to see what was happening, and then Abbas’ work would be ruined. There was nothing he could do. He had to find a way to get Moslem out of there. So he began pulling at him with all his strength. Abbas and Moslem were slowly starting to scuffle, while Hajj Salem stayed where he was at the edge of the trough. The old man was like a cleric sitting inside a religious academy. With his long cloak, his scarf and cane, his thick beard.

“I’m not playing any more!”

This was Hamdullah who was pulling himself out of the circle.

Ghodrat replied sharply, “What? You’re out? That’s what kind of man you are? You win a round and then say you’re not playing? That’s incredible!”

Morad realized the game was about to fall apart at a time when he was down twenty-five qerans himself. It wouldn’t do. The money couldn’t leave their circle. He had to do something. He rose. The cause of the problem, Moslem, had to be removed. He gestured to Ghodrat to help him. Hamdullah opened the door of the stable, and Abbas, now assisted by Ghodrat and Morad, dragged Moslem out and threw him out into the snow. They ran back to the stable, closed the door, and threw their bodies against it. Hajj Salem had just risen from his seat and was passing his cane from hand to hand. Moslem reached the other side of the door and began beating on it, crying as he shouted, “Papa … Papa … Come here, Papa …! Come here! I’m scared. Come! I … want Papa. My Papa …”

Hajj Salem gestured at the door with his cane,

“He’s crazy! What can be done?”

Abbas said, “Tell him to calm down, Hajji Sir! If he keeps up, the neighbors will come running!”

A smile lit up in the midst of Hajj Salem’s bushy beard, and his eyes shone.

“A sensible person would say that’s it’s worth five qerans in order to not have a scene here, no?”

He had stretched one palm out before even finishing his sentence. Abbas handed him five qerans and said to the group, “You all see! I’m paying five qerans for all of you! It’s coming out of the general winnings. I don’t want any arguments about it later!”

Hajj Salem took the money in his hand and hid it in his fingers, shaking his head.

Abbas said, “Well, tell him calm down, then!”

Hajj Salem tapped his cane against the door and said, “Calm! You dog! Calm down!”

Moslem calmed down. The boys were able to leave the door and opened it for Hajj Salem, who stepped out. A few moments later the scraping of the steps of the old man and his son could be heard as they walked past the snow piled by the wall. Abbas spit thickly at a spot against the wall of the stable and said, “The blood-sucking leeches!”

Then he looked at Hamdullah and said, “I paid up quietly because of you lot! It wasn’t that I was too weak to take him on. I could take on a hundred like him. But I’m worried about the reputations of you two here!”

Morad tossed the pieces in the kitty and said, “Sit down!”

Ghodrat also sat and said, “Yes, sit down. It’s all done and over now! Each of us will pay one qeran to Abbas. Let’s shut him up and get on with it!”

Hamdullah tossed a coin next to Abbas, but Jalil hesitated, shifting on his feet and looking around himself. Morad shouted at him, “Get moving, then! It’s not like you have to give up an eyeball! You can’t believe he had to pay to get rid of that screaming fool? We’re not the ones that are afraid of anything. It’s the two of you that are afraid of your daddies. So pay up! Pay it, one qeran ! And here’s my one qeran !”

Jalil said, “I’m not playing!”

“You’re not going to play?”

“No!”

The veins on Morad’s neck were beginning to show themselves and spittle was collecting at the edge of his mouth. He leapt up and grabbed the collar of Jalil’s shirt, shouting, “You think anyone can just dance in here like you and then take your winnings out of the circle without playing on? C’mon! You cheat!”

Jalil was struggling simply not to run away. First of all, because he didn’t want a scene, and more important, because he was terrified of Morad. It was clear to him that if it ended up in a fight, he’d not only get a beating from Morad and the other two, but that he’d end up with his pockets cleaned out at the end of it. So he decided to compromise. His problem was that he knew that Morad didn’t need to work in Zaminej for his living. Morad always left the village shortly after the beginning of spring, coming back to stay at home through the winter. So he was under the thumb of neither the Kadkhoda nor of Salar Abdullah. He could make his own bread from the heart of a stone, if he needed to.

Salar Abdullah’s son grabbed Morad’s fists in his hands and softly said, “Let go of my collar!”

Morad shook him and said, “So what’s your decision? Are you going to take your winnings, or will you keep on playing?”

Jalil still couldn’t decide. He just wanted to find a way to get out.

Morad shook him one more time and said, “So what’ll it be? Eh? I’m leaving soon anyway. Don’t do something that will make me have to give you a beating. Will you stay and play, or do you want to suck up the money?”

Jalil sat down. Morad also sat, and told Abbas, “Toss the pieces!”

Abbas said, “Whoever’s won has to pay up to the house first, and then I’ll begin!”

Ghodrat pointed to Hamdullah and Jalil, saying, “They’re the winners so far. Pay the house.”

Hamdullah and Jalil looked at one another. Hamdullah tossed one qeran over to Abbas, who then looked at Jalil, saying, “One qeran for the house charge, and there’s the other one you owe from before. That’s two all together. Pay up!”

Jalil took out two one- qeran coins and placed them before Abbas despondently. Abbas took the coins and tossed the bajal pieces into the circle. Morad collected the pieces before himself. Abbas said to him, “You set what everyone should pay the house, just so there’s no cheating later on.”

Morad said, “When the game goes two rounds, the dealer pays the house one qeran .”

Abbas wanted to bargain. “Why two rounds? Most places it’s one round.”

Morad said, “Okay, we’ll base it on the winnings then. And don’t be such a greedy host. For every twenty qerans won, the house gets one qeran . Okay! Ante up!”

Jalil was sitting to the right of Morad. He took out a ten- shahi piece from his pile of coins and tossed it into the circle.

“I’ve anted in!”

“So far, has anyone been anteing small change, like a ten- shahi , for you to start with that?”

“Here’s another ten shahis on top of it!”

“Cheapskate! You have to bid at least five qerans !”