Mahmoud Dowlatabadi - Missing Soluch

Mergan hadn’t noticed that she had stopped working and was frozen in her place listening closely to Mirza Hassan’s speech. But now she couldn’t make out what was being said. There was a muttering so quiet it was almost inaudible. Softly, the sound of one or two sets of feet leaving could be heard. Then Mirza Hassan said, “Say hello to those who didn’t come to this meeting! Tell them that after the third time, I’ll stop trying to make contact with them!”

Mergan sensed that the gist of what Mirza Hassan was saying was addressed to her and those like her. She began her work again. It was as if this issue rubbed her the wrong way and there was no chance to accommodate her. She had already developed a grudge over this issue, a grudge that came from the pain in her life. It was as if her entire life now depended on this one little bit of land. She didn’t want to yield an inch, even though she wouldn’t admit to herself that her steadfastness was at root a purely emotional response. If she was honest to herself, she knew better than anyone else that God’s Land was no more than scrubland that couldn’t provide much for her and her children’s sustenance. But she felt her only choice was to stand her ground.

“Did you hear what was said, Mergan?”

Mergan turned. Ali Genav was standing by the door. “What do you think?”

Mergan said, “I have no intention of selling off my children’s inheritance!”

Ali Genav said, “You think you can stand up to them on this? Mostly everyone else has taken what’s been offered and has left. You know as well as I that that land isn’t much for farming!”

“Everyone has to make their own choice.”

“What shall I do?”

“That’s up to you.”

“No, depending on you … no! If you won’t sell, then I won’t. And if you want, I’ll give the land to Hajer in our marriage contract.”

Hajer had hidden herself in the corner. Ali Genav continued, “Will you have time today to go to the baths?”

Mergan replied, “If I have a chance to I’ll come by and pick up the keys from you.”

Ali Genav turned to go, but found Mirza Hassan face-to-face with him. He was stretching and strutting as he ascended the stairs to the room.

“So what do you say, Ali?”

Ali Genav looked at Mirza Hassan and said, “I think I need to sleep on it.”

“So go and sleep on it then!”

At the door, Mirza Hassan greeted Mergan. “So now your Hajer’s all grown up, Mergan! Now it’s her time, and hopefully it’s all for the best!”

Mergan didn’t stop working and she mumbled something under her breath in response to his greeting. Mirza Hassan leaned against the doorway; he stretched his long neck and looked into the room. Mergan was covered from head to foot in muddy water from her work. Ali Genav exclaimed, “God give you strength in your work!”

Mergan tied an old shirt to a broomstick and plunged it into a bucket of whitewash. She straightened her back and said, “Thank you for coming by!”

Mirza Hassan pleasantly enquired about Mergan’s health, to which she replied in dry monosyllables.

“So, are your sons thinking of leaving Zaminej for work, Mergan? Do they plan on going elsewhere?”

“What should I know?”

“I can give one of them work right here. Your Abrau is a clever boy, but the other one’s not good for much.”

“That’s how it goes.”

Mirza continued, “If I were in your shoes, I’d send Abbas off with the other young men who are leaving Zaminej; let him work in other areas and grow up a bit.”

“We’ll see.”

“If you do want to send him off to work, I would be happy to pay for his travel for you.”

“Should he want to go, I’ll find the money for his travel from somewhere myself!”

“Yes, of course, you’ll find it somewhere. But let me give you the money to settle my debt to you.”

“What debt, Mirza?”

“I’m talking about God’s Land. It wouldn’t be proper for me to just evict everyone from the land and tell them to go. God wouldn’t approve.”

“Where would you want us to go, Mirza? Where?”

“Mergan, don’t play games with me. We’ve already registered God’s Land to our own names. We intend to work it and to plant pistachios on it. That’s a suitable crop for this land. You know, if pistachios are a yielding crop, what benefits can it bring not just to Zaminej but to this entire area? The engineers say that the pistachios that grow here can be more valuable than the famous pistachios of Rafasanjan! We want to make this area bloom. How long can we keep on just planting watermelons?”

“So what will I gain from all of this?”

“What will you gain? This is good for everyone. And why should you be only thinking about what you get from it?”

“So why should I want to give up my land?”

“Your land? Ha! What land? God’s Land! That’s land that belongs to God!”

“If it belongs to God, well, I’m one of His servants. What difference does it make? His servants work His land. Are you saying I’m not His servant?”

“Of course you are. Why shouldn’t you be? Who is a better servant than you? But in the end, we need to make God’s Land bloom!”

“Yes, let’s make it bloom. Am I saying anything other than that? But if you’re going to evict me from this land, who will ensure my rights and those of my children? You think the three or four bills you want to put in the palm of my sons’ hands will be enough?”

“What would you prefer? That I bequeath all my property to you?”

“When did I say that?”

“Well, in effect, that’s what you’re saying! What else are you saying?”

“I’m saying that in a few months when you’ve harvested the land, are you planning on sharing the profits with me? Of course not!”

“But why should you expect me to? In any case, by then, who knows who will still be here and who will be gone? Pistachios take seven years to yield; so it’s seven years before anything will be harvested.”

“But what will be my portion of this?”

“Your portion? That’s brighter than day! I’m offering to hire one of your sons. What more could you want?”

“That’s it?”

“What more do you expect?”

“Nothing!”

“Fine! Why am I even wasting my time with you, foolish woman?”

Zabihollah came to Mirza’s side and said, “Mergan’s stubborn as a mule, eh?”

Mirza Hassan said, “Let her play the mule. She’ll be the loser because of it!”

Zabihollah went down from the porch, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with Mirza Hassan.

“It’s better to try to come to terms with her son Abbas. If he sees the color of money, his mouth starts to water.”

Mirza said, “She can go to hell. Who does she think I am?”

* * *

Mirza Hassan’s yard was now empty. Zabihollah and Mirza began to leave, and Kadkhoda Nourouz accompanied them. Salar Abdullah caught up with them at the gate. Kadkhoda Norouz said, “She has no one to protect her, the poor woman. We have to come to terms with her somehow. Thirty, forty tomans here or there isn’t much to spend. It’s as if we’re fulfilling our religious duty to charity with it.”

Mirza sat on a bench silently and took out a cigarette. “It’s just that she’s stubborn and doesn’t know what’s good for her, the bitch; otherwise I agree. I want to come to terms with her, because among the villagers she has the aura of victimhood and righteousness. But you see how she is!”

Kadkhoda Norouz began walking and said, “I’ll go and convince her.”

Abrau arrived, short of breath. Salar Abdullah asked, “So, what did you find out?”

“The driver says the tractor’s been delayed for tonight. They need to change its light. He says he’ll bring it tomorrow.”