Mahmoud Dowlatabadi - Missing Soluch

Molla Aman again said, “Don’t start all over, Karbalai. Don’t renew the pain!”

“But it’s still there, Molla Aman. Its pain doesn’t grow old. Unless … unless someone were able to fill her place … Molla Aman, you need to make her a bride. Mergan needs to remarry! Her husband’s dead. Soluch didn’t have the constitution to survive the difficulties of living far away from here. I’ve done it myself. I’ve seen how it is. I can tell you, he’s dead. No doubt, he is dead. I promise you, I’ve heard so myself. And there is a legal basis for it. You just need three reliable witnesses to say that Soluch is dead, and then Mergan can remarry. There is another way, too, in the law. If a man leaves home for some months without any word — I’m not sure how many — his wife gains custody of the household. You see what I’m saying? It’d be good for you and me to become family. We’ve traveled far together, as friends, companions. We can settle our accounts with each other as well. So, have a word with your sister. How long does she expect to go on without someone’s protection? And she’s still a young woman; she’s in good health. It’s just the bad luck that she’s had that has twisted the poor thing a bit. So do something so I can take her in hand and help her. And God will surely repay you for the good deed it is. I’m sure this is what the prophet would have wanted himself.”

Karbalai Doshanbeh rose and shook the dust from his pants.

“These children need a guardian as well. You can’t be keeping an eye on them all the time. But tonight I’ll come to Ali Genav’s for dinner.”

Molla Aman accompanied Karbalai Doshanbeh to the alley and returned.

Mergan was standing by the door with a look full of anger.

“What was he talking about now?”

“Nothing … Let’s go inside.”

They went back into the house together.

Hajer was sitting by her box and was sorting through her things. Abbas was still in the same place, silent against the wall, with his big eyes, his disheveled white hair, his hollow cheeks, his crooked teeth, his gaunt face. His white hair, white as white.

Mergan sat on the floor angrily. She hid her face in her hands and plaintively said, “What does that man want, coming to my house?!”

Molla Aman said, “He’s an acquaintance. What can I say?”

“What kind of acquaintance? The kind that can go to hell! Karbalai Doshanbeh is no acquaintance of mine! He just shows up out of the blue when you’re here for a day or two.”

“So you’re upset that he comes to see me?”

“Not that he comes to see you, but that he uses you as an excuse to come here. And you can’t stand up to him, since you owe him money!”

“So what do you want? Shouldn’t I come here to see you?”

“Not at all. Why’re you saying that? You’re my brother, my older brother, but you’re giving this bastard an excuse to come around here. And then others will start whispering about it. Ever since Soluch has gone, this man has been sniffing around this house, scratching at the door. And how he likes to put on airs! Even snakes hate pennyroyals like him and would rather coil up somewhere than deal with one.”

Abbas trembled for a moment, as if tremors had passed through his body, and then he was calm again.

Molla Aman said, “Yes, and he’s gone so far as to invite himself to dinner as well.”

“Dinner? Where? Here?”

“No, at your future son-in-law’s.”

Mergan raised her voice. “He’s a fool if he’s invited himself! That pathetic beggar. And everywhere he goes, he expects a reception.”

Molla Aman said, “He says he has witnesses who say that Soluch is dead.”

Mergan replied, “Fine! If he’s dead, he’s dead. God rest his soul. But what’s it to him?”

“Maybe Soluch owed him money?”

“He can take the debt to the grave. I’m too busy with my own affairs to be caught up with the little chirp-chirps of the likes of him. I’ve moved on, and it has nothing to do with me. Let him run after other people’s bad luck. I don’t need to take on something that will put me in a cage with a wild dog!”

“But if Soluch is in fact dead …”

“My worries are that I have two sons to care for. What am I to do with them? And with one in the state you see him in! Can’t you see him?”

Molla Aman looked at Abbas and said, “He’s not asking to marry your sons. He wants to take you to his house.”

“And how does he propose to help my sons? Wasn’t he just saying they need a guardian?”

“That was just talk. Your daughter’s going to go to her husband’s home. And your sons are almost old enough to leave the nest on their own. And so you would go to his home.”

“His home ! You’re a real simpleton, aren’t you? You know he’s living out in the storage shed. Which home does he expect me to go to? I even hear that there’s trouble between Salar Abdullah and his wife. Because she’s being tortured by this black-mouthed, big-bellied, old man hanging around their house. You really believe him? You’ll see, in two days he’ll be slithering over here with a blanket to shed his skin in!”

Molla Aman said, “You know what’s going on better than I do. I’m just telling you what he’s said. I’ll leave it in your hands from there.”

Mergan rose and said, “I don’t want a husband. Maybe Soluch’s dead, and maybe he’s still alive. But I’m too busy with my own work now!”

* * *

The evening stretched out. If Mergan began her errands now, they’d take until the dusk call to prayer to complete. She’d taken Hajer to the baths. Now she had to do the rest. She had purchased a bit of rouge and face powder. But she had to pluck the hairs on Hajer’s face first. She brought out an old broken mirror in a wooden frame and set it by the door against the wall. Then she brought over a box and set it by the mirror and took her daughter’s wrist and sat her by the mirror as well.

“Nothing to be afraid of! Every bride has her face hairs plucked!”

She had laid out the threads to use for the task beforehand. She hooked the threads onto her fingers and began running them in a cross pattern across Hajer’s small face. The girl pulled her head away from the threads that were ruthlessly tugging at the skin on her cheeks. Mergan berated her and told her to hold still for a little. Hajer tried to stay calm, but the pain and burning she felt on her face was too much. She was just about able to stay still, but couldn’t hold back the tears, which slowly filled her eyes. But Mergan showed no mercy and kept tugging at and burning the girl’s dry skin with the threads, and Hajer’s face became more and more scarlet from the friction, as if she had been slapped, or even as if she’d been bruised.

“All the better! You’ll have a bit of life and color in your face now. You can’t go over there looking like a corpse!”

Mergan was clearly distracted. Her only worry was to find the nonexistent little hairs on her daughter’s lips and face and to eradicate them. So what if it hurt!

“The first time always hurts. All the girls feel the same burning when they thread their faces for their wedding!”

“It’s burning me, mama. It’s burning!”

“Now, that’s better.”

Megan pulled Hajer’s face into the light and examined it closely. There was nothing left; her entire face was now scarlet and irritated. Like a beet, nearly bruised. It was time for Hajer to splash some water on her face.

“Now, get up and quickly wash and come back!”

Hajer ran outside. The bucket was half full of water. Hajer thrust her entire face into it.

Molla Aman rose and made as if to leave. He stood by the door and said, “If you want the truth, I’ve heard myself that Soluch is dead, God have mercy on him.”