Mahmoud Dowlatabadi - Missing Soluch

He didn’t wait to hear Mergan’s reply; he stepped out and left. Mergan had nothing to say; she just felt numb and dizzy. But she gathered her wits quickly and cried out at Hajer, “Are you taking a bath out there? Come back, it’s getting late!”

Hajer thrust her face into the bucket one last time, then rose and returned to her mother.

Mergan had prepared the rouge and face powder. Her look had become softer, gentler. As if she’d just remembered not to snap at her daughter — it was her wedding night, after all. Why direct her anger with Karbalai Doshanbeh at her daughter instead? Hajer was innocent, even though Mergan did not reckon herself a culprit either. It was just that they wouldn’t let her rest for even a second. She would escape from the cage they set for her like a wild animal, and before she’d realize it she’d have bit some person — her children were the most common victims of her anger. And this would in turn only distress her more.

And now, what had happened to Abbas came to be the greatest blow yet. His sudden aging, his injuries, his silence had all affected her terribly. Her hands had begun to tremble, and her eyes would dart from place to place. She would say one or two words and then be choked by tears that were welling in her eyes. It was as if she had lost her self-control. She’d go into a rage over nothing. She was sleepless and distracted. Her thoughts tormented her, depressed her — thoughts about Hajer’s wedding, which deep down Mergan knew better than anyone was an ill-considered, inopportune deed. Thoughts about losing the bit of land they had had, about her sons having turned on her, and now, about the pain Abbas was in. Add to that the marriage proposal from Karbalai Doshanbeh and Mirza Hassan’s skill at taking their land … and now, Soluch’s death!

But could it be true? Was Soluch dead?

* * *

“Oh yes … look at that! Look at that!”

It was Ali Genav, whose body blocked the light. He was smiling. Hajer turned away and covered her eyes with the edge of her headscarf. Ali Genav pursed his big lips and looked at Mergan, who gestured at him to leave. She didn’t want Hajer to be affected by her fear of him.

Ali Genav turned to go, unhappily but still happy. Mergan finished applying the rouge to Hajer’s face. She rose, filled a cup with water, and set it beside her. Raising Hajer’s headscarf, she wet a comb in the water and drew it through the girl’s hair. Her hair was clean, thin, and fine, and it shone with its blackness.

Mergan combed her daughter’s hair with a hint of sadness, and the girl rested her head on her mother’s arm and looked at the ground with a deeper sadness. She stared at the earth. She was engaged now! That’s that. Marriage!

Hajer could not help but think about how easily everything had been handled when they went to town. The cost of making the engagement legitimate was even clearer to her than to her mother: the pair of red shoes, two silk scarves, a shirt, and a chador for praying. After the purchases, they took her from the bazaar into the alleys and through the alleys to the caravanserai. There, Ali Genav bought some bread and sweets. They sat by the walls of the cavanserai looking toward the coffeehouse and ate the food. Then Ali Genav went over to the coffeehouse and brought three large teas back to them. They drank the teas. Then Ali Genav went to the caravanserai stables and put a bit of food out for his donkey there. Then it was time to go, so they left. The alley behind the caravanserai connected to the central mosque. The lower door of the mosque led into the courtyard, which they crossed and exited through the higher door. Ali Genav led them across a street and back into narrow alleys. They passed by a cistern and entered a very narrow alley: Twisting and turning, it became more and more narrow. So much so that Hajer began to feel dizzy. All she remembered was that the surface of the ground was cobblestone, which she could remember from the sensation of the stones pushing at her feet through her leather shoes. At the end of the alley, they stopped beside a low door, lower than the alley’s surface. You had to descend three steps to the door, through which you reached a small courtyard. Next to the shallow pool in the center of the courtyard, there were six pomegranate trees. Ali Genav took the women up a set of stairs onto a veranda. They had Hajer sit there by a door while Ali Genav and Mergan went inside. Hajer never saw the cleric; she only heard his voice, which was interrupted by his constant coughing. He sounded old. He asked Hajer to say “I do,” which she did, and the job was done. Now Ali Genav could take her hand in his, which he did and he brought her down the veranda stairs. Then they returned in the same way: alley, street, mosque, alley to the caravanserai.

Ali Genav took his donkey out of the caravanserai stables, placed the bridle on him, and took the tether in hand. He paid for the stable, and left. Hajer and Mergan followed behind the donkey. Outside the town gates, Ali Genav stopped and again knelt for Hajer. Mergan grabbed her under her arms and she got onto the donkey. Ali Genav held onto the tether for a while, but after some distance, he tossed the tether on the donkey’s neck, pushed the tethering nail into the saddle, and walked alongside Hajer’s leg.

Mergan followed them and was lost in thought. Once, she sat down on the side of the path to adjust her shoes. Ali Genav had bought her new shoes, which she hadn’t yet broken in. Her feet were sweating in them. Once they reached the outskirts of Zaminej, Mergan walked about a hundred paces ahead of them. She was far enough ahead that Ali Genav was able to pinch Hajer’s leg two times. Hajer tolerated the pain of his pinches and acted as if nothing had happened. She was afraid to speak to Ali Genav. As they went, it was probable that he had spoken to her along the way, but she didn’t remember anything. She remembered much better the road itself, between Zaminej and the town. Morad’s shadow seemed to follow them everywhere. When they reached the gates of the village, he had passed by them, carrying a bag on his back, without so much as looking at Hajer. It was not that she was secretly in love with him. No. But now that things had ended up in this way, she thought about Morad often. He had become a kind of pillar of support in her imagination, a kind of refuge. But she was too young to actually have fallen in love with a young man like him. But she didn’t understand why it was that she kept thinking about the grimy back of his neck, his torn collar, and his sweat-covered shoulders?

And could it be that by now he was riding away in some automobile and was gone, truly gone?

Mergan tied the silk headscarf over Hajer’s brushed hair, and then artfully arranged her bangs over her forehead. She then took the girl from in front of the mirror and set her beside the trunk. She took out the cotton shirt Ali Genav had bought and put it on Hajer. Then she took out a pair of black trousers and gave them to her daughter, who took them to the pantry and returned a moment later wearing them. Mergan knelt and straightened out the waistband, pulling them up. But the legs were still too long, so she rolled up the bottoms. She thought to herself that now the pants looked good. She brought out the shoes. Hajer was afraid to put them on, but she had no choice. Mergan placed her daughter’s feet into the shoes, and she told her to walk around. Hajer walked with her face contorted; it was difficult for her to take steps with them. With the shoes on, she felt as if she had hooves, and it was difficult to keep her balance. It was as if her feet had been carved out of wood. She walked stiffly, jerking her feet as she went, in small, broken steps. With every step, she would bend at her knees. But she had to try. Mergan grabbed her elbow and began walking her around the room.