Mahmoud Dowlatabadi - Missing Soluch

Mergan placed a bowl of the meat stew before Abbas and then called Abrau over. He moved over and she brought them dry bread, which they broke and sprinkled into the stew. Abrau asked about his uncle. Mergan said, “I have a feeling he’s gone out with Karbalai Doshanbeh.”

Abrau said, “Mirza said to say hello, and that you should come by to get your money from him whenever you’d like.”

Mergan replied, “Tell him to save his money. I won’t sell!”

Abrau said nothing more. Abbas was eating the food in large mouthfuls.

Molla Aman came in.

“This guy just won’t leave me alone. He’s a real bastard, you know!”

Mergan didn’t reply, and didn’t raise her head. She didn’t want to discuss Karbalai Doshanbeh in front of her sons. She busied herself with some task.

Molla Aman sat beside the pot of stew and began to eat as well.

“He didn’t even let me have a real dinner! It’s as if we’re living in a famine; half of my stomach is still empty! So … good for you, our hero, my boy! Tell us, what kind of a beast is this tractor anyway?”

Abrau didn’t take his focus off of his competitors for the stew from the pot, replying, “It starts a racket and just keeps going!”

“Well, well, the times have changed. Who would have expected it?”

Abrau said, “When you head up to the higher villages, ask around. If anyone has land they need ploughed, they can hire us. We just finished ploughing God’s Land this afternoon.”

Molla Aman replied, “That’s not bad. Let’s see what’ll happen. And will I get a broker’s fee?”

“From just saying a few words?”

“Well, yes. These days, even husbands have to pay their wives compensation for work. So you want me to do work for Mirza Hassan for free? Why? Because you think I like the look of him so much?”

“It’s not for Mirza Hassan; it’s more for me. The tractor shouldn’t be left unused for even an hour, you know? As long as the chug, chug of the tractor is going, I’m working. If there’s no work, and the tractor goes quiet, I’ll have to pack my bags like the others and leave the village. You see these pants I’m wearing? I bought them for twenty-eight tomans . You have to spend money just to live!”

Molla Aman said, “Let me see! How many pockets does it have?”

Abrau rose and turned around himself, while still licking his fingers.

“Four of ’em. And it has a little pocket right here, next to the waistband!”

“Good. So you can fit all your extra money into the pockets! It seems Mirza Hassan’s paying you a decent wage?”

“He does, and why not?”

“So that’s all right. Have you borrowed from him as well?”

“Ah … not that much, but a bit. He gives me enough for food and clothing and …”

“Does he save the rest for you? Or does he hold it in escrow?”

“Escrow for what?”

“Nothing! I’m just kidding around. So, do you have a bit of change so we can play a game of dominoes?”

“No, and even if I did, I don’t want to gamble. I have to sleep pretty soon. In the mornings, I can hardly get up since I’m so tired. Mama, can you clean this up!”

Abbas licked the bottom of the bowl. Mergan took the empty bowl and the leftover bread. Abrau rose to set out his bedding. Mergan and Molla Aman also set out their beds and lowered the wick of the lamp. Eventually, everyone was lying down but Mergan, who was still sitting. Her brother was leaning his head against the wall and smoking a cigarette. As soon as he was finished smoking, he went to sleep. Abrau began snoring.

And Abbas? Abbas was somewhere between sleep and consciousness. He was lying down quietly. He could have either been asleep or awake. Like every night, he was lying with his eyes fixed at the ceiling. Actually, he hardly slept at night. Near dawn, he’d finally fall asleep, until his hunger would wake him in the morning. When the sunlight poured onto his hands and feet, he would wake up and limp awkwardly out the door to wash up. Then he’d come back and sit in his place quietly as he always did, just in the corner of the room. Hajer or Mergan would bring him a piece of bread and a cup of tea, which he would eat without moving. He would, on occasion, leave the room and go out to the old clay oven in the yard — to the same spot that Soluch used to occupy. He would sit there, hugging his knees. He would rarely speak. If he did say a word or two, he’d do so listlessly, dispassionately. His voice had a strange quality, like a dog’s yelp, as if his vocal cords had been stripped apart. His face had also changed, and it was now marked with a peculiar effeminacy. One couldn’t imagine his being able to grow a beard now. It seemed as if the soft hairs once on his face had been burned off. In short, Abbas had been completely transformed.

Mergan remained seated in her place. Her eyes were dry in her gaunt face. Her head was full of voices, and her heart was uneasy. She was anxious. Her limbs and body felt out of her control, and without even realizing it, her eyes were fixed on the door. Her lips were moving, perhaps in prayer, perhaps as part of a dialogue with herself. Whatever the reason, she was not about to fall asleep. She couldn’t even keep her head on her pillow.

How can you think of sleeping with an easy heart? You’ve just sent your daughter to her nuptial bed .

Shrieks filled the air, like a spear that penetrated the heart of the night. Hajer’s terrified voice echoed in the alleys of Zaminej.

* * *

“Mama … Mama, no … Help me!”

Mergan dashed into the alley. Hajer was gripping onto her pants as she rushed down the alley, like a field mouse escaping from a hawk. Ali Genav was running after her. He was running as he tied the waistband of his pants. Hajer hid in her mother’s arms, losing herself in her mother’s embrace. It was as if Mergan were holding onto the wind. Tears, crying; her broken sobs were cut through with a deep sense of fear. Intermittent cries sounded out by the girl’s thin voice. She was shirtless, with her bare feet and her uncovered head. Ali Genav arrived. Mergan pulled her daughter to the edge of the wall. Genav entered the house. As quick as a shooting star, he’d woken up Molla Aman and Abrau. Molla Aman left the house shoeless and without a head covering. Abrau stood in the doorway. Hajer tore herself from her mother and dashed into the house and into the pantry. No one spoke; no one could speak. Ali Genav was frothing at the mouth. Molla Aman went over to him. Mergan entered the room, as Abrau asked, “What’s happened?” Mergan knew what had happened. Abbas was sitting in his place. Mergan went into the pantry, and Hajer began to scream.

“Mama, I’m scared! I’m so scared! I’m going to die! Who did you marry me to? Who is this? Why did you give me to him? Why? Mama, I’m scared!”

Mergan held her daughter’s head against her chest. She had to say something. She had to console her. But what could she say? What was there to say? Was she supposed to say something like, “I’ll die for you, my love!” But Mergan couldn’t find it in her to say anything. At times, the mind simply freezes.

Molla Aman pulled back the curtain to the pantry.

“Come on out, girl. Come and go back to your husband’s house.”

Ali Genav waited no longer. He stepped around Molla Aman’s broken shoulders and into the pantry. He took ahold of Hajer’s wrist and began pulling her out. Hajer held onto her mother and would not let go. Mergan also held to her, and she was pulled out from the pantry with her. Hajer dragged one heel on the ground shouting, “I don’t want to, by God! I don’t want to! I don’t want to marry … Oh, God!”

She began to lose her breath. Her face was darkening from screaming. Ali Genav didn’t want to let the scandal continue. He began to pull Hajer harder and he dragged Mergan along with her daughter. At the door, Abrau leapt onto Ali Genav’s arm.