Mahmoud Dowlatabadi - Missing Soluch

“Yes, okay. But first, calm down. Just sit here. Tell me, how did you measure where it’s supposed to be?”

“It’s a straight shot from the wall of the Sardar’s home. I took a thousand and nine steps from the edge of his wall to the big rock. I dug a hole next to it, and when I was done I pulled the rock over it to cover it.”

“Fine, just stay here and don’t move. I’ll go back over to the Sardar’s wall and will count the steps. You won’t be afraid here, will you?”

“No! Go on. Just please find it. Those few bits of copper were going to pay for our travel costs. I only have you to help me!”

Morad went back and Mergan watched as he faded into the darkness. Then she was all alone, alone with the night.

Who could have dug up the earth and taken Mergan’s things? Other than Hajer, who knew about what she had done? No one. But could her innocent daughter have come and dug them out from where they’d been buried? Could Ali Genav have made her do it? That’s all she needed! But Mergan didn’t believe it. No, Hajer couldn’t have done it.

Or could she have? No. She couldn’t imagine it.

“I think I found it, Auntie Mergan! I found it! Come here!”

“Where are you, my son! Where are you?”

“Here. Can’t you follow my voice?”

“I hear your voice but I can’t see you. I can’t see!”

“Just follow my voice. This way!”

“Oh God! I’m so lost! Help me, God!”

“Come this way. Why are you going in the wrong direction?”

“Which way?”

“Stop! You can’t seem to get your bearings. I’ll just dig them up and bring them to you.”

“Should I just stand here?”

“Stay where you are!”

Mergan and the boy were in the night fields, apart from one another. Mergan was standing in her place like a bush or a tree, shaking. She was excited, worried, frightened. The sound of digging stopped and the field was again filled with silence. Mergan held her breath.

Had Morad taken what she’d buried and left?

God damn you. Why are you so suspicious?

Mergan bit at her lip with her teeth. Morad emerged from the darkness. He planted the shovel in the earth and took his bag from his shoulder. Mergan peered into the bag and in the night’s darkness began to feel the copper plates with her fingers. They were all there! Her copper! She calmed down, then rose with a prayer, “May your youth be blessed, my boy! May my dust give you life. Let’s go. You want me to carry the bag?”

“No, you can carry the shovel.”

When they reached the middle of the village, Morad asked, “Shall we take them to your home?”

“No, I’d rather you kept them safely. I’ll sell them in the morning when we reach the town.”

“Should I come to your door tomorrow morning?”

“No. Stand by the stream just outside the village. On the path to town. We’ll find each other there, before the morning prayers are called.”

The mother and the boy separated. Morad went toward his house and Mergan toward her own. Mergan entered the yard quietly and went toward the door of the house. She hoped that everyone was asleep, but stopped upon hearing Abbas’ burnt-out voice.

“Good evening!”

Mergan turned to the boy, trying to get herself out of the predicament she found herself in.

“You’re still up?”

Abbas said, “So where’s your loot?”

“What loot?”

“The copper!”

“What are you talking about? What copper?”

Abbas said, “I’m still your son. It would be nice if you were to have left me one of the jugs to make buttermilk in during the hot days of summer!”

Mergan didn’t tarry any longer. She walked toward the room, saying, “I hope dust fills your envious eyes, my child!”

For some reason, Abbas didn’t bother to continue the argument. He lay back in his place, set his head back, and looked up at the stars. The night was like any other night.

That night, what was left of it, Mergan didn’t sleep. She lay there with no feeling, but she didn’t fall asleep. Instead, something — a kind of dream — surrounded her. Wordless images ran across her mind, caught against one another, broke apart one another, appearing and disappearing. The images would fade away, only to attack her once again. Her physical exhaustion and her mind’s confusion were in a battle with each other, and from this battle nightmares were emerging. The images were continually reborn, renewed at every moment. They came together, then tore apart, ghosts that would become entwined and then would be pulled apart. Images that had no substance or language. Some of them were entirely unknown to Mergan. Images that she had never experienced before, never seen before. Some were fantastic. The outlines of strange faces. What sorts of creatures were these, then? What connection, what relation did they have with each other? Where did they come from and where were they going to? Mergan’s mind was an endless desert, an endless sky. With no beginning or end, with unknown shooting stars, with flames in motion, with bats and night birds in flight. What were these images that were presenting themselves to Mergan? Had her mind been plundered? Why did these thoughts run riot in her mind? Why were their beginnings and ends unclear? Whose face was this that was visible in the darkness of a well, that was transforming itself from moment to moment? Whose visage was this? Why was it expanding, filling the entire darkness of the well, and then giving light to thousands of other images which would collide and be shattered, like thousands of eyes? Then they’d grow smaller and smaller, collapsing into dots. Each dot would then become a star.

Who was this man who was standing in the threshold?

Who was this woman whose hair was down?

Who was this man, standing in the threshold, who was speaking and speaking, but whose voice could not be heard?

Who was this woman with her hair down who was screaming and screaming, but whose voice could not be heard?

How wrinkled were the breasts of this woman! Look at her eyes. Her eyes! In the depths of her eyes, were those children whose heads were the heads of humans and whose bodies were the bodies of lambs?

Why can the man’s voice not be heard?

How wide are the eyes of this woman!

How is it that the heart of the sky is punctured from time to time? How do the walls come together from time to time? Lamentations ring out! Then the sounds of drums and cymbals! Is a wedding made into a funeral, then? The canals. They’re opened; perhaps they’ve been opened. The sound of a horse neighing! It’s a stallion dashing across the desert! A black snake has planted its tail in the earth and is standing straight under the glare of the sun. A dry tongue has fallen to one side within a mouth opened wide. Look how the sun spreads its chest out across the earth!

“God, dear God! Why can I not calm down? Do I have a fever? What have I lost …? Rise! Get up! Morning is breaking. Wake up!”

Mergan rose. Her brother was also up. And now Abrau, by Molla Aman’s feet, also rose. Mergan took the small trunk from beside the wall and carried it outside. Molla Aman and Abrau also folded up their sheets and came outside. Abbas was half sitting up in his usual place. Mergan went to the oven. Abbas looked at his mother with tired, sleepless eyes. She said to him, “Here, the house is yours! Now take your things and go inside!”

Abbas was silent. Abrau was wrapping up the blanket he was taking with himself. Molla Aman splashed water onto his face. Abbas came down from the roof of the oven. His mother approached him, grasped his head onto her chest, and whispered into his ear.

“Don’t worry, you won’t starve, my boy! You’ll be okay! I’ll send you money, and until then others will look after you. I’ve always done well to others here. I’ve been a mother to everyone. They won’t let my boy suffer. I trust them like my own eyes. May you live a life of perfection, my son!”