Missing Soluch

by Mahmoud Dowlatabadi

  Wasteland and wind. Wind and wasteland. Thoughts. Thoughts and the river.

  Was it him?

  Mergan opened her lips. She began to feel that the dryness of her eye sockets was giving way to moisture. Perhaps from the cold wind. What should she do? Should she stay? Should she wait? Go? Stay now and come back later? Let her eyes go and stay herself? Close her eyes? Yes, that would be better. Move her arms and shoulders? To shake off the layer of ice that had covered her? Yes. The cold. The cold moved her. She shook. She felt she’d just had a nightmare. A nightmare that had left her shocked rather than terrified. As if life had hesitated for a moment inside her. Sight, all that remained was her sight. Shock. Is it really possible to see all this with these two simple eyes? Is it? Now she had seen that Soluch had gone, just as the water beneath the layer of ice flows. The water flows and is gone.

  I saw him. I saw Soluch leaving.

  Mergan shook herself. Her body was wrapped in a lining of cold. She had to leave. She had to go. But not to look for Soluch. She turned her back to Soluch and faced Zaminej. She headed back, speeding the pace of her steps. You can’t acknowledge the cold. If you stay still too long, it will attack you. So, you can’t stay still. You have to move; it’s all that can protect you. In the outer fields, the cold is a ruthless adversary.

  Tears filled Mergan’s eyes. She preferred to think they were from the cold. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she was crying. She didn’t have the heart. What’s crying anyway? Her eyes had been dry for years. And now … now she had no patience for it. She didn’t have the patience for it. What point was there crying?

  Let him go. He can go to hell. Has no other woman ever been struck by misfortune? As if no other man ever just up and left. No … No point in crying. To each his own. Let each make his home wherever he beds. He can go to hell!

  Mergan appeared to believe what she was saying. But this sentiment was not the flame that was burning in her heart. That was a flame not easily extinguished. Mergan didn’t want to allow the flame to escape out from her eyes, her throat, her hands, or her mouth. She wouldn’t allow it. So the flame flickered inside her, burning. It stung and consumed her. Fire poured within her. A silent clamor. A rough farmer was ploughing her heart with his ploughshare. To the very roots! The roots that had grown deep these many years were being ploughed and upturned from their ancient place in her heart. Being and nothingness were upended, turned upside down. Her heart was no longer that small, quiet bird, that tame and obedient sparrow. The wings of the bird had been torn out. Naked and featherless. The hawks, yes, the hawks had set out to flight. And where were the vultures? Mergan felt the cold sharp blade of the plow cut into her guts, as if the sedimentary skin of the soil was scraped off. What was being unearthed in this long-forgotten land opened her eyes: Mergan was in love with her man! She sensed this clearly now. She loved Soluch! She remembered the love she had for him. A forgotten love. She began to realize how much she had forgotten her love for him. Her love was for a man whose absence from her side, even if he were to sleep alone out by the clay oven for a thousand nights, was unthinkable for Mergan.

  This man whose very presence and absence was uncertain of late suddenly rose again in Mergan’s heart. Mergan just realized that she truly loved Soluch. That she had loved him. But what was this feeling? Where had it come from? How had it been awakened in her? So he’d gone—yes, and he could go to hell! But why had he left this trace, this echo of himself inside of her? As of today, nearly seventeen springtimes had gone by since they had married. Seventeen springs, and Abbas, their oldest, was now nearly a man for himself. His upper lip had sprouted peach fuzz. And with that mouth and those big teeth, he could really swear up a storm …

  Seventeen years! Is it possible for something to be lost inside you for years without your knowing of it? To have loved and to have forgotten it? Where would these words lead to?

  With every step Mergan took, with each breath that took her farther from Soluch, she felt she was instead rushing closer and closer to him. How far, how distant had they been from one another in enduring the passing days and nights? Oh … How a lifetime is wasted!

  People were slowly emerging and leaving Zaminej. It was the season for ploughing. But not for dry farming. The dry farmers were still waiting for the rains. They were still sitting in their homes, praying in their hearts, and looking to the skies. Here and there a man and a cow would walk out of Zaminej, heading for the higher grounds. Hajj Salem and his son Moslem were still sitting beside the wall. Moslem had stopped stomping his feet, but his hands were still hidden between his legs.

  “Papa … Papa …”

  Hajj Salem was unresponsive, and his gaze was transfixed to a spot in the gray cloud cover, as if his eyes were caught on something.

  “Papa … Papa …”

  The old man came to.

  “Damn it! What’s gotten into you now?”

  Moslem showed his thick, yellow teeth from satisfaction.

  “The sun … the sun’s come out!”

  “So … what am I to do?”

  “Warm yourself! Warm yourself!”

  Hajj Salem looked at his son, was silent for a spell, and then said, “The fool!”

  Mergan passed by the father and son like the wind. Blue from the cold, she reached her home and rushed into the room. Salar Abdullah was sitting on the earthen floor. He had a scarf tied tightly around his head and had wrapped the edges of his robe around his knees.

  Mergan entered without greeting him and passed him without a second glance. She went to the far side of the room and sat quietly in the darkness of the corner of the house. She lifted her hands, which were numb from the cold, and her contorted fingers hung limply. Pain shot through her fingers, and only modesty prevented her from crying. Despite everything, she could still hold herself back from crying. Pain raced through her fingers, just as the stifled cries were caught inside her throat.

  Salar Abdullah berated Hajer, “Why are you just sitting there and pouting, girl? Get up and put on some water to boil. Get up and bring some hot water!”

  Hajer arose and lit the stove. Abrau entered the room with a broken sickle. His pockmarked face was twisted, and he was chewing on his thick lower lip. Not looking at anyone, he said, “You can’t uproot corkwood with this sickle!”

  Mergan, whose voice was deadened by the cold, said, “What happened to your upstart brother? Where’s he gone to?”

  Abrau said, “He’s fixing his shoes. His sickle’s not broken. With this broken sickle that’s fallen into my hands, do you expect me to bring back a bundle of corkwood as big as his?”

  “Go borrow another one from someone. There’s no one here who can fix that one.”

  Abrau groaned and walked out, saying, “ ‘Borrow one, borrow one’—who’s going to lend me one? Everyone’s using their own.”

  “So what do you want me to do about it? Make you one myself? Hey … Abbas!”

  Abbas came to the doorway, holding a shoe in one hand. Mergan said, “Why won’t you lend your brother a hand?”

  Abbas chewed on a bit of string, saying, “How? Am I a metalsmith?”

  “Well go scare one up for him; you can speak, can’t you? Go get one from someone for him.”

  “What am I supposed to get? Is this the metal-works market? Tell him to use a shovel instead. You can uproot corkwood with something other than a sickle, you know!”

  Salar Abdullah interrupted the banter and told Abrau, “Go to our house and tell Alireza’s mother to give you the short-handled sickle from the shed. Go. Say, last night we had roasted watermelon seeds—that way she’ll know I sent you. Go.”

  Abrau stood shifting his feet. Abbas grabbed his brother’s collar and dragged him to the alley and pushed him off. Abrau set out down the alley, complaining as he went. Abbas returned to the doorway, sat on the ground, and busied himself with putting his shoes on. Smoke was filling the house. Salar Abdullah went to the stove and stuck a finger in the water in the bowl and sa
id, “That’s fine. It doesn’t need to be boiling.”

  He took the bowl of warm water and walked over to Mergan, placing it in front of her.

  “Put your hands in the water. Put them in, and you’ll see what good it does you!”

  Mergan placed her hands in the warm water. “God bless you and your father, Salar Abdullah. Ah … Why hadn’t I thought of this myself? I’m losing my mind!”

  Salar Abdullah sat at the edge of the wall.

  “Each living being, Mergan, finds its own special talent in some way. A man has his, and a woman has hers. When we traveled to Mashhad, one of our traveling companions, a man from Anarak, was frostbitten. It’s not right to say, I’m ashamed to even mention this, but it struck him in his manhood. So we took him to the closest coffeehouse. There was an old man, also a traveler, who took care of that poor man from Anarak. As soon as he saw him, he went and poured all the hot water from the kettles that had been prepared in the coffeehouse into a basin. He added some cold water as well, and he told us to strip down the poor man. We did so, and then we put him into the water up to his waist. After just half an hour, he had all but recovered. Thank God there was no lasting damage to him either … It was after this journey that I sold off my camels and came and bought a few hours’ worth of water from the canals. I was rescued from my waywardness and roaming, and I began to preoccupy myself with working a few handfuls of dirt here with a few drops of water … Anyway, now where is our master Soluch? Is he around?”

  Mergan said, “He’s gone to hell!”

  “What? Are you back at each other’s throats like cats and dogs? Yes? What happened? You seem in a bad way. Where’s he gone to so early this morning?”

  “He’s gone!”

  “But where?”

  “God knows. I don’t know. When I got up this morning, I saw he’d gone. That is, last night … I don’t know. I’m confused. Every night he’d come and spend the night by the clay oven, but last night he left. I don’t know where. That’s all I know.”

  Salar Abdullah sat a moment and then involuntarily said, “I spit on the father’s grave of any robbing thief! Just yesterday he swore a holy oath on the saint’s shrine that I should come by this morning to pick up those five pieces of copper.”

  “Which five pieces of copper?”

  “The same ones he bartered for fifteen measures of wheat from me.”

  Mergan said, “Well, he’s not here right now.”

  “So what if he’s not here? He made a promise. There were witnesses. Kadkhoda Norouz was the guarantor of the deal.”

  “So go ask the Kadkhoda for it.”

  “I should get it from the Kadkhoda? I gave Soluch the grain, so I should get the copper from the Kadkhoda?”

  “The copper isn’t Soluch’s property to barter. Do you think Soluch inherited these pieces of copper from his abject father? These few bits of copper were a trousseau from my brother to me! Now I’m supposed to put them up for a barter made by my husband who is God knows where?”

  Salar Abdullah sat silently, dumbstruck, then asked, “So? What about my payment, then? Soluch took my wheat, which you’ve all eaten, and what about me? Am I guilty that I have to suffer at the hands of his wife and children this winter?”

  Mergan said, “I didn’t eat bread from your wheat, his children did. Go tear open their bellies if you want and take back your wheat.”

  Salar Abdullah was losing his patience. His anger flared as he said, “What are you saying, woman?! You think you’re speaking to a fool? Do you think I’m joking with you that you would answer me in this way? I’ve sold my wheat, and now I want the payment in money or in property. Just yesterday Soluch swore an oath.”

  “So go find him! He’s not flown away to the heavens. He’s probably gone off hiding somewhere in these ruins.”

  “So you’re not willing to give me the copper?”

  “I don’t have any to give anyone.”

  Salar Abdullah leaned over and brought his face close to Mergan.

  “Look at me. Why are you looking at the backs of your hands? Open your ears! I want the copper.”

  Mergan removed her hands from the bowl and shook them.

  “So if you were to demand my children’s heads, I would have to give them to you?”

  “I’m not asking for your children. I am owed these.”

  “So collect what you’re owed from the one who you did business with. What do I know about all of this? Did I buy the wheat from you?”

  “Your husband did. Didn’t that same son of yours pick up the canvas bag and bring the wheat to your house? Wasn’t it you, Abbas? Didn’t you bring it?”

  Abbas looked at his mother. Mergan said, “He’s not of age yet. When he’s old enough, he’ll take the winds of the desert that he’s inherited from his father and sell them to pay off what’s due you!”

  Salar Abdullah suddenly leapt forward and furiously shouted, “So all you know is how to talk high and mighty? You’re quite a sweet-talking, rag-wearing one; you think you’re equal to me and that I have to go head-to-head in playing games with you? What’s wrong with you? You think I’ll let someone get away with taking what’s mine? If I have to tear it from the belly of a wolf, I’ll get what’s rightfully mine. So I’m not worried about you!”

  “Well fine, kill me if you can. I’m tired of this life already.”

  “To hell with your feeling tired of life. I’m just here for what’s mine.”

  Mergan’s heart was racing, and the blood was rushing through her hands and feet. She leapt up and screamed, “Get up and get out of here, you bastard! What a song and dance you’ve put on for me, you hyena! I have no food for my own children, and here you are trying to drag the last few pieces of copper I own away from me. You think you’re up against a weakling?”

  Salar Abdullah, who had also jumped to his feet, said, “I should leave? Fine, I’m going. But I’m taking the five measures of copper that are owed me before I leave this house.”

  He rushed into the pantry of the house and emerged a moment later carrying a tray, a vase, a bathing pitcher, and a pot. Mergan threw herself onto him, grabbed his hands, and cried out, “Put them down. Put them down, you merciless bastard!”

  Salar Abdullah reached out and also took a skillet set beside the doorjamb. Mergan grabbed onto his arms and hung on.

  “Put them down, you bastard … Leave them!”

  With a single motion, Salar Abdullah threw Mergan to one side. Mergan rebounded and shouted, “Children! Abbas, Abrau, my girl, block the door. Don’t let him take what’s yours. Get him!”

  Abrau had just returned with the short-handled sickle, and he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Abbas in the doorway. Salar Abdullah rushed the door with his hands full of the items. Mergan leapt onto him from behind, tore his scarf from his head, and threw it to the edge of the room. She grabbed the cloth of his robe, and he had to let go and drop the pot, vase, and pitcher to try to disentangle himself from her. Hajer quickly grabbed the copper pieces and hid them in a chest. Mergan slid down to Salar Abdullah’s feet and grabbed him between the legs. Shouting, he kept trying to free himself, but Mergan would not let go. She dragged on him, pulling him down. Salar Abdullah’s wailing filled the air. Then he kneed Mergan in the shoulder violently, sending her tumbling.

  Salar Abdullah had lost any sense of restraint and unleashed a stream of whatever insults came to his lips. The boys rushed in, Abrau with the sickle and Abbas with a cord of rope. Mergan, short of breath from the pain in her shoulder, dragged herself back to the center of the room, grabbed Salar Abdullah’s leg, and sank her teeth into his heel. He screamed and kicked Mergan away. Reaching the door, Salar Abdullah was entangled with three people at once, swearing and swinging. Abbas and Abrau didn’t back down either, insulting his wife, children, father, and mother in return. He finally freed himself of Mergan and her sons and rushed back toward the chest, opened the door, and threw the copper pieces out. Abbas and Abrau threw their bodies on the copper. Salar A
bdullah flayed at them, trying in vain to pull them off. Mergan dashed to the door shouting, “Thief, help! Thief … Help me! In broad daylight, he’s emptying my home!”

  Somehow she rushed to the stable and grabbed Soluch’s shovel and was back inside the house in seconds, like the wind. She raised the shovel and with wild eyes and foam at her lips said, “Salar Abdullah … your life is in your hands. I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you and one of these children as well. I’ll kill you with God’s blessing. I’m done with living! Done. Do you hear me, man?”

  Under Mergan’s shovel, Salar Abdullah slid up against the wall and, with wide eyes, stared at her. Mergan’s eyes were also tinged with dread. Kill him? Could she really kill him? Salar Abdullah, with an uncovered head, raised himself from the ground and threw himself out the door of the house, where, met by the frightened faces of the neighbors, he broke his silence. “That woman … that bitch … she’s crazy! She tried to kill me! Ay … Ay … Honest to God, she wanted to kill me! I swear … I swear on the Prophet, she wanted to kill me! Kadkhoda … Norouz … She wanted to kill me. She almost smashed my head in with a shovel!”