Missing Soluch

by Mahmoud Dowlatabadi

  Abbas looked at Jalil and said, “Get up and come here! Why are you dragging your feet?”

  Jalil replied, “You play a round. I’ll come.”

  Morad said, “Don’t be a baby. Come over here! A man needs to be confident and sure of himself!”

  Jalil said, “You guys play a round. Just start without me.”

  Hamdullah said, “I’ll throw the pieces. Are we playing wolves?”

  Ghodrat spoke as if from experience, “Or do you want to play a three-piece game?”

  Abbas said, “It’s up to you. You decide.”

  Morad said, “I don’t mind. I’ll play either.”

  Abbas looked at Hamdullah and said, “The three-piece game is pretty complicated. With two three-goats you’re completely done for. The game can be over before it’s even begun.”

  Jalil spoke up from beside the trough.

  “Four-pieces. Let’s play four. I won’t play a three-piece game.”

  Morad said, with a laugh in his voice, “However we play, your hands will be shaking, o son-of-the-village-lord!”

  Hamdullah looked back toward the trough and said, “You get up then! What are you dragging your feet for?”

  Abbas collected the pieces from the dirt and said, “Let’s play wolves then, okay? Here we go, one round of wolves. Everybody take a bajal piece and toss it. Whoever has the highest one will deal.”

  Each of the boys took a piece and flipped it in the air. Morad had the highest one, and Abbas collected the pieces and set them before him. Morad looked at Jalil and said, “If you want, you and I can do it over. You might get the higher one … eh? I don’t want you complaining later! If you don’t want us to do it over, then you have to sit and play a round and wait for the deal to go a full round.”

  Jalil said, “Now just deal, will you?”

  Morad laid out the pieces before himself, lining them up in a row. He arranged them and then took the “wolf” piece in between his fingers, telling Abbas, “Ante in!”

  Abbas changed his place with Hamdullah, saying, “I can’t see a thing here. You sit with your back to the door. From here, I can only see outside.”

  Hamdullah jingled the coins that he was holding loosely between his two hands. He then separated his hands and made them into fists, lowered his right fist into the circle, and said, “I’ve anted in!”

  The pieces fell into the circle. One had the wolf sign, and three others fell blank side up. Morad again arranged the pieces and said, “Ante in!”

  “I’ve anted in!”

  “Here, two signs showing. Now pay in.”

  Hamdullah tossed two two-qeran coins at Morad’s feet.

  “Ghodrat, your turn!”

  Ghodrat lowered his fist into the circle, saying, “I’ve anted in!”

  Morad tossed the pieces in the air and slapped his hand against his thigh. Ghodrat’s fist was below the pieces as they fell.

  “Foul, do it again!”

  Morad grumbled and rearranged the pieces.

  “Right from the beginning, you’re messing things up! You’re a cheat like your cheating father. Okay, call it! You can’t shake me with your moves. Ante double!”

  “I’ve anted in. My hand’s in!”

  “Ante double!”

  “I’ve anted. Just toss the pieces!”

  “Nice one! Three horses!”

  The pieces were on the ground. A full wolf hand!

  “Pay in double!”

  Ghodrat tossed in two five-qeran coins.

  Morad said, “Let’s see the other hand.”

  Ghodrat opened his left fist; there was one five-qeran coin stuck to his left thumb.

  “Accepted?”

  “Accepted.”

  Ghodrat said, “Don’t go saying anything bad about me!”

  Abbas held his fist into the circle, and Morad smiled as he said, “Well, well … watch as I give you a set of four pieces with signs!”

  Abbas pursed his lips and squeezed them together, not saying anything. His face was pale, and as was usual, the corners of his lips were trembling. When Abbas joined a game, he would change entirely. A kind of terror would take hold of him. His heart would pound and his eyes would bulge. If he won, he would scream with joy, and if he lost he would still scream. He was clumsy and awkward. It seemed as if he were trying to eat the anted coins with his eyes. For Abbas, nothing seemed as exciting as when the money in play would be collected in his pocket. But since that never happened, he was always unsatisfied. Morad, who knew Abbas’ nature well, tossed the pieces up once, called a foul, and set them out again just to wind him up.

  “Okay, ante in!”

  Abbas, whose fist had remained clenched at the edge of the circle, said in a trembling voice, “I’ve anted!”

  Two pieces with signs came up, one of them a wolf.

  Morad said, “You have to put in three times as much as your ante!”

  Abbas opened his fist. It was empty! Morad clenched his teeth and sharpened his eyes.

  “Are you trying to pull the rug out from under my victory? Fine. I’ll still win if we do it hundred more times. Ante up! I’m not worried!”

  Abbas rose and said, “I’ll ante a ten shahi.”

  As Morad rearranged the pieces, Abbas looked at Jalil and said, “Take my place a second while I go splash some water on my face. Come on! I’m the one who arranged for a place for you guys to play. I didn’t want to play in the first place!”

  Morad said, “Come on. You ante for yourself, Jalil. Don’t be such a baby about the game.”

  Jalil came over heavily and sat in Abbas place, saying, “Let me examine the pieces!”

  Morad pushed the pieces over for him to test out. He separated the wolf piece.

  “There’s lead in this piece; replace it!”

  Rising to leave the stable, Abbas took the piece in question and put another one before Jalil, saying, “Even a bride isn’t so finicky before going out to her wedding! Is there anything else you would like from us?”

  Jalil picked up the new piece and said, “I thought Ali Genav was going to bring his deck of cards over. So where are they?”

  Abbas was just about out the door as he said, “I was just about to go and see where the hell he’s hiding his dark head!”

  Abbas didn’t wait to hear anything more. He closed the door behind himself and entered the yard. He stuck his head into the room, but Mergan wasn’t there. Hajer was alone, asleep and snoring. He turned and entered the alley, finding himself face-to-face with Hajj Salem and Moslem. He was surprised for a moment, but gathered his bearings, saying hello and moving on. It wasn’t far to Ali Genav’s house; it was at the end of the dead-end. One of the doors was always open. Abbas entered; the house was always open to visitors. Ali Genav was sitting by the clay oven, in the sun, mending his camel-hair shawl. He seemed oblivious to the fact that both his mother and wife were in bed, crying in pain. Perhaps he thought to himself that he couldn’t do much for them other than what he had done already—to send Abrau to find the bonesetter. What else could he do? Beat himself? Cry out loud? No, Ali Genav was more thick-skinned than that. He was also cool-headed when playing cards. Although he was one of the most experienced card players in Zaminej, he had not once had a scuffle with another player. He was always cool and calm. And he rarely lost. When he did lose, all that he did was furrow his brow in anger, but he would stay as calm as he was before.

  Abbas’ shadow fell on Ali Genav’s hands, and while he continued his sewing he looked up.

  “Eh? Can I help you? You must be here for the cards, no?”

  Abbas said, “No! How are they?”

  “Fine!”

  So as to follow up with what he had said, Abbas walked to the door and peeked inside the house. The two women, Raghiyeh and Mother Genav, were on two sides of the room, and Mergan was sitting between them. Abbas returned. Ali Genav was still busy with his sewing.

  “So? What do you want? Get to the point!”

  Abbas said, “I think Ham
dullah and Jalil have full pockets today! But they really want to play cards.”

  Ali Genav replied, “That one boy’s in love with cards. But I won’t lend them to anyone.”

  Abbas said, “What I mean is that you should come yourself. It looks like a good group to play with.”

  Ali Genav said, “If I come, I’ll bring my cards with me!”

  Abbas walked back toward the door to the alley. Before reaching it, he slowed down and turned around. He wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring himself to. Abbas knew Ali Genav’s temperament. It would be counterproductive to push him any more than he already had. So he turned again and left. But as soon as he reached the stable, his eyes opened wide with amazement. He couldn’t believe that Hajj Salem and Moslem were inside the stable. Where did they come from? He hoped that Hajj Salem hadn’t come to teach a lesson to his nephew, Hamdullah! If he caused a commotion, what would Abbas do? He couldn’t think of a way around it. He said hello, and slid down beside one of the walls. Hajj Salem and Moslem were both sitting quietly. The former was sitting on the edge of the trough, with his cane leaning against the center of his chest. His son was sitting beside Hamdullah in the circle and was watching the game over the shoulders of Hamdullah and Morad. The game had heated up. Hamdullah was dealing; he would cast the pieces and then tell his Uncle Moslem to move his head to the side.

  “I told you to move your muzzle to the side, you!”

  Moslem followed Hamdullah’s every movement with his entire body, and at that moment had reached his head and neck over the gambling circle.

  “Three donkeys!”

  The pieces moved on from his hands; in the last hand, he lost fifteen qerans from his total winnings. Hamdullah shoved Moslem’s chest with his forearm, bellowing, “I told you a hundred times, sit back, you cow! You shook my hand so much I ended up with three donkeys!”

  Moslem pulled himself back and collected himself before saying, “Be generous! A little gift! A gift!”

  Hamdullah was collecting the coins from before his feet, and replied, “Go on. Forget it! God’ll give you gifts some other place! You idiot, you really think you’re going to get something here?”

  Moslem didn’t listen to this and kept staring at the clenched fist of his nephew’s hand. Hamdullah said to Abbas, “Why don’t you throw him out?! What are we paying you to host us here for?”

  Abbas spoke up, grabbing Moslem’s thick wrist between his hands and shouting, “Okay! Get up! I’m not a fool to want to split the host’s take, giving a payout to the likes of you. Get up. Open up this space, you!”

  It was impossible to move Moslem from his place. He was like a block of stone. He didn’t listen, and he wasn’t easily moved. He kept staring firmly at his nephew’s fist until Abbas was somehow able to pull him into a prone position on the floor of the stable. But that didn’t end the problem; Moslem simply started bellowing loudly, sounding unlike any other living thing. If his familiar and unsettling cry was raised for too long, it was likely that all the neighbors would make their way to Soluch’s stable to see what was happening, and then Abbas’ work would be ruined. There was nothing he could do. He had to find a way to get Moslem out of there. So he began pulling at him with all his strength. Abbas and Moslem were slowly starting to scuffle, while Hajj Salem stayed where he was at the edge of the trough. The old man was like a cleric sitting inside a religious academy. With his long cloak, his scarf and cane, his thick beard.

  “I’m not playing any more!”

  This was Hamdullah who was pulling himself out of the circle.

  Ghodrat replied sharply, “What? You’re out? That’s what kind of man you are? You win a round and then say you’re not playing? That’s incredible!”

  Morad realized the game was about to fall apart at a time when he was down twenty-five qerans himself. It wouldn’t do. The money couldn’t leave their circle. He had to do something. He rose. The cause of the problem, Moslem, had to be removed. He gestured to Ghodrat to help him. Hamdullah opened the door of the stable, and Abbas, now assisted by Ghodrat and Morad, dragged Moslem out and threw him out into the snow. They ran back to the stable, closed the door, and threw their bodies against it. Hajj Salem had just risen from his seat and was passing his cane from hand to hand. Moslem reached the other side of the door and began beating on it, crying as he shouted, “Papa … Papa … Come here, Papa …! Come here! I’m scared. Come! I … want Papa. My Papa …”

  Hajj Salem gestured at the door with his cane,

  “He’s crazy! What can be done?”

  Abbas said, “Tell him to calm down, Hajji Sir! If he keeps up, the neighbors will come running!”

  A smile lit up in the midst of Hajj Salem’s bushy beard, and his eyes shone.

  “A sensible person would say that’s it’s worth five qerans in order to not have a scene here, no?”

  He had stretched one palm out before even finishing his sentence. Abbas handed him five qerans and said to the group, “You all see! I’m paying five qerans for all of you! It’s coming out of the general winnings. I don’t want any arguments about it later!”

  Hajj Salem took the money in his hand and hid it in his fingers, shaking his head.

  Abbas said, “Well, tell him calm down, then!”

  Hajj Salem tapped his cane against the door and said, “Calm! You dog! Calm down!”

  Moslem calmed down. The boys were able to leave the door and opened it for Hajj Salem, who stepped out. A few moments later the scraping of the steps of the old man and his son could be heard as they walked past the snow piled by the wall. Abbas spit thickly at a spot against the wall of the stable and said, “The blood-sucking leeches!”

  Then he looked at Hamdullah and said, “I paid up quietly because of you lot! It wasn’t that I was too weak to take him on. I could take on a hundred like him. But I’m worried about the reputations of you two here!”

  Morad tossed the pieces in the kitty and said, “Sit down!”

  Ghodrat also sat and said, “Yes, sit down. It’s all done and over now! Each of us will pay one qeran to Abbas. Let’s shut him up and get on with it!”

  Hamdullah tossed a coin next to Abbas, but Jalil hesitated, shifting on his feet and looking around himself. Morad shouted at him, “Get moving, then! It’s not like you have to give up an eyeball! You can’t believe he had to pay to get rid of that screaming fool? We’re not the ones that are afraid of anything. It’s the two of you that are afraid of your daddies. So pay up! Pay it, one qeran! And here’s my one qeran!”

  Jalil said, “I’m not playing!”

  “You’re not going to play?”

  “No!”

  The veins on Morad’s neck were beginning to show themselves and spittle was collecting at the edge of his mouth. He leapt up and grabbed the collar of Jalil’s shirt, shouting, “You think anyone can just dance in here like you and then take your winnings out of the circle without playing on? C’mon! You cheat!”

  Jalil was struggling simply not to run away. First of all, because he didn’t want a scene, and more important, because he was terrified of Morad. It was clear to him that if it ended up in a fight, he’d not only get a beating from Morad and the other two, but that he’d end up with his pockets cleaned out at the end of it. So he decided to compromise. His problem was that he knew that Morad didn’t need to work in Zaminej for his living. Morad always left the village shortly after the beginning of spring, coming back to stay at home through the winter. So he was under the thumb of neither the Kadkhoda nor of Salar Abdullah. He could make his own bread from the heart of a stone, if he needed to.

  Salar Abdullah’s son grabbed Morad’s fists in his hands and softly said, “Let go of my collar!”

  Morad shook him and said, “So what’s your decision? Are you going to take your winnings, or will you keep on playing?”

  Jalil still couldn’t decide. He just wanted to find a way to get out.

  Morad shook him one more time and said, “So what’ll it be? Eh? I’m leaving
soon anyway. Don’t do something that will make me have to give you a beating. Will you stay and play, or do you want to suck up the money?”

  Jalil sat down. Morad also sat, and told Abbas, “Toss the pieces!”

  Abbas said, “Whoever’s won has to pay up to the house first, and then I’ll begin!”

  Ghodrat pointed to Hamdullah and Jalil, saying, “They’re the winners so far. Pay the house.”

  Hamdullah and Jalil looked at one another. Hamdullah tossed one qeran over to Abbas, who then looked at Jalil, saying, “One qeran for the house charge, and there’s the other one you owe from before. That’s two all together. Pay up!”

  Jalil took out two one-qeran coins and placed them before Abbas despondently. Abbas took the coins and tossed the bajal pieces into the circle. Morad collected the pieces before himself. Abbas said to him, “You set what everyone should pay the house, just so there’s no cheating later on.”

  Morad said, “When the game goes two rounds, the dealer pays the house one qeran.”

  Abbas wanted to bargain. “Why two rounds? Most places it’s one round.”

  Morad said, “Okay, we’ll base it on the winnings then. And don’t be such a greedy host. For every twenty qerans won, the house gets one qeran. Okay! Ante up!”

  Jalil was sitting to the right of Morad. He took out a ten-shahi piece from his pile of coins and tossed it into the circle.

  “I’ve anted in!”

  “So far, has anyone been anteing small change, like a ten-shahi, for you to start with that?”

  “Here’s another ten shahis on top of it!”

  “Cheapskate! You have to bid at least five qerans!”

  Jalil took another one-qeran coin and added it to the others.

  “That’s all!”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “That’s it. That’s my ante.”

  “Very nice …! Three horses! Pay up six qeran! Ghodrat, you’re next?”

  Ghodrat held his fist beside the circle. Morad warmed the pieces in his hand and said, “Ante up!”

  Ghodrat spoke like an old hand.

  “I’m in!”

  Morad threw up the pieces and Ghodrat put his fist beneath them, ruining the round. Morad gathered the pieces, saying, “I’m doing well for myself, so you cheat! If you’re afraid, then ante up less!”