The boy’s sack falls from Mergan’s hand to the ground. Mergan comes closer. No! How can one believe it? An old man stands before her. She comes closer. Her eyes are like the outlines of two dry wells. In the depths of her eyes, two old vipers are coiled. They are lost. The sun of hell shines over the fields and into Mergan’s eyes. Her gaze is lost in the fields. She puts her hand upon Abbas’ hand. His hand is in his mother’s hand. Mergan begins to walk; everyone begins to walk. The Sardar remains with the body of his camel. They walk slowly. An old man is holding Mergan’s hand. They are silent. Silence, sun, the sun of hell fire rains on the fields. Where is water?
4.
Karbalai Doshanbeh was used to sitting with his back to the wall. He would sit with his legs wide apart, the palms of his feet flat on the ground, and his elbows on his bony knees and he would finger his worry beads.
The cup of tea sitting before him had grown cold, and he was staring quietly into space. His silence was as heavy as a millstone. He was like a useless millstone leaning against a wall. Old and out of use, heavy and silent. He had plenty of reasons for making an appearance at Mergan’s house, such as to ask about Abbas’ health or to offer congratulations on Hajer’s upcoming marriage. But more effective than these was the excuse of Molla Aman’s presence in Zaminej village: this was Molla Aman, his old friend and the former herder of his camels. However, the actual motivation for his visit was doubtless the debt that Molla Aman owed to Karbalai Doshanbeh. It was time for Molla Aman to at least settle the interest that had accumulated on his loan so far. His host Mergan could choose to accept any of the possible excuses for Karbalai Doshanbeh’s visit. The generous interpretation of his visit was the idea that he had come to see his old friend and companion Molla Aman, and was enjoying a cup of tea celebrating the marriage of this old friend’s niece. The more jaundiced interpretation was the notion that Karabalai Doshanbeh suspected Molla Aman of trying to cheat him out of his dues and that he had shown up right then and there to begin such a row that the good news of the wedding would be quickly forgotten by all in the village. Mergan knew that both of these possibilities simply meant that he had at his disposal the ability to present different excuses, giving him the right to show up uninvited to her house in the morning over the next day or two: he could slide in and sit in a corner quietly, drinking tea, and, if possible, eating the bread and stew offered him, occasionally tossing out a suggestion or comment invariably tinged, as they always were, with sarcasm or a veiled insult. This was his nature and in fact the story of his life, and the residents of Zaminej had come to just recognize it as the way he was.
Since Molla Aman was in a tight spot, he had no choice but to act obsequious and deferential to Karbalai Doshanbeh. He had to let pass most of the more insulting insinuations and had to find a way of coming to terms with his old friend. At heart, he simply wanted to find a way to bear the next two days, since he didn’t have much keeping him in Zaminej. He was only there to give Hajer’s hand to Ali Genav before taking his donkey’s tether and heading back out on his way. As for Abbas, it was clear that there was nothing to be done for him.
Abbas sat in a dark corner, quietly staring at the floor, as if in shock. No one bothered him, and he interacted with no one. He was silent and sullen, with lips shut and eyes open. Eyes that had not yet seen sleep. Yet no remedies were offered him, no prayers said for him.
“Just wait a few days. A few days have to pass first.”
This had been Karbalai Doshanbeh’s suggestion. Ali Genav had nodded his head to this. Molla Aman had to respond in turn, and said, “What’s done is done. Now things just have to return to normal. Ah … life is full of these twists and turns!”
Hajer was hiding herself somewhere. It seemed the event that had befallen her brother was not an auspicious sign for her.
Abbas’ sudden aging was interpreted most simply and persuasively by Ali Genav.
“I myself spoke to a dervish in front of Shazdeh’s caravanserai that somewhere in the Mount Shahjahan region the same thing happened to another boy, but that after a few days he’d returned to normal. These worries are just a stage; they will pass. You can’t get wrapped up in them. Eh, Uncle? What do you think about this?”
Molla Aman looked over at Karbalai Doshanbeh.
“Karbalai Doshanbeh is much more worldly than I!”
The response came, “Just wait a few days. A few days have to pass first.”
Molla Aman had agreed earlier, and then agreed again.
“Yes, well … What else can we do? It’s just the way of the world!”
But Mergan was on fire, burning like incense. It was as if smoke was pouring from her eyes.
“Auntie … Auntie …”
Ali Genav had begun calling Mergan “Auntie.” Mergan walked out of the room and joined him where he had drawn himself against the outside wall.
“Everything is ready now. I’ve cleaned the house as well. It’s ready.”
Mergan replied, “Very well. Come tonight and take your wife’s hand in yours and you can take her to your home. What else should I tell you?”
Ali Genav asked, “Is everything set with her clothes, bedding, shoes …?”
“They’ll be ready.”
“Fine, good. So I’ll go and make the rounds, now. And listen, I’ve made arrangements for dinner to be ready there tonight. You come and bring Uncle Molla Aman with yourself. Afterward, you can bring back a couple of bowls of meat for Abbas and Abrau as well. Okay?”
“Fine. Okay.”
Ali Genav left and Mergan returned to the house. Karbalai Doshanbeh and Molla Aman were still sitting against the wall. Mergan passed by the stove, under Karbalai Doshanbeh’s gaze, and entered the pantry.
“I need to have a word with Hajer. I need to tell her a few things!”
Karbalai Doshanbeh’s gaze followed Mergan and then crossed over to Molla Aman, whose head was lowered. Karbalai half-smiled as he said, “So go make Mergan a bride! Why don’t you marry her off?”
Molla Aman raised his head and was about to open his mouth when Karbalai Doshanbeh spoke again. “I wish I would die! I smashed my own wife like she was made of crystal! My neck could break from all of the gossip they told about me! I wish people’s tongues would fall out!”
Molla Aman said, “Don’t start all over, Karbalai. What’s happened, has happened.”
Karbalai Doshanbeh said, “The hurt is still there. She was like fine crystal, that woman. But the gossip! She gave birth in the seventh month, and the gossip began. Disrespectful mob! They kept saying, ‘That girl was pregnant before she entered her husband’s home’!”
“The innocent girl! After all, would I know better, or them? But I smashed my beautiful crystal with my own hands. I wish my neck would have been broken instead! After that, even water was too bitter for me to drink. I beat that girl like she was a beast, and kicked her out. In the cold of winter, with the babe in her arms. And I don’t know where she ended up! How could a seven-day-old baby survive the cold winter outside? The poor child! It’s all the fault of Abdullah’s mother, my first wife. She was the one who began all the gossip. Evil woman! She didn’t want to see a shepherd’s daughter on God’s Land. And if I’d kept her at home, she might have done her in herself. In any case, she wanted me to be without a second wife. Although I can say I also was able to make the life of Abdullah’s mother hell. From that day on, I ended any real marital relationship between us. Absolutely! And it’s been twenty years. That’s what she gets for her gossiping. But … but, now the old woman’s beginning to win the fight. She’s kicked me out of my own house and left me in the old storage shed. Well, her son’s now become a man for himself. Salar Abdullah! He provides for her. What does she need me for? She refuses to even wash my laundry. She won’t even offer me a glass of water to wet my bread in. If I were in the throes of death, she wouldn’t so much as open the door for me! It’s as if we’re not husband and wife, as if we never were! But I understand … She’s getting her revenge. But
… but, I wish my own neck had been broken rather than my having made my beautiful crystal of a wife homeless as I did. I broke her myself.”
Molla Aman again said, “Don’t start all over, Karbalai. Don’t renew the pain!”
“But it’s still there, Molla Aman. Its pain doesn’t grow old. Unless … unless someone were able to fill her place … Molla Aman, you need to make her a bride. Mergan needs to remarry! Her husband’s dead. Soluch didn’t have the constitution to survive the difficulties of living far away from here. I’ve done it myself. I’ve seen how it is. I can tell you, he’s dead. No doubt, he is dead. I promise you, I’ve heard so myself. And there is a legal basis for it. You just need three reliable witnesses to say that Soluch is dead, and then Mergan can remarry. There is another way, too, in the law. If a man leaves home for some months without any word—I’m not sure how many—his wife gains custody of the household. You see what I’m saying? It’d be good for you and me to become family. We’ve traveled far together, as friends, companions. We can settle our accounts with each other as well. So, have a word with your sister. How long does she expect to go on without someone’s protection? And she’s still a young woman; she’s in good health. It’s just the bad luck that she’s had that has twisted the poor thing a bit. So do something so I can take her in hand and help her. And God will surely repay you for the good deed it is. I’m sure this is what the prophet would have wanted himself.”
Karbalai Doshanbeh rose and shook the dust from his pants.
“These children need a guardian as well. You can’t be keeping an eye on them all the time. But tonight I’ll come to Ali Genav’s for dinner.”
Molla Aman accompanied Karbalai Doshanbeh to the alley and returned.
Mergan was standing by the door with a look full of anger.
“What was he talking about now?”
“Nothing … Let’s go inside.”
They went back into the house together.
Hajer was sitting by her box and was sorting through her things. Abbas was still in the same place, silent against the wall, with his big eyes, his disheveled white hair, his hollow cheeks, his crooked teeth, his gaunt face. His white hair, white as white.
Mergan sat on the floor angrily. She hid her face in her hands and plaintively said, “What does that man want, coming to my house?!”
Molla Aman said, “He’s an acquaintance. What can I say?”
“What kind of acquaintance? The kind that can go to hell! Karbalai Doshanbeh is no acquaintance of mine! He just shows up out of the blue when you’re here for a day or two.”
“So you’re upset that he comes to see me?”
“Not that he comes to see you, but that he uses you as an excuse to come here. And you can’t stand up to him, since you owe him money!”
“So what do you want? Shouldn’t I come here to see you?”
“Not at all. Why’re you saying that? You’re my brother, my older brother, but you’re giving this bastard an excuse to come around here. And then others will start whispering about it. Ever since Soluch has gone, this man has been sniffing around this house, scratching at the door. And how he likes to put on airs! Even snakes hate pennyroyals like him and would rather coil up somewhere than deal with one.”
Abbas trembled for a moment, as if tremors had passed through his body, and then he was calm again.
Molla Aman said, “Yes, and he’s gone so far as to invite himself to dinner as well.”
“Dinner? Where? Here?”
“No, at your future son-in-law’s.”
Mergan raised her voice. “He’s a fool if he’s invited himself! That pathetic beggar. And everywhere he goes, he expects a reception.”
Molla Aman said, “He says he has witnesses who say that Soluch is dead.”
Mergan replied, “Fine! If he’s dead, he’s dead. God rest his soul. But what’s it to him?”
“Maybe Soluch owed him money?”
“He can take the debt to the grave. I’m too busy with my own affairs to be caught up with the little chirp-chirps of the likes of him. I’ve moved on, and it has nothing to do with me. Let him run after other people’s bad luck. I don’t need to take on something that will put me in a cage with a wild dog!”
“But if Soluch is in fact dead …”
“My worries are that I have two sons to care for. What am I to do with them? And with one in the state you see him in! Can’t you see him?”
Molla Aman looked at Abbas and said, “He’s not asking to marry your sons. He wants to take you to his house.”
“And how does he propose to help my sons? Wasn’t he just saying they need a guardian?”
“That was just talk. Your daughter’s going to go to her husband’s home. And your sons are almost old enough to leave the nest on their own. And so you would go to his home.”
“His home! You’re a real simpleton, aren’t you? You know he’s living out in the storage shed. Which home does he expect me to go to? I even hear that there’s trouble between Salar Abdullah and his wife. Because she’s being tortured by this black-mouthed, big-bellied, old man hanging around their house. You really believe him? You’ll see, in two days he’ll be slithering over here with a blanket to shed his skin in!”
Molla Aman said, “You know what’s going on better than I do. I’m just telling you what he’s said. I’ll leave it in your hands from there.”
Mergan rose and said, “I don’t want a husband. Maybe Soluch’s dead, and maybe he’s still alive. But I’m too busy with my own work now!”
* * *
The evening stretched out. If Mergan began her errands now, they’d take until the dusk call to prayer to complete. She’d taken Hajer to the baths. Now she had to do the rest. She had purchased a bit of rouge and face powder. But she had to pluck the hairs on Hajer’s face first. She brought out an old broken mirror in a wooden frame and set it by the door against the wall. Then she brought over a box and set it by the mirror and took her daughter’s wrist and sat her by the mirror as well.
“Nothing to be afraid of! Every bride has her face hairs plucked!”
She had laid out the threads to use for the task beforehand. She hooked the threads onto her fingers and began running them in a cross pattern across Hajer’s small face. The girl pulled her head away from the threads that were ruthlessly tugging at the skin on her cheeks. Mergan berated her and told her to hold still for a little. Hajer tried to stay calm, but the pain and burning she felt on her face was too much. She was just about able to stay still, but couldn’t hold back the tears, which slowly filled her eyes. But Mergan showed no mercy and kept tugging at and burning the girl’s dry skin with the threads, and Hajer’s face became more and more scarlet from the friction, as if she had been slapped, or even as if she’d been bruised.
“All the better! You’ll have a bit of life and color in your face now. You can’t go over there looking like a corpse!”
Mergan was clearly distracted. Her only worry was to find the nonexistent little hairs on her daughter’s lips and face and to eradicate them. So what if it hurt!
“The first time always hurts. All the girls feel the same burning when they thread their faces for their wedding!”
“It’s burning me, mama. It’s burning!”
“Now, that’s better.”
Megan pulled Hajer’s face into the light and examined it closely. There was nothing left; her entire face was now scarlet and irritated. Like a beet, nearly bruised. It was time for Hajer to splash some water on her face.
“Now, get up and quickly wash and come back!”
Hajer ran outside. The bucket was half full of water. Hajer thrust her entire face into it.
Molla Aman rose and made as if to leave. He stood by the door and said, “If you want the truth, I’ve heard myself that Soluch is dead, God have mercy on him.”
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 cr
ied 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!
Missing Soluch Page 27