But could it be true? Was Soluch dead?
* * *
“Oh yes … look at that! Look at that!”
It was Ali Genav, whose body blocked the light. He was smiling. Hajer turned away and covered her eyes with the edge of her headscarf. Ali Genav pursed his big lips and looked at Mergan, who gestured at him to leave. She didn’t want Hajer to be affected by her fear of him.
Ali Genav turned to go, unhappily but still happy. Mergan finished applying the rouge to Hajer’s face. She rose, filled a cup with water, and set it beside her. Raising Hajer’s headscarf, she wet a comb in the water and drew it through the girl’s hair. Her hair was clean, thin, and fine, and it shone with its blackness.
Mergan combed her daughter’s hair with a hint of sadness, and the girl rested her head on her mother’s arm and looked at the ground with a deeper sadness. She stared at the earth. She was engaged now! That’s that. Marriage!
Hajer could not help but think about how easily everything had been handled when they went to town. The cost of making the engagement legitimate was even clearer to her than to her mother: the pair of red shoes, two silk scarves, a shirt, and a chador for praying. After the purchases, they took her from the bazaar into the alleys and through the alleys to the caravanserai. There, Ali Genav bought some bread and sweets. They sat by the walls of the cavanserai looking toward the coffeehouse and ate the food. Then Ali Genav went over to the coffeehouse and brought three large teas back to them. They drank the teas. Then Ali Genav went to the caravanserai stables and put a bit of food out for his donkey there. Then it was time to go, so they left. The alley behind the caravanserai connected to the central mosque. The lower door of the mosque led into the courtyard, which they crossed and exited through the higher door. Ali Genav led them across a street and back into narrow alleys. They passed by a cistern and entered a very narrow alley: Twisting and turning, it became more and more narrow. So much so that Hajer began to feel dizzy. All she remembered was that the surface of the ground was cobblestone, which she could remember from the sensation of the stones pushing at her feet through her leather shoes. At the end of the alley, they stopped beside a low door, lower than the alley’s surface. You had to descend three steps to the door, through which you reached a small courtyard. Next to the shallow pool in the center of the courtyard, there were six pomegranate trees. Ali Genav took the women up a set of stairs onto a veranda. They had Hajer sit there by a door while Ali Genav and Mergan went inside. Hajer never saw the cleric; she only heard his voice, which was interrupted by his constant coughing. He sounded old. He asked Hajer to say “I do,” which she did, and the job was done. Now Ali Genav could take her hand in his, which he did and he brought her down the veranda stairs. Then they returned in the same way: alley, street, mosque, alley to the caravanserai.
Ali Genav took his donkey out of the caravanserai stables, placed the bridle on him, and took the tether in hand. He paid for the stable, and left. Hajer and Mergan followed behind the donkey. Outside the town gates, Ali Genav stopped and again knelt for Hajer. Mergan grabbed her under her arms and she got onto the donkey. Ali Genav held onto the tether for a while, but after some distance, he tossed the tether on the donkey’s neck, pushed the tethering nail into the saddle, and walked alongside Hajer’s leg.
Mergan followed them and was lost in thought. Once, she sat down on the side of the path to adjust her shoes. Ali Genav had bought her new shoes, which she hadn’t yet broken in. Her feet were sweating in them. Once they reached the outskirts of Zaminej, Mergan walked about a hundred paces ahead of them. She was far enough ahead that Ali Genav was able to pinch Hajer’s leg two times. Hajer tolerated the pain of his pinches and acted as if nothing had happened. She was afraid to speak to Ali Genav. As they went, it was probable that he had spoken to her along the way, but she didn’t remember anything. She remembered much better the road itself, between Zaminej and the town. Morad’s shadow seemed to follow them everywhere. When they reached the gates of the village, he had passed by them, carrying a bag on his back, without so much as looking at Hajer. It was not that she was secretly in love with him. No. But now that things had ended up in this way, she thought about Morad often. He had become a kind of pillar of support in her imagination, a kind of refuge. But she was too young to actually have fallen in love with a young man like him. But she didn’t understand why it was that she kept thinking about the grimy back of his neck, his torn collar, and his sweat-covered shoulders?
And could it be that by now he was riding away in some automobile and was gone, truly gone?
Mergan tied the silk headscarf over Hajer’s brushed hair, and then artfully arranged her bangs over her forehead. She then took the girl from in front of the mirror and set her beside the trunk. She took out the cotton shirt Ali Genav had bought and put it on Hajer. Then she took out a pair of black trousers and gave them to her daughter, who took them to the pantry and returned a moment later wearing them. Mergan knelt and straightened out the waistband, pulling them up. But the legs were still too long, so she rolled up the bottoms. She thought to herself that now the pants looked good. She brought out the shoes. Hajer was afraid to put them on, but she had no choice. Mergan placed her daughter’s feet into the shoes, and she told her to walk around. Hajer walked with her face contorted; it was difficult for her to take steps with them. With the shoes on, she felt as if she had hooves, and it was difficult to keep her balance. It was as if her feet had been carved out of wood. She walked stiffly, jerking her feet as she went, in small, broken steps. With every step, she would bend at her knees. But she had to try. Mergan grabbed her elbow and began walking her around the room.
“Don’t be scared. Take a step. And another. Yes, another. Now just keep yourself up like that. You’re not a cripple, my dear. You can do it!”
Hajer walked in circles around the room. Then she suddenly sat down. Rather, she threw herself down and began to cry.
“My feet! My feet hurt! Why do I have to wear shoes at all! I don’t want to … I don’t!”
Before replying to her daughter, Mergan ran and quickly shut the door. She couldn’t let the sound of Hajer crying be heard outside. She then came and sat with her knees against her daughter’s, put the girl’s head against her chest, and calmed her. Hajer slowly stopped crying. She knew what her mother wanted. Mergan took her daughter’s head from her chest and carefully wiped the tears from her eyes before they could spoil the rouge on her cheeks. But it was difficult to see Hajer’s face, as the house was dark. Abbas’ white head, set on his bony shoulders, was all that could be seen, quiet and motionless.
Mergan suddenly rose, ran to the door, and opened it. Molla Aman was standing in the doorway. Calmly and clearly he spoke, “Why is the door closed?”
“I was dressing Hajer.”
“It’s night already. You’re not ready yet?”
“We’re nearly done.”
Mergan ran to Hajer, took her hand, and pulled her toward the light from the open door. She took another look at her face. Oh no! Her tears had made streaks in the rouge and powder that Mergan had applied to her face. Mergan carefully and calmly wiped under Hajer’s eyes with the edge of her scarf. Hajer’s tears were about to drip from her eyelashes.
Molla Aman said, “Why don’t you bring in a lamp for this house?”
“Honestly, I just forgot.”
Mergan went and brought out the lantern. A gray light filled the room. But now things could be seen a little better. Molla Aman sat leaning against the wall and looked over at Abbas, who was sitting quietly, not moving at all. Molla Aman wanted to speak to him, but couldn’t. What could he say? He rose from where he was and went to pour some feed in his donkey’s trough.
Mergan was done. She felt as if she should sit for a bit, but didn’t feel as if she could stay in one place. Instead, she kept circling around herself, coming and going, for no particular reason. She went to the pantry, then into the yard, then up to the alley and back to the house again. Then she thought she
would put a bit of incense in the fire, and the smoke from the incense filled the room. Molla Aman shook the bits of hay off his sleeves, then stepped in the room, intoning a prayer. Hajer remained sitting against the wall. Molla Aman sat to one side and lit a cigarette.
Where are they? Why haven’t they arrived yet?
This was what his eyes seemed to be saying. He finished his cigarette, put it out under his heel, and then left the house. Night had begun to spread. Molla Aman stood for a while by the alley, then came back. He was anxious. He stood by the door and said, “What do you say we go over to the groom’s house to see what is going on?”
Mergan said, “That’s just not done. How would it look? They have to come to seek the hand of their new bride and take her, not the other way around.”
“I’m just worried that woman … Maybe she’s pulled some sort of trick?”
“No! Wait a second. What’s that sound? Ah … I hear something …”
Molla Aman ran out to the alley. The light of a lantern was accompanying shadowy outlines. Molla Aman stepped forward and then suddenly stopped. He saw Raghiyeh, Ali Genav’s wife, limping ahead with a crutch under her right arm. But it seemed she was also holding something in her left hand, a tray. In the middle of the tray was a copper bowl, shining with a dim light emanating from inside it, the light of embers. Beside her was the groom himself. Ali Genav was carrying the lantern and was walking slowly to keep pace with his wife. Behind them, Karbalai Doshanbeh, and beside him Hajj Salem followed. At the back, Moslem was following behind his father. As they arrived, Karbalai Doshanbeh stepped beside Raghiyeh and took a few seeds of incense from the tray and placed them into the embers. Hajj Salem called out a prayer. Molla Aman went to greet them; he was very clearly pleased. If all went well tonight, he would be able to load his things and leave first thing in the morning with a clear conscience.
They came into the narrow yard of the house. Mergan brought out her lantern. Raghiyeh stood leaning on her crutch. Mergan also poured a few seeds of incense onto the embers. Molla Aman entered the house, took Hajer by the hand, and brought her out. Hajer was walking with difficulty. She could hardly even stand up straight. Mergan held her by her elbow as the group turned to leave the house, lit by their two lanterns. The surface of the alley was uneven, so the shoes of the bride were that much more unwieldy. They moved slowly; in a way, it was good that Hajer could not walk fast, as Raghiyeh was also pulling herself ahead only with difficulty. That was why they had been late even traversing that short distance to the house. Once they arrived, Mergan took Hajer into the pantry of Ali Genav’s house. The nuptial bedroom was to be there. Ali Genav had prepared the bed already. Hajer took off her shoes, and Mergan came out. The guests sat in the room just beside the pantry. Raghiyeh did not join the guests; she was standing by the oven holding onto her crutch. Mergan went to prepare the dinner. Raghiyeh was silent, but despite this Mergan was still uneasy. As a woman, she understood her perfectly.
God forbid it were I! I should bite my tongue!
Mergan could easily imagine a day when this weak and broken woman would try to harm Hajer.
The meat was cooked. Mergan took the pot and brought it into the room. Ali Genav had laid out a cloth and had set the bread and yogurt on it. Moslem and his father were on one side. Molla Aman and Karbalai Doshanbeh were on the other side. Ali Genav and Mergan were to sit on another side. Raghiyeh stayed outside.
The dinner did not take long. Ali Genav quickly cleaned up afterward. Everyone knew that the wedding dinner is usually a different kind of assembly, but in this case it was proportionate to the situation at hand.
“May the blessings of your table be increased. May God bless you!”
“Amen. Amen.”
Hajj Salem had intoned the first prayer. Karbalai Doshanbeh offered the Amens.
Molla Aman found an excuse to break up the gathering, and so helped up Karbalai Doshanbeh to take him outside. Ali Genav pressed a coin into the hand of Moslem and helped him up as well. The men went out and Ali Genav accompanied them to the alley and then returned. As per tradition, Mergan was to stay behind, but Ali Genav also encouraged her to leave.
“Don’t worry, Raghiyeh is here … If we need anything …”
Why does the bride’s mother usually stay behind? To confirm her daughter’s good fortune? But what else could she want?
“Take the leftover stew and give it to the boys. Don’t leave them at home all alone!”
* * *
Mergan’s sons were sitting in the darkness, silent and blind. Mergan relit the lamp that had gone out in the alley. Abrau was leaning against a wall. It looked as if he’d just come back from work. These days his clothes were, head to foot, covered in oil. He spoke much less, as if he had suddenly aged. He had grown serious. He acted older than his age. It was as if something had been added to him, something that Mergan didn’t want to know about. She simply sensed that now she was dealing with a man rather than a boy. A man who in some ways was trying to become a stranger to her. There were aspects to Abrau’s life that were no longer in Mergan’s hands. They were now in the hands of others. It was as if he came from somewhere else. He was a stranger to Mergan, but strangely also a cause for her to feel proud. What can be more pleasurable for a mother than to see her son become a man? Even if this son, this man, has in a sense also stabbed her in the back by selling her portion of their land in his name.
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.
Missing Soluch Page 28