“So what do you say?”
“They’re not for sale, man!”
“But they look terrible on your body!”
“So it looks bad! Don’t look at me then!”
“Fine, I won’t!”
“Fine, then don’t!”
Shoulder-to-shoulder, they walked along with few words exchanged between them. They headed to Mergan’s house so Morad could visit Abbas. But neither Abbas nor Mergan was at home.
“Where did they go to, so early in the morning?”
“What do I know? None of us knows much about what the others are up to any more.”
“Are you fighting with your mother?”
“We don’t really speak. What is there for us to talk about?”
“What about your sister? How’s Hajer?”
“I hardly see her. The bastard won’t let her leave the house! Even if she just goes to fetch water, he watches her with four eyes instead of two.”
Morad reflected for a moment, and said, “Well, then …!”
Abrau changed the subject. “Mirza Hassan has started up the water pump. Let’s go and see if he has some work for you!”
Morad said, “What would I do that for? He’d have to beg me to even consider it. You think I don’t have enough? I have savings that will feed me until the next New Year without needing anything from anyone. And if on the day of the New Year I find my pockets are empty with nothing but some fleas in them, I’ll pick up my bag and put on my boots. And who knows, maybe this time I’ll go and not look back—like Ghodrat! What about you? I guess your work’s not too bad then?”
“Me … ah … no. My work’s not bad.”
“If you only could see all the tractors that are everywhere in the next province over! They’re like ants! No one there ploughs with cows any more. They even harvest the wheat with tractors as well. We can’t get work as harvesters, you know. Now we can only work on the summer planting. The summer planting has to be done by hand, so the tractor’s no good for that. And over there, the summer work pays really well, since you’re so close to the capitol. The harvest gets to the market in two hours. Nothing goes bad before it’s sold. But that’s honeydew for you! Each one is three or four man in weight. Sweet as honey. If you eat one, you’re full till sundown. It’s really something!”
“What about the work? Is it hard?”
“Work’s work, you know? Have you ever known it not to be hard? You have to pick and dig at the same time. And that’s under the hot sun, with flies and salt water. You can imagine the rest. You start at dawn and end at dusk. Either the landowner or his brother or his son is standing over your head. If they’re not there, you still have the foreman to deal with. If you’re not in good shape, they can be ruthless! Ghodrat himself ended up going to the capitol mostly because he wasn’t strong enough for the summer work. That’s why he went to find some other nook or cranny for himself. I didn’t want to tell his father this, but I heard he had fainted a few times while working. I was working somewhere that was not far from where he was. I heard they had to drag him out of the field into the shade and they threw a bucket of water on him. The problem is that once something like that happens, you’re stuck with that reputation. You become known as lazy or weak and then no one will hire you any more. That’s why Ghodrat saw the writing on the wall and decided to find some work in the city. If you’re a good worker, you’ll get a good name, but if you’re a bad worker … If you work well, the owners will sing your praises, but if you don’t, they look at you as if you’re worse than a dog.”
“How about you? With this fancy outfit on, you must have gotten a pretty good name, no?”
“I worked as hard as a Sistani bull for people who were totally ungrateful!”
They’d reached the outskirts of Zaminej. Mirza Hassan’s tractor was parked beside the wall. Abrau made a half-circle around the tractor, kicked the tires, and then checked its oil. He climbed on top of the machine like a professional and fit himself onto the seat.
“Jump up!”
“What? You’re going to take it for a spin?”
“Why shouldn’t I? You think I can’t?”
“You mean in the time we went and came back, you’ve become a driver?”
“Are you surprised?”
“No … No … But …!”
“No buts! You went and came back and in that time I’ve gone and ploughed about half of the lands of the villages around here.”
Small-boned Abrau was in the driver’s seat and Morad, with his tight clothes, climbed on board with difficulty and sat next to his friend. Abrau acted as if he were riding on the back of a hawk. His hands moved quickly and confidently. He gripped the wheel in his hands, turning it smoothly from one side to the other. With every movement he answered Morad’s inquiring look.
“This is the gear. You see! Now it’s in its place.”
Abrau held onto the steering wheel with his left hand, and with his right he moved levers that Morad did not know the use of.
“When you move this, it brings the digger down. This one is for the plough.”
Morad didn’t understand anything. He was confused and at a loss for words. This gave Abrau confidence to puff his feathers out a bit and show off even more. He looked into the distance and tried to talk less, with the steering wheel in his hands. He answered Morad’s questions with short, compressed answers. That was all fine, but it seemed to Morad that Abrau was overstating the importance of his work. Perhaps he actually felt this way, but Morad didn’t appreciate the fact that Abrau had obtained the work with difficulty and had to appreciate its value.
“This is a tractor, not a sack of potatoes! How many thousands of tomans do you think has gone into it then? It’s not a shovel or a hoe that they’re letting me take care of! It has the power of a hundred and twenty horses! You should see how much work it does in a day. All this brings in money!”
Morad accepted most of this.
“Well, yes. Driving and working anything isn’t easy. That’s why Mirza Hassan wants you working for him! But tell me, if it has some kind of problem, do you know anything about how to repair it?”
“I can take it apart into ten pieces in a blink of an eye, and then put it back together just as quickly. But of course, you need tools. So sometimes you can get caught in the middle of nowhere. Those are the times that drive you crazy. You don’t know what to do! Then it has to go to the repair shop. And where’s that? You have to take it to town. You know how far away that is! And how can you get it there? It’s like torture. You leave it in the field, and you go to the repair shop. And the guy there is probably busy. So you have to beg and plead to even have him listen to you. If your boss’ name is one that they know, they might send an apprentice out to the field with a few nuts and bolts and a hammer. But it’s like trying to pour water into a cracked jug! Before you know it, you’ve fallen behind ten days. Then the bill is sent to Mirza Hassan and he loses his temper and starts swearing up a storm. And of course, one or two people end up getting the brunt of it. But what can you do? You have to let it go!”
“So maybe it’s not worth all the trouble then!”
“Worth it? Yes, it’s worth it. This tractor’s been working for six months, now. In these six months, it’s done about ten to twenty thousand tomans of work. But Mirza Hassan says that the expenses come up to that much. That is, considering the pay for the driver, the gas, the oil, and the repair expenses. But he’s lying. The expenses are much less. It’s had two major repair jobs and a few tune-ups.”
“And it loses its value, doesn’t it?”
“What did you expect? For it to gain in value each day?”
“That’s all I’m saying; it loses its value. So how much did he pay for it?”
“The Gonbadi driver said it cost twenty-two thousand tomans. It’s secondhand, you know.”
“If it brings in twenty thousand tomans a year, and it costs some seventeen or eighteen thousand tomans to run, that leaves you with two or three thous
and at the end. And every year, the tractor probably loses two or three thousand tomans in its value. The more it works, the more worn-out it becomes. The more worn-out it becomes, the more it costs to fix it. And on the other hand, it brings in less income because the older it becomes, the less you can use it for work. So day by day, its costs rise and its worth drops. And the older it is, the less valuable it is. What are you left with? Just the harvest that you gathered from the land with the tractor. So, what’s the harvest?”
The tractor had made a circle and the whistle of the autumn breeze was mixing with the tractor’s roar.
“Mirza Hassan and his partners have done the calculations better than you and I can. You don’t need to worry about them.”
“Now where are we going?”
“To God’s Land!”
“God’s Land?”
“You heard right!”
“What for?”
“We’re going to marry off your mama! What kind of question is that? What do you take a tractor out to a field for? It’s obvious! We’re going out to plough. I need to first smooth out the uneven land there.”
“What has Mirza Hassan been doing all this time, then?”
“He was holding your mama’s head! What’s he been doing? He’s been going crazy getting the water pump, registering the land and everything.”
“It’s taken this long?”
“What do you think? You think it’s a game? Anyway, if he hadn’t been so clever at this, it wouldn’t have been arranged by now.”
“They’re saying the water pump isn’t pumping very much water!”
“It’s still just at the beginning of things. Wait a bit and see. If God helps us, Zaminej will turn into a garden.”
“The elders are saying the pump is taking water from the canal system.”
“Let the old men say what they want to. And who cares if it does? The canals are drying out anyway, so it’s good if it takes the water from them. What difference does it make? The small landowners who use the canals are all partners in the water pump. And if they’re not, they can buy into it. If they don’t get fed from the trough, they can eat in the manger! And it’s not like you or I need more water than what we need to drink, do we?”
Morad changed the subject.
“Who are those people over there?”
“Let’s see!”
A group had gathered on God’s Land. Mirza Hassan was towering over everyone else, standing beside a short, stocky Zabihollah. Behind them, the Kadkhoda and Salar Abdullah were both standing, speaking to each other. The father of the Kadkhoda and Karbalai Doshanbeh were also both there; the two old men were sitting on a pile of dirt, chatting. Ali Genav was there, standing near Mirza Hassan. Both of them were smoking cigarettes. There was a stranger beside Mirza Hassan who looked like an official from the Land Registry Office. He was accompanied by policemen, representing the law.
The tractor stopped by the group. Morad first removed himself from the stuttering metal machine. Then Abrau leapt off in a single movement and walked over to Mirza Hassan. Abrau couldn’t understand what was happening.
Mirza Hassan said, “Once again, this foolish woman’s making a scene! She’s sitting over there and refuses to move. She’s dragged that poor, sick, old child over here as well. In any case, you know how to speak to your mother better than we do. Go and say something. Don’t let her cause a disgrace. I don’t understand what this woman wants! She didn’t listen to her own son-in-law. You go and try to get into her head that she doesn’t have a claim to this land any more!”
Abrau silently walked over to where Mergan was sitting. Only her headscarf was visible, as well as the white of the tufts of Abbas’ hair. Mother and son were both sitting in a freshly dug ditch. It was clear that Mergan had just dug the ditch in order to sit there with her son. Abrau stood beside the ditch. Mergan was hugging her knees. Neither she nor Abbas spoke.
Abrau suddenly screamed at his brother, “What the hell are you doing here, Shaggy?!”
That was the nickname that people had recently given him.
Abbas looked up at his brother, saying nothing.
Abrau shouted again.
“You’ve already gone and sold your part of this little scrap of dirt, didn’t you? Don’t you remember? Didn’t you go and take the money from Mirza Hassan and then gamble it all away in one night? Wasn’t that you! Wasn’t it you who lost the money in Sanam’s house? Here’s a witness, right here!”
Morad was standing by Abrau’s shoulder. Abbas looked at him as well. Abrau continued, “Up! Get up and get out of here! Get out, you son of a bitch!”
Abbas was about to scurry out of the ditch like a frightened dog with its tail between its legs when Mergan grabbed his ankle, pulling him back.
“Sit down. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Just sit down!”
Abrau stared at his mother and said, “What’s wrong with you, then, woman! Don’t you understand anything? What are you trying to prove? Why are you causing a scene like this? This isn’t your land that you’re sitting on, in any case! Is this just because you’re stubborn?”
Mergan didn’t reply to her son.
Abrau slid into the ditch and then grabbed his brother’s hollow wrist.
“You get yourself out of this disgrace! You’ll do what I tell you! Go!”
Abbas surrendered and let himself be dragged in any direction his brother pulled him. But Mergan intervened, grabbing Abbas’ waist and pulling him back.
Abrau said, “Don’t be so stubborn, woman! I’ll put you under the dirt, right here!”
Mergan looked away from her son, as if she didn’t want to see him. She quietly put her head on her knees.
Ali Genav approached them.
“Why are you rolling in the dirt like that, you foolish woman! What’s come over you? Why is it nothing seems to lead you back to the straight-and-narrow path? This was wild land. It’s not something you inherited from your mama! That man’s gone and registered it and has a government official with him. So why are you causing a scene …?”
“You come down here. Come here!”
Ali Genav went into the ditch. Perhaps Mergan wanted to have a private word with him? Instead, Mergan spit at his face and said, “Now go, you!”
Ali Genav leapt out of the ditch, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a length of chain, as if to beat her with it. But Morad moved quickly and wrapped his arms around Ali Genav’s belly, holding him tightly. Ali Genav tried to push forward, swearing. But Morad held his ground. Eventually, Ali Genav managed to pull himself free from Morad’s grip, turning to face him.
“What’s with you?! You want to lock horns with me, pip-squeak? Itching for a fight?”
Morad ripped his jacked off and said, “You sorry bastard. You think you can fight me? Think you can raise a finger against me? I’ll shit on your pimping daddy’s head! Go on! Take a swing!”
Before Ali Genav could swing his chain over his head, Morad had tucked in his head and thrown himself at his body. He forced one shoulder beneath Ali Genav’s body and began to lift him up and suddenly with all his might threw him to the ground. He grabbed the chain from his opponent’s hand, and—as if he was putting a muzzle on a horse—he pushed the chain across Ali Genav’s mouth.
“You want to talk fancy with me, you fool?”
Ali Genav couldn’t reply in kind. He was beating his legs and arms against the ground and foaming at the mouth. The village men and the officials ran over and pulled Morad off of Ali Genav’s chest. With a bloody mouth, Ali Genav leapt up, picked up his hat from the ground, and took up a fighting stance. Mirza Hassan grabbed him by the arms and pulled him aside. The fight had to be contained. He passed Ali Genav over to the elders of the village and came over to Mergan.
“See what a mess you’ve started, Mergan?!”
Mergan didn’t reply.
Abrau grabbed Morad by the collar and said, “You go get Abbas out of there! I’m not my father’s son if I won’t bury that w
oman under dirt today myself. But you get that innocent fool out of there!”
Then he ran to the tractor, jumping in the driver’s seat and starting up the motor.
Mirza Hassan ran over to him, shouting, “Don’t do anything foolish, son! We don’t want blood to flow. If you do anything, only scare her!”
Abrau didn’t reply. He took the tractor’s shovel control in one hand and pressed on the gas pedal. The tractor stormed over toward Mergan. The officials were circling Mirza Hassan, and the crowd moved forward. Morad had pulled Abbas out of the ditch. Mergan had let go of Abbas but was remaining seated inside the ditch. Abrau drove the tractor forward. Steel has no conscience! It roared and moved ahead. The tractor’s shovel rested on the edge of the ditch. His mother remained there seated: her face, leather; her eyes, coals; her lips, stone.
Abrau shouted from where he was sitting.
“Get up or I won’t control myself, mother! I don’t want to hurt you, but you’ll be torn up under the teeth of this shovel!”
She remained silent. It was too late for talking.
Abrau threw himself down, and by the edge of the ditch, on his belly, he nearly began to plead.
Missing Soluch Page 34