Missing Soluch (45 page)

He looked where the sound came from. There was a shadow against the wall. Abbas coughed to indicate that he was awake. The shadow approached him. It was Abrau; he stood facing
Abbas. Abbas looked at the cigarette burning between his own fingers. Abrau stood beside the wall of the oven. Abbas couldn’t imagine what he wanted, so he waited to see what Abrau would say. But his brother remained silent. A moment later, he came over and sat down. The wide mouth of the oven separated the two brothers.

“Here! I’d heard you picked up smoking, so I brought you a pack.”

Abrau fit the pack of cigarettes into the heap of stones beside Abbas’ hand. Abbas watched his brother’s movements, but didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say.

Abrau continued, “I know I should have come a long time ago. Too long has passed. But I couldn’t come back here after that day. And now … I waited until night fell to stop by. It’s better in the dark. I can’t show my face around here in daylight. I really lost my mind that day. What a cursed day that was! It was as if I wasn’t myself when I did those things. I’ve not seen our mother since then. I couldn’t see her after all of that. I did try to send her some money, but she sent it back. How is she?”

Abbas tossed the butt of his cigarette into the oven, and quietly, with a muffled sound that had become his particular voice, said, “I don’t know. I don’t see much of her! She’s probably in the house right now.”

“How is she for food and water?”

“I don’t know! I split the sack of flour with her. But I don’t know more than that!”

“I really was bad on that day; it was really bad. How terrible! What son acts that way toward his own mother? But what can I do now? I’ve been sleeping out beside the tractor this entire time. But it’s getting really cold now. That dry winter cold is
setting in! This evening, the Gonbadi driver shut down the tractor for the season. When he shut off the motor, he took it out and took it with him. I don’t think he’ll ever bring it back. He may just try to sell the motor in the open market, to make up for the back wages they never paid him. God’s Land is all ploughed, and we planted the pistachio saplings. But we have to wait seven years for the first fruit. And the major work of the tractor is done. All that we can do now is rent it out, which isn’t really worth it. The expenses of the tractor kept getting higher, day-by-day. Mirza Hassan might have no choice but to sell the tractor off. They’re saying that it costs more than it brings in. And you can’t work the tractor all year round …! By the way, Abbas, do you know how pistachios come to bear?”

Abbas didn’t know. Even if he had, he wouldn’t have had the heart or interest to reply to Abrau’s question. Abrau understood this, but had no choice but to keep talking. These words had become a burden on his heart, and the only person he could unload them onto was his older brother. Abbas’ reaction wasn’t of great concern to Abrau; loneliness had taken its toll on him. He felt like an outcast, separated as he was from his home and family. This made him anxious, and so he’d come to pour his heart out to his silent brother in the depths of the night.

“I had thought that Mirza Hassan was planning to plant wheat as well as pistachios and cotton. But he didn’t sow a single seed of wheat. When someone mentioned this to him, he’d say, ‘You think I have a donkey’s brain to want to plant wheat? What on earth for? How much will I have to pay the gleaners? And who is here to glean, anyway? Once I harvest it, how much can I sell it for? How much do you think the company will pay me for it? They’ll pay less than three
tomans
for each
man
of
wheat! If you do the math, you’ll see it won’t pay for even half of its costs. What sensible person would do such a thing?’ If I think about it now, I have to admit he wasn’t wrong. Planting wheat and barley these days isn’t even close to being profitable. Mirza Hassan also used to say, ‘The government is importing tons and tons of it from abroad!’ But that’s why I’m worried that the tractor won’t be put back to work. The planting land here is all in bits and scraps. This cursed tractor is made to work on digging up big tracts of land. Here, if the land is really a large plot, you’re still done before nightfall. Then you have to drive three
farsakhs
to go find another plot of land to lower the blades on and plough. Just getting around wastes all of your time. You start to figure out the costs of these things slowly. There were many times when we didn’t have more than one hour’s work on a person’s plot of land. How much to you think we could charge for one hour’s work? And then think of how long it took to get there and back! That’s why I’m worried this tractor might end up being passed on and sent to some other province. Somewhere like Gorgon Valley. That’s where it was before. Or who knows, maybe Neyshabur Valley. And that’s if the Gonbadi driver actually repairs the motor and returns with it! You see, he set up the water pump and drove the tractor, but now the tractor’s out of service. And Mirza Hassan’s up and disappeared. They’re looking for him from the government’s Office of Agriculture. I don’t know! What should I try to do? I can’t go back to doing odd jobs. But there’s no other tractor for me to find work on. What a fool I was to have raised my hopes as much as I did!”

Abbas said, “How much does a pack of playing cards cost, anyway? Do you know?”

“Abbas, you’re still awake!”

It was Morad’s voice. Abbas turned to look where the sound came from. Morad peeked over the wall.

“Oh, you’re here as well?”

There was a hint of shame in his voice. He walked around and into the yard.

“Come on up next to us. There’s plenty of room.”

“I’m fine here.”

“Come on! Come here!”

Morad could sense clearly that Abrau was desperate for someone to talk to. He sat at the edge of the oven and asked, “So what’s new? I hear the Gonbadi driver’s up and left? I saw the tractor over by the graveyard, gathering dust! They say the driver took the motor on the excuse of repairing it and he’s disappeared! Ha! You must know all about this; was the motor really in need of repairs?”

Abrau said, “I don’t know. I don’t know! However it is, it looks like the tractor’s a goner!”

“You don’t think the Gonbadi driver took the motor to make up for the pay they owe him?”

“Who knows? Maybe.”

“Definitely! A hard-working person doesn’t accept to have his pay delayed until the harvest! People like that aren’t easily fooled by the likes of Mirza Hassan, either! The guys from Gorgon have had ten or twenty years’ experience with all of this. But where is Mirza Hassan now?”

“He’s disappeared. That’s what I was just telling Abbas. There’s been no word from him for about a month! And each of his partners is more clueless than the next!”

Morad mockingly said, “Hey … you’re such a simpleton, boy! That Mirza Hassan shows one face, but he has a hundred hands working under the table. What did you expect of him? You thought that someone like him would really take on the work of sowing and harvesting? He sent his brother up to the higher villages to gather workers to take to town. They’re planning to level the old caravanserai and put a shopping arcade in its place … Real estate! And the water pump turned out to be a farce. Now the newcomers who had opened their mouths in expectation of the money they’d make from selling water are left holding the bill! The small change that they’d worked so hard to save, they invested in this water pump. Mirza Hassan took the money from them and pocketed it and left. The pump cut the canal water in half and doesn’t bring up any more water than we used to get from the canals. Where did they expect to find more water in this desert? So now we have to leave the village earlier than ever before. What’s funniest is that Karbalai Doshanbeh’s minding the machine!”

Abrau spoke out loud to himself, saying, “So what was all this fuss about?”

“You know, they don’t give out loans from the Office of Agriculture just like that! You have to have something to offer as collateral!”

Abrau, who suddenly had the air of someone who has only just realized that he’s the loser of a game, spoke loudly.

“So you people who knew all of this all along, why did you sell your lands to them with your two hands held out like beggars?”

“Our lands? Ha ha ha, lands! You say the word as if we all had major plots to offer. What lands were there to speak of? If
you used all of God’s Land, and if it had water—which it doesn’t—it still wouldn’t serve to feed five families! One needs land to get one’s bread from it, not just to play around on it. If Mirza Hassan hadn’t shown up and paid us to give it to him, we’d have eventually just forgotten about it ourselves. You can’t say that God’s Land was real farming land! Mirza Hassan didn’t buy the land to actually use it. He just needed a stretch of open land to show to the government officials. As for you and me, our families never made their living from farming. So, whoever ends up with control of the farming lands, we’re not the ones who’ll ever benefit. Our claim here is wage labor, and it’ll always be wage labor. Before this, we were gleaners and ploughmen, for a wage. And now we’ll do some other kind of work, for a wage. Before I leave for the next season, I’m actually considering going up to town to work on Mirza Hassan’s arcade. Even if his brother’s not yet come to Zaminej to find workers, I know he’ll let me work on the job. I’ll go there and be a wage laborer, so that at least each night I’ll have a couple of bills of money in my pocket to show for it. I’ll just sleep there, in the corner of the caravanserai … But what about you? What do you think you’ll do?”

“I … For now, I don’t have the hands or the heart for laboring.”

“Abbas! What about you, my friend? Have you thought about this at all?”

Abbas quietly murmured, “Thought? Thought! I … think!”

“Do you think you’ll leave?”

“Leave? Are people leaving?”

“They have no choice.”

“Leaving? Going to …?”

“What do I know? Anywhere. Somewhere!”

“No … no, cousin. I … no … not going … I … no … strength for traveling … no …”

Morad once again turned to face Abrau.

“What about you? You still don’t know what you’ll do? Are you sitting here waiting for Mirza Hassan to come back?”

“No, no. I don’t know. I don’t know yet!”

Indeed, Abrau didn’t know anything about his future. He was dizzy and confused; he felt lost. Things had happened, events had taken place, but Abrau had no understanding of what they meant. He was in the middle of the action and couldn’t make out the bigger issues. Perhaps others, such as Morad, could see things better from the outside. But Abrau was unable to. He felt that he had to have some time to himself to understand the implications of these recent changes. He had to be alone and in peace. He was still confused by the excitement he’d felt. He was still caught up in the storm brewed by Mirza Hassan, and he couldn’t see a way out. He couldn’t see what he would do if the storm were to dissipate. He was in the middle, in the eye of the tornado, the howl of which was still ringing in his ears, the dust from which was still filling his eyes.

When you leave the scene of the battle, you’re still caught up in the battle. The battle is still raging inside you. The struggle, the fight was still inside Abrau. It was caught up in him, and he hadn’t yet cleansed himself of it. He believed, or wanted to believe, that Mirza Hassan was going to return. That he would return to complete what he had made others believe he would do for the village. But he couldn’t accept what seemed to have happened. He didn’t want to believe his dreams were based upon a set of lies and fantasies. No, this couldn’t have all been
a game. There had to have been some element of truth to it. Abrau had devoted his heart and soul to something; he had believed in it. And it wasn’t so simple for him to break the chain linking his heart to this project, the exciting work that had been begun. He also couldn’t and didn’t want to believe that he’d been taken advantage of. Abrau had done his work with the dream of turning Zaminej’s fields into a lush green garden, and in doing so had nearly destroyed everything he had previously had in his life. He had worked day and night, giving up sleep and forgoing meals. He’d walked long distances in both heat and bitter cold to obtain a nut or bolt for the tractor, or a gallon of oil. He’d endured insults, and he’d sold off the bit of land that was his inheritance. He had worked. Worked like he’d never done before. He had sacrificed his body to it. The work had torn him apart. And in the end he had attacked his own mother like a savage dog, or something worse than that, in fact a hundred times worse. The shame of this fact was now eating away at him.

But what was now left to show for all of Abrau’s sacrifices? What was left for him? Mirza Hassan had disappeared all of a sudden. He had taken the money that he was supposed to spend on the scheme and just vanished. The tractor and the water pump were now left to the partners, as was all the debt Mirza Hassan had run up on purchasing them. The tractor was now out of commission, and the water pump barely managed to bring a trickle of water out from the well. The canal water was drying up. The petty landowners had fallen to infighting. Those who hadn’t bought into the water pump and who were relying on the meager water left in the canal had registered a complaint with the provincial governor’s office. They claimed that Mirza
Hassan’s water pump had dried out the canal waters. Those who had put all they had into the water pump were split into two groups. One group had tried to confront the complainants and the other group had begun to give up hope in the water pump and wanted to re-sell it. There were some who had already stopped paying dues for the pump to Mirza Hassan’s older brother, who was in charge of collecting them. The dues were meant for buying oil and gasoline for the machine. And there were some who had invested both in the canals and in the pump and were now caught in the middle, uncertain of which side to take. It was not yet clear which side was most beneficial to them. In the middle of all this, the Office of Agriculture was still demanding the monthly payment on its loan!

On the surface of it, it seemed clear that everything had fallen apart. What had to be destroyed was clearly losing ground, but what was taking its place wasn’t what it should have been. It was being replaced by confusion, by a loss of direction.