Missing Soluch (49 page)

Morad went straight up to the head officer and pointed out the Sardar.

The Sardar pushed aside the crowd and stepped up to the edge of the well. He looked into the well and heard the weak whine of his camel emerge from the bottom of the well. He knelt over and leaned farther into the well, calling out in a broken voice, “My poor animal! My poor animal!”

When he pulled his head from the well, his big eyes were full of tears. He looked around himself. Zabihollah was standing near him, looking askance toward him. The Sardar stood up, turned around, and parted the crowd as he made a beeline toward Zabihollah. Before he could duck into the crowd for cover, Zabihollah found himself face-to-face with the Sardar. Mergan gasped and the Sardar’s walking stick went up. Zabihollah jumped and began to run, heading toward the open field. The Sardar pursued him. Zabihollah, unarmed as he was, kept running. He was younger and had strong legs. The Sardar was already tired by his walk from the village. But he was more surefooted on the terrain. With two leaps, he managed to catch up with his prey. Desperate, Zabihollah grabbed a rock in his hand. But it was too late. With one blow by the stick to his leg, he fell, holding onto his leg with both hands. His forehead was crumpled and his eyes were shut. The worst pain always comes in the first blow. So the next few blows that the Sardar inflicted before some of those in the crowd managed to separate them did not add much to the pain that the first blow had already sent coursing through his body.

The police took custody of the Sardar from the crowd, and Mergan sat beside Zabihollah. The Sardar tossed his walking
stick to one side as he approached the Jeep, getting into it. One officer remained with him, and the other came over to Zabihollah to take him away. The men picked up Zabihollah and carried him to the car. One officer sat between the men. There was fire in the Sardar’s eyes, while Zabihollah’s face was chalk white.

“Why’d you hit me, man?”

“Why’d you throw my camel in the well?”

“Me? No! No! Not me! I had come to cover the well, when … Oh … People! Come help me!”

The Sardar had tried to jump from the car, but the rifle of one of the officers was against his chest in a flash.

“Sit down. Where do you think you’re going?”

The other officials also got into the Jeep and the automobile set off.

Zabihollah asked painfully, “So, sir, what happened? What have you decided?”

One inspector replied, “You’ll need to change the position of the water pump!”

“What?!”

The Sardar’s camels were scattered around the field and he could see each of them, whether close or far, from the Jeep’s windows as it drove off. Two of his camels were standing near the drain for the water pump, and Karbalai Doshanbeh was standing by one of the animals, watching it drink from the water. The Jeep stopped beside the pump, and one of the inspectors and one of the policemen got out, walked over the pump, and shut the machine off. A moment later, as Karbalai Doshanbeh watched them in shock, they reentered the Jeep.

“We’ve signed and sealed it!”

Karbalai Doshanbeh walked a few steps toward the Jeep and then stood aghast in the dust that rose from the wheels as it drove off.

The two camels had stopped their drinking of the water and were looking at him. He turned and faced the animals, then sat by the pump drain grumbling.

“Imagine that I was planning to be the caretaker of the pump! Isn’t it a shame? Isn’t this clear water a shame? It was pure enough for your ablutions! Why did they shut it down? Working here saved me from that hovel, that shed! I spit on this life and the next!”

“Get up, Papa! Get up. They’re ruining our means of living!”

It was Salar Abdullah who had reached the water pump along with the crowd of partners and shareholders in the machine.

“Get up, Papa! Our property’s gone and turned to smoke!”

Karbalai Doshanbeh looked at his son. If there were a word to describe crying without tears, one would use it to describe Salar Abdullah.

“You see them? They’re going to get a rope to pull the camel out of the well. Two of them have gone to get a well digger. They won, Papa! You see them?”

Karbalai Doshanbeh rose, shaded his eyes with one hand, and looked. A group of men were walking from the edge of the well toward the village. They had shovels on their shoulders as they walked. Another group was also approaching, scattered as they were. The shareholders in the water pump were walking scattered through the field like the Sardar’s camels. Karbalai
Doshanbeh lifted his hand from his eyes and said, “No! They’ve not won. They’ll never get that camel out from the bottom of the well. No way! Are they taking Zabihollah to town, then?”

“They’re taking him and his broken bones to town. Go get your torn blanket and let’s leave.”

“No! No, I’ll stay here. I’ll stay right here!”

Karbalai Doshanbeh said this and went into the shed housing the pump’s motor and shut the door behind himself.

He grumbled to himself, “I’m staying. I’ll stay here. I have nothing left to return to Zaminej for.”

The group reached the pump one by one, gathering around the drain. They sat around it as if they were at a mourning ceremony. The trickle of water from the drain pained their eyes.

Molla Aman, Morad, Mergan, Hajj Salem, and Moslem were in the midst of the group. Moslem went to stand in the shade of the wall of the pump housing. He removed his clothes one by one and ran naked toward the drain pool, throwing himself into the water.

Hajj Salem looked at those gathered in exasperation. “You see that beast?”

Mergan turned and set back out toward Zaminej. Morad and Molla Aman also set out following her. They were silent and didn’t look around as they walked.

* * *

Abrau had fallen asleep by the tractor. Mergan didn’t have the heart to wake her son up. Morad sat down in the shade of the tractor and waited, as Mergan and Molla Aman walked away
across the graveyard. Mergan looked at her brother. Molla Aman turned his head and averted his eyes from hers. Mergan asked him, “It wasn’t your doing?”

“What? What wasn’t my doing?”

“You were out until the middle of the night last night! This all wasn’t your doing?”

“What are you talking about? What wasn’t my doing?”

“The camel! Did you throw the camel into the well?!”

“You’re crazy! Sister, you’re insane!”

Molla Aman didn’t continue. He turned to go toward Karbalai Doshanbeh’s home and said, “I’m going to try to find a bit of hay to give to my donkey! And maybe a bit of water!”

Mergan didn’t watch him as he left, and she set out walking on her own path.

Raghiyeh wasn’t in the alley any longer. Mergan looked into Ali Genav’s home. Her daughter was sitting by the mortar and was grinding something inside it. Hajer’s pregnancy was now showing. Mergan entered and stood before Hajer beside the mortar.

“What are you grinding?”

“Some herbs. Ali brought it for me from town. He also brought some other bits and pieces. Some herbal flowers also. He’s so happy! Nothing’s happened and he’s already brought back some leather for me to make his son a vest! His son! Ha!”

“Good … Good … Hajer!”

Hajer raised her hand from the pestle and looked at her mother.

“Yes?”

Mergan took the pestle in her hand and busied herself grinding the herbs in the mortar. She was about to say something,
but before she could open her mouth, Ali Genav came barreling into the room.

“Where are the ropes? Where? I had put them here somewhere!”

Hajer asked, “What do you want the ropes for?”

“We need to gather all the rope we have in the village and tie it together. It’s not a baby goat that’s fallen into the well!”

He looked for the ropes, finding them in the pantry. He didn’t say anything to Mergan. He tossed the coil of rope around his shoulder, and as he left he said, “The baths need water. Cattle need water. Crops need water. We can’t live without water!”

He went to the alley, and silence once again spread its blanket inside the house.

Mergan quietly continued to grind the herbs in the mortar with the pestle.

Hajer asked, “What’s happened?”

Instead of replying to the question, Mergan said, “We’re leaving.”

“Where?”

“We’re going out to the province where your father’s been seen.”

“All of you?”

“All of us? I don’t know!”

“Will you come back?”

“I don’t know.”

“What about me, then?”

“You … you have a house and a life here. You have a husband. Now that you’ll be bringing him a child, he’ll love you more. What are you worried about?”

Hajer was shocked into silence. Then she said, “But if you go, who will I have? If I need some help, who will be there? Who’ll cut the umbilical cord for my newborn baby?”

Mergan couldn’t give in to the compassion she felt in her heart. She said, “You’ll have people here. Someone will help you. I’ve not done anything bad to these people. They won’t refuse to help my daughter!”

Hajer’s lips began to tremble. Mergan couldn’t let herself be affected by her daughter’s tears. She rose and changed the subject. “You have a rash on your face!”

Hajer replied with a broken voice.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about. Some of the neighbors are saying having a rash is a sign of the child being a girl!”

Mergan had heard this said as well. But she didn’t want to worry her daughter. She raised her head and said, “Let them say what they want! Are they in touch with God?”

She couldn’t take it. She turned, leaving Hajer sitting beside the mortar, and left.

Raghiyeh was sitting by the clay oven in the yard of Mergan’s house, knitting a small shirt, something for Hajer’s child. Abbas was sitting next to her on his knees, with his crutch close by. He was counting his coins out separately and was putting the coins he had counted back into the purse that hung from his neck. Mergan untied the remainder of the bread that she had kept tied into her chador, set it by the oven, and went inside. She didn’t usually spend very much time with Abbas and Raghiyeh. She knew that they did not enjoy her company. Ali Genav didn’t much concern himself with their relationship either. This was because it was well accepted in the village that Abbas was burnt out, such that he was not considered
a man. This was due to both his inner and outer self. He’d not grown a beard; his voice was still high and thin. His mannerisms were androgynous and he was uninterested in women; he never spoke of them. He didn’t have a fancy for anyone at all. He never joked about such things. It wasn’t as if he had even an interest in female donkeys! And overall, there was no sign of the usual desire and impudence of a young man within him. All this indicated to the people of the village that Abbas was burnt out. And Mergan knew this more completely than anyone.

Raghiyeh’s fate was not much better than Abbas’. She was a bundle of sad bones, with a voice that rose only with great difficulty, with a curse close at hand. She was a creature who seemed to emit only curses and complaints. Raghiyeh the nag! That was the name that some had mockingly given her. So there was nothing to worry about: let the two sterile freaks keep each other company.

“So add it up again. Two two-
qeran
coins make four
qerans
. So we have four here!”

Raghiyeh held up four fingers separated widely.

“That’s four
qerans
.”

“Here are three five-qeran coins; so that’s fifteen!”

Raghiyeh repeated, “Fifteen
qerans
.”

“Add those together, and we have … nineteen
qerans
!”

Raghiyeh added, “So we’re twenty-one
qerans
short.”

And here we have twenty-five ten-
shahis
, which makes … Let me put them in pairs together. Here! One, two, three … It’s twelve
qerans
and ten
shahis
. So, add this twelve
qeran
and ten shahis to the other nineteen
qerans
, we have … Let’s see! Ten over the nineteen becomes twenty-nine
qerans
.”

Raghiyeh said, “Thirty, minus one
qeran
.”

“And over here I still have the two and a half
qerans
. I’ll put one with the twenty-nine; that’ll make thirty. So what’s that in total?”

“Thirty
qerans
, plus an extra one
qeran
and a half.”

“Okay, so here! These thirty
shahis
are for you.”

Raghiyeh took the three ten-
shahi
coins from the ground.

“So how much do you have there?”

“Thirty
qerans
all together!”

“Good. Thirty.”

Abbas said, “Now hand over the bread so we can eat it. I nearly killed myself to collect this much money. And in the old days I’d see a thousand
qerans
blow away in the wind!”

Raghiyeh brought the piece of bread that Mergan had left on the oven for them and set it before Abbas.

“Do you want me to take these thirty
shahis
and buy yogurt or molasses for us to put on the bread?”

Abbas filled his mouth with a bit of bread.

“No, no. That’s for you to keep. Go buy tobacco for yourself. God’s already prepared the bread for us. We’ll eat it as it is. So eat! We need to be frugal to be able to get what we want. Everyone’s leaving!”

“You mean Mergan?”

“Mergan and her son! They’re not infirm or tied to anything. I’ll take over the house. And I know what to do with it. A shop! I’ll sell so much during the winters that I’ll be able to earn a living for us for the whole year.”

“What kind of shop, exactly?”

“I’ll begin by having gambling circles here. Then, maybe I’ll have the stables fixed up and cleaned and put a grocery shop
in it. If you’re here, we’ll run it together. If Mirza Hassan’s tractor is working, we can load it with a few large sacks of flour that I can sell here to the locals in small quantities. Or perhaps we can rent Ali Genav’s donkey. But we need to be able to make a living for ourselves. It’s a shame neither of us has any use for our limbs! Otherwise we could start a bakery as well. But for now we’ll just have to bring small wares and junk from town and just line them along the wall.”