Salar said, “Will you swear on the Qur’an?”
“Swear what on the Qur’an?”
“That you didn’t steal the copper work yourself!”
Mergan ran toward Hajer, embraced her daughter, slapped her head, and said, “May I bury my own daughter! May I bury her with my own bare hands, if … if I should know anything about this. Kadkhoda! At least say something to this man!”
Kadkhoda Norouz knew Mergan well. Not just Mergan, but also he knew most of the people in Zaminej better than anyone else did. And that was why he was the Kadkhoda, and not Salar Abdullah. So he knew that if the matter should be drawn out any further, Mergan would not hesitate to even lift Hajer up and smash her into Salar’s head, and Kadkhoda Norouz didn’t want this to happen. He didn’t want something like this to happen while he was there. Mergan’s attack on Salar Abdullah earlier was a consequence of a similar situation. So the Kadkhoda wisely realized he would have to take a moderating position. To step on Mergan’s tail more than this would be unwise. Mergan was that kind of person that the Kadkhoda and Salar Abdullah termed “headless and footless”—out of control. From one standpoint, they were right, since Mergan had never had an opportunity to distinguish her head from her feet. In a sense, her head had never benefited from a strong neck; her feet had never had shoes. But if they meant “headless and footless” to signify something else, then it was up to the Kadkhoda to know what that was. Because Mergan exemplified the working woman of Zaminej. She was perhaps the hardest-working woman of the village. She was like a sharp sword. She never rested. Once she began, she could do the work of two men. Strong and obstinate. And so the Kadkhoda estimated that Mergan would not back down. He turned to Salar and said, “Leave it. Just take these four pieces, and we’ll later deal with the remainder.”
Mergan rose and said, “There is no remainder, Kadkhoda. I can’t go on having to look away when I happen to cross paths with someone who claims I’m in his debt! Either take these copper pieces and settle the business, or I’ll stop you from trying to take even a cup from this house. Blood will have to flow!”
“That’s enough from you. Don’t shout yourself hoarse with all that.”
“Enough is enough. Just don’t leave me at the mercy of every nobody who’s around. But I’ll leave the rest to you.”
The Kadkhoda looked at Salar Abdullah and said, “So, what do you say?”
Salar stooped and gathered the pieces and then shot a hurt and angry glance at Mergan, saying, “Oh, I’ll have the rest. You’ll see!”
Mergan grabbed Salar’s hands and said, “There is no more. Do you understand? Either we are even, or you leave these behind.”
The Kadkhoda separated Mergan from Salar’s hands and said, “Get going, Salar. Get a move on, you! Soluch isn’t dead. Who knows, he might return.”
Salar cradled the copper work and exited by the door. Then Kadkhoda Norouz released Mergan, picked up his overcoat that had fallen to the floor, and left, following Salar Abdullah. Mergan sat on the ground.
From inside the doorway of the stable, Abbas was taking in the sight of Salar Abdullah and Kadkhoda Norouz leaving. After eavesdropping on what they were saying as they walked by the wall, he quietly slipped out the door. The possibility of Salar’s return frightened him. So from the edge of the wall his eyes followed the two men as they left down the alley, before he quietly entered the room. He found Mergan in tears. Hajer was frightened and cowering in a corner silently. Abrau was still lost under the blankets, more or less still moaning as before.
Abbas kneeled by the stove and said, “Mama, where did you hide the copper?”
Mergan, whose frustration had been building up inside her, shouted, “In hell! What are you starting up for now? Let me die in peace!”
Abbas kept at the subject, saying, “I heard everything. You’ve hidden the copper somewhere.”
Mergan was about to launch into an argument when she instead wiped her nose with the edge of her scarf and asked, “When did you get back that I didn’t notice? So where’s the bread? I thought you were taking your bundle of wood to the baker, weren’t you?”
Abbas answered, “The bastard didn’t take it. He doesn’t want any more tonight. And what he needs tomorrow he’ll only buy tomorrow. I nearly killed myself bringing the load back to the house!”
Mergan suddenly thought of something.
“Did their bread oven still have embers burning?”
“I don’t know. They’d already shut the door of their house.”
Mergan hurried, taking a tin container from beside the stove. Abbas grabbed his mother’s wrist.
“You still didn’t say where you hid the copper? What are you hiding? What were you thinking? That I’d be fooled? That copper belongs to me, too. It’s not all just yours!”
Mergan pulled her hand from her son and said, “You’d better shut your mouth, you. So now you think you’ve become a grown-up for me! Let’s wait till your piss froths, then I’ll let you puff out your chest a bit!
However it was, and from wherever she could get it, Mergan needed to bring embers back to the house. For this reason, she couldn’t wait around and argue with her son. She grabbed the edge of the tin and rushed out of the door like a wolf. Abbas, stung by his mother’s treatment, felt he was weak, a nothing. Such a nothing that he wasn’t even worth fighting with; exactly the sort of sentiment that no young man can bear. The fact that he didn’t have facial hair yet was acceptable, as long as he was taken seriously, treated like a person, like a man. Mergan, in the state she was in, had no chance to perceive the nuance of this. So Abbas was left to bemoan his mother’s insult. An insult, no matter how off-handed. He wished for the day that he could take a place above his mother. To be the master. But this was not all. Someday …? When? Where to find the patience to wait for that day? Now. He had to make up for his humiliation right now. If no one had been there, then that would have been different. But this had happened in front of his little sister. So, just as Hajer was staring at him, he glared back at her.
“What? What are you looking at? You’ve never seen a human?”
Hajer looked away.
Abbas said, “Very well! So if you don’t want me to make you pay for it, tell me, where did you go with Mama today?”
Hajer replied quietly, “We went to get some sun.”
“What else? After that?”
“After? After …”
“Stop hemming and hawing! Speak up. Where did you hide the copper?”
Hajer began to cry, half from fright and half on purpose.
“I swear … I don’t know. I wasn’t there, I swear! I swear on my father’s grave!”
“Watch what you’re saying, you! Has our father died for you to be swearing on his grave?”
Hajer began to sob, saying, “Mama said. She said today he was dead!”
“She’s talking out the side of her mouth! Dead? Ha! Just wait till she comes back. I’ll show her how dead our father is. She’ll see!”
Hajer let out a cry. But Abbas wasn’t so weakhearted as to let her off so easily.
“Fine. Let’s forget about this. Let’s imagine our father’s dead. Tell me, where did you two hide the copper work?”
Hajer again evaded the question and set to stalling. Abbas began removing his belt and rose.
“So, are you going to talk, or do I need to make you?”
Hajer slid to the corner of the room. Abbas pursued her, stood before her, and cracked his belt against the floor.
“Get up! Start talking! Or do you want me to make you black-and-blue with this belt?”