This man whose very presence and absence was uncertain of late suddenly rose again in Mergan’s heart. Mergan just realized that she truly loved Soluch. That she had loved him. But what was this feeling? Where had it come from? How had it been awakened in her? So he’d gone — yes, and he could go to hell! But why had he left this trace, this echo of himself inside of her? As of today, nearly seventeen springtimes had gone by since they had married. Seventeen springs, and Abbas, their oldest, was now nearly a man for himself. His upper lip had sprouted peach fuzz. And with that mouth and those big teeth, he could really swear up a storm …
Seventeen years! Is it possible for something to be lost inside you for years without your knowing of it? To have loved and to have forgotten it? Where would these words lead to?
With every step Mergan took, with each breath that took her farther from Soluch, she felt she was instead rushing closer and closer to him. How far, how distant had they been from one another in enduring the passing days and nights? Oh … How a lifetime is wasted!
People were slowly emerging and leaving Zaminej. It was the season for ploughing. But not for dry farming. The dry farmers were still waiting for the rains. They were still sitting in their homes, praying in their hearts, and looking to the skies. Here and there a man and a cow would walk out of Zaminej, heading for the higher grounds. Hajj Salem and his son Moslem were still sitting beside the wall. Moslem had stopped stomping his feet, but his hands were still hidden between his legs.
“Papa … Papa …”
Hajj Salem was unresponsive, and his gaze was transfixed to a spot in the gray cloud cover, as if his eyes were caught on something.
“Papa … Papa …”
The old man came to.
“Damn it! What’s gotten into you now?”
Moslem showed his thick, yellow teeth from satisfaction.
“The sun … the sun’s come out!”
“So … what am I to do?”
“Warm yourself! Warm yourself!”
Hajj Salem looked at his son, was silent for a spell, and then said, “The fool!”
Mergan passed by the father and son like the wind. Blue from the cold, she reached her home and rushed into the room. Salar Abdullah was sitting on the earthen floor. He had a scarf tied tightly around his head and had wrapped the edges of his robe around his knees.
Mergan entered without greeting him and passed him without a second glance. She went to the far side of the room and sat quietly in the darkness of the corner of the house. She lifted her hands, which were numb from the cold, and her contorted fingers hung limply. Pain shot through her fingers, and only modesty prevented her from crying. Despite everything, she could still hold herself back from crying. Pain raced through her fingers, just as the stifled cries were caught inside her throat.
Salar Abdullah berated Hajer, “Why are you just sitting there and pouting, girl? Get up and put on some water to boil. Get up and bring some hot water!”
Hajer arose and lit the stove. Abrau entered the room with a broken sickle. His pockmarked face was twisted, and he was chewing on his thick lower lip. Not looking at anyone, he said, “You can’t uproot corkwood with this sickle!”
Mergan, whose voice was deadened by the cold, said, “What happened to your upstart brother? Where’s he gone to?”
Abrau said, “He’s fixing his shoes. His sickle’s not broken. With this broken sickle that’s fallen into my hands, do you expect me to bring back a bundle of corkwood as big as his?”
“Go borrow another one from someone. There’s no one here who can fix that one.”
Abrau groaned and walked out, saying, “ ‘Borrow one, borrow one’—who’s going to lend me one? Everyone’s using their own.”
“So what do you want me to do about it? Make you one myself? Hey … Abbas!”
Abbas came to the doorway, holding a shoe in one hand. Mergan said, “Why won’t you lend your brother a hand?”
Abbas chewed on a bit of string, saying, “How? Am I a metalsmith?”
“Well go scare one up for him; you can speak, can’t you? Go get one from someone for him.”
“What am I supposed to get? Is this the metal-works market? Tell him to use a shovel instead. You can uproot corkwood with something other than a sickle, you know!”
Salar Abdullah interrupted the banter and told Abrau, “Go to our house and tell Alireza’s mother to give you the short-handled sickle from the shed. Go. Say, last night we had roasted watermelon seeds — that way she’ll know I sent you. Go.”
Abrau stood shifting his feet. Abbas grabbed his brother’s collar and dragged him to the alley and pushed him off. Abrau set out down the alley, complaining as he went. Abbas returned to the doorway, sat on the ground, and busied himself with putting his shoes on. Smoke was filling the house. Salar Abdullah went to the stove and stuck a finger in the water in the bowl and said, “That’s fine. It doesn’t need to be boiling.”
He took the bowl of warm water and walked over to Mergan, placing it in front of her.
“Put your hands in the water. Put them in, and you’ll see what good it does you!”
Mergan placed her hands in the warm water. “God bless you and your father, Salar Abdullah. Ah … Why hadn’t I thought of this myself? I’m losing my mind!”
Salar Abdullah sat at the edge of the wall.
“Each living being, Mergan, finds its own special talent in some way. A man has his, and a woman has hers. When we traveled to Mashhad, one of our traveling companions, a man from Anarak, was frostbitten. It’s not right to say, I’m ashamed to even mention this, but it struck him in his manhood. So we took him to the closest coffeehouse. There was an old man, also a traveler, who took care of that poor man from Anarak. As soon as he saw him, he went and poured all the hot water from the kettles that had been prepared in the coffeehouse into a basin. He added some cold water as well, and he told us to strip down the poor man. We did so, and then we put him into the water up to his waist. After just half an hour, he had all but recovered. Thank God there was no lasting damage to him either … It was after this journey that I sold off my camels and came and bought a few hours’ worth of water from the canals. I was rescued from my waywardness and roaming, and I began to preoccupy myself with working a few handfuls of dirt here with a few drops of water … Anyway, now where is our master Soluch? Is he around?”
Mergan said, “He’s gone to hell!”
“What? Are you back at each other’s throats like cats and dogs? Yes? What happened? You seem in a bad way. Where’s he gone to so early this morning?”
“He’s gone!”
“But where?”
“God knows. I don’t know. When I got up this morning, I saw he’d gone. That is, last night … I don’t know. I’m confused. Every night he’d come and spend the night by the clay oven, but last night he left. I don’t know where. That’s all I know.”
Salar Abdullah sat a moment and then involuntarily said, “I spit on the father’s grave of any robbing thief! Just yesterday he swore a holy oath on the saint’s shrine that I should come by this morning to pick up those five pieces of copper.”