As he quickly tucked the thick and knotted stalk under one arm, Abbas said, “I swear on the Qibleh of Mecca that I pulled up this stalk.”
“Which Qibleh? You’re pointing at Hajj Habib’s pool and saying, ‘To the Qibleh of Mecca.’ Mecca’s in that direction, toward that hill!”
Abbas turned toward the hill and said, “To the Qibleh. Is that enough?”
Abrau said, “ ‘To the Qibleh’ what?”
“I swear on the Qibleh of Mecca that I pulled up this stalk!”
“May the liar get his due!”
“May you get yours, then!”
Abrau said, “Fine. From now on we’ll draw a line. You stay on one side, and I stay on the other.”
Abbas had busied himself with piling up his new stalks and said, “You know, you should just go to the next field over. All of this is God’s Land in any case.”
“Why should I go? You go yourself!”
“I should go? You think I take orders from a pip-squeak like you?”
“And I should take orders from you?”
“Yeah, from who else?”
“I take orders from myself. I want to gather corkwood stalks right here in this field. What’s it to anyone? Do you own this land?”
“Don’t get caught up with just answering everything with another question! I’ll beat you till you’re sorry!”
Abrau said no more. He put his sickle to work on the stalks in front of his feet and grumbled beneath his breath. Abbas turned and said, “Now you’re swearing and calling me names? I’ll hit you so hard your teeth will fill your mouth!”
Abrau mockingly said, “So, you did great work this morning, to eat all the bread yourself!”
“I ate the bread? Of course I did. I didn’t eat anything that was yours!”
“Oh, so whose did you eat? We’re not good enough to eat as well? You think you’re the only one with teeth to chew bread? This isn’t the first time either. It’s always the same thing. Eating everything yourself. The last time you took the dates out of the chest and ate them yourself. And those dates were for alms!”
“Of course I’ll eat them. You’d rather I brought them and gave them to you to eat?”
“At least just eat your own portion.”
“Oh, you’d not said that before!”
“So now I’m saying it.”
Abbas placed the handful of stalks next to the bundle and, crouching on his hands, suddenly flared up. “Lower your voice to me, Abrau. You’ll regret it otherwise!”
“Fine!”
Abbas bellowed with anger, “And stop grumbling under your breath. I’ll bury you right here!”
“Yeah, fine. I’ll just go dumb then. Is that what you want?”
“I wish you would!”
The heavy shadow of Salar Abdullah filled the space between the two boys. Abbas and Abrau had not noticed him approaching at all. Both were dumbstruck before the man. Abrau raised his foot and took a step closer to Abbas. Abbas also moved a step toward Abrau. Now, only a walking-stick’s distance apart, the brothers stood in an even line. Salar Abdullah faced them. He bore no sign of anger, but a rough sort of dryness filled the expanse of his face. This field was worked by Salar Abdullah, but the custom was anyone could gather corkwood stalks from any of the village’s land. This is good for the soil, since ploughs cannot dig up the stalks from the root unless the plough was run by a tractor. And it does no good to the new crop for a farmer to leave the stalk roots in the soil. So not only is the work of gathering the stalks not a detriment to the land, it actually benefits the landowner. So what could Salar Abdullah complain about?
“Gather your things, you sons of bitches! Pick up your bundles and rags and get off this land!”
Abrau looked at Abbas. Abbas was silent; his lips trembled softly.
Salar continued, “And hand over the sickle you borrowed from my house this morning. I need it for something.”
Abrau again looked at Abbas, who reached over and took Salar Abdullah’s sickle from Abrau’s hand and tucked it into his belt. Then he turned away from the man and went toward the pile of stalks he’d picked.
Salar Abdullah glared at Abrau. “Didn’t I tell you to bring the sickle and give it to me? Are you deaf?”
“He has it!”
Salar looked at Abbas and said, “Hey … you, idiot! Bring the sickle and give it to me.”
Abbas, who had just finished piling the stalks onto his bundle, said, “I didn’t borrow a sickle from you.”
“Didn’t you just take it from Abrau?”
“I borrowed it from Abrau, not from you. Call an apple an apple. Get it back from him!”
“It’s tucked in your belt and you want me to get it from him?”
“That’s not my problem!”
“So you want me to straighten you out with a few swift kicks, eh?”
“Let’s see if you can!”
“You think I’m worried about you? Your mama’s not here to throw her skirt over her head and raise a ruckus! You bastard son of a bitch, I’m telling you to hand over that sickle right now! Are you deaf?”
Abbas had already tied up his bundle of stalks. Ignoring Salar Abdullah, he raised his half-full bundle to his back and said to Abrau, “Don’t you want to take all those stalks you spent so much time and effort digging up? Well, get on with it!”
Abrau quickly devoted himself to gathering up his loose stalks. Salar Abdullah strode toward Abbas, saying, “I’m talking to you, idiot! Hand over the sickle! It’s mine!”
Abbas started walking away with his back to Salar Abdullah, saying, “Get it from him. What’s it to me? I didn’t borrow it from you!”
He spoke quietly, and walked quickly.
The man set out after him, saying, “Don’t make me angrier than I already am today, you bastard’s child! Hand over the sickle and go back to whatever hell you’re from!”
Abbas picked up his pace and threw a quick look over his shoulder. Salar Abdullah’s strides grew longer. Abbas sped up, just waiting for the right moment to begin running. Salar Abdullah bent over and picked up a stone. Abbas began running. Salar Abdullah began to run after him and threw the stone in his direction. The stone hit Abbas in the buttocks, but despite the pain he showed no reaction. He ran. Faster and faster. Abbas was light on his feet, while Salar Abdullah lumbered. Abbas outran him for a distance. Salar Abdullah stopped and let out a stream of insults. Abbas also stopped. They were now far from each other. Each insult that Salar Abdullah shouted landed squarely on Abbas’ heart, so Abbas let his own tongue loose, eventually adding invectives involving the man’s wife and children as well. Hearing his wife being named, and by a nobody who wasn’t mature enough to have had a woman, made the insults a hundred times more denigrating for Salar Abdullah. Even in a passing joke it would be impossible for a young, inexperienced man to assume the right to speak of women to a man with a wife. And of course, that was quite apart from the other kinds of insults about his ancestors and so on.
Salar Abdullah began running again. Only a beating could even the score now. But Abbas was still faster on his feet, and quicker. He ran farther away, with fear giving him an extra incentive to run even faster than before. Running from one field to another, leaping from one ditch to another. Hopeless, Salar Abdullah stopped once again. He stood for a moment and suddenly turned around. Abrau was just placing the last stalk onto his bundle. Salar Abdullah began undoing the buckle of his belt as he strode quickly toward him. He had to undo all of the humiliation he’d seen that day. Abrau did his best to tie up the bundle before Salar Abdullah reached him, but he was too late. Just as he had lifted the bundle to his back and was beginning to escape, Salar Abdullah reached him and threw him to the ground.
“And you’re from the same stuff as that other son-of-a-whore!”