Missing Soluch (17 page)

Hajj Salem gestured at the door with his cane,

“He’s crazy! What can be done?”

Abbas said, “Tell him to calm down, Hajji Sir! If he keeps up, the neighbors will come running!”

A smile lit up in the midst of Hajj Salem’s bushy beard, and his eyes shone.

“A sensible person would say that’s it’s worth five
qerans
in order to not have a scene here, no?”

He had stretched one palm out before even finishing his sentence. Abbas handed him five
qerans
and said to the group, “You all see! I’m paying five
qerans
for all of you! It’s coming out of the general winnings. I don’t want any arguments about it later!”

Hajj Salem took the money in his hand and hid it in his fingers, shaking his head.

Abbas said, “Well, tell him calm down, then!”

Hajj Salem tapped his cane against the door and said, “Calm! You dog! Calm down!”

Moslem calmed down. The boys were able to leave the door and opened it for Hajj Salem, who stepped out. A few moments later the scraping of the steps of the old man and his son could be heard as they walked past the snow piled by the wall. Abbas spit thickly at a spot against the wall of the stable and said, “The blood-sucking leeches!”

Then he looked at Hamdullah and said, “I paid up quietly because of you lot! It wasn’t that I was too weak to take him on. I could take on a hundred like him. But I’m worried about the reputations of you two here!”

Morad tossed the pieces in the kitty and said, “Sit down!”

Ghodrat also sat and said, “Yes, sit down. It’s all done and over now! Each of us will pay one
qeran
to Abbas. Let’s shut him up and get on with it!”

Hamdullah tossed a coin next to Abbas, but Jalil hesitated, shifting on his feet and looking around himself. Morad shouted at him, “Get moving, then! It’s not like you have to give up an eyeball! You can’t believe he had to pay to get rid of that screaming fool? We’re not the ones that are afraid of anything. It’s the two of you that are afraid of your daddies. So pay up! Pay it, one
qeran
! And here’s my one
qeran
!”

Jalil said, “I’m not playing!”

“You’re not going to play?”

“No!”

The veins on Morad’s neck were beginning to show themselves and spittle was collecting at the edge of his mouth. He leapt up and grabbed the collar of Jalil’s shirt, shouting, “You think anyone can just dance in here like you and then take your winnings out of the circle without playing on? C’mon! You cheat!”

Jalil was struggling simply not to run away. First of all, because he didn’t want a scene, and more important, because he was terrified of Morad. It was clear to him that if it ended up in a fight, he’d not only get a beating from Morad and the other two, but that he’d end up with his pockets cleaned out at the end of it. So he decided to compromise. His problem was that he knew that Morad didn’t need to work in Zaminej for his living. Morad always left the village shortly after the beginning of spring, coming back to stay at home through the winter. So he was under the thumb of neither the Kadkhoda nor of Salar Abdullah. He could make his own bread from the heart of a stone, if he needed to.

Salar Abdullah’s son grabbed Morad’s fists in his hands and softly said, “Let go of my collar!”

Morad shook him and said, “So what’s your decision? Are you going to take your winnings, or will you keep on playing?”

Jalil still couldn’t decide. He just wanted to find a way to get out.

Morad shook him one more time and said, “So what’ll it be? Eh? I’m leaving soon anyway. Don’t do something that will make me have to give you a beating. Will you stay and play, or do you want to suck up the money?”

Jalil sat down. Morad also sat, and told Abbas, “Toss the pieces!”

Abbas said, “Whoever’s won has to pay up to the house first, and then I’ll begin!”

Ghodrat pointed to Hamdullah and Jalil, saying, “They’re the winners so far. Pay the house.”

Hamdullah and Jalil looked at one another. Hamdullah tossed one
qeran
over to Abbas, who then looked at Jalil, saying,
“One
qeran
for the house charge, and there’s the other one you owe from before. That’s two all together. Pay up!”

Jalil took out two one-
qeran
coins and placed them before Abbas despondently. Abbas took the coins and tossed the
bajal
pieces into the circle. Morad collected the pieces before himself. Abbas said to him, “You set what everyone should pay the house, just so there’s no cheating later on.”

Morad said, “When the game goes two rounds, the dealer pays the house one
qeran
.”

Abbas wanted to bargain. “Why two rounds? Most places it’s one round.”

Morad said, “Okay, we’ll base it on the winnings then. And don’t be such a greedy host. For every twenty
qerans
won, the house gets one
qeran
. Okay! Ante up!”

Jalil was sitting to the right of Morad. He took out a ten-
shahi
piece from his pile of coins and tossed it into the circle.

“I’ve anted in!”

“So far, has anyone been anteing small change, like a ten-
shahi
, for you to start with that?”

“Here’s another ten
shahis
on top of it!”

“Cheapskate! You have to bid at least five
qerans
!”

Jalil took another one-qeran coin and added it to the others.

“That’s all!”

“It’s not enough.”

“That’s it. That’s my ante.”

“Very nice …! Three horses! Pay up six
qeran
! Ghodrat, you’re next?”

Ghodrat held his fist beside the circle. Morad warmed the pieces in his hand and said, “Ante up!”

Ghodrat spoke like an old hand.

“I’m in!”

Morad threw up the pieces and Ghodrat put his fist beneath them, ruining the round. Morad gathered the pieces, saying, “I’m doing well for myself, so you cheat! If you’re afraid, then ante up less!”

Ghodrat said, “Just toss them. I’m putting in an extra two
qerans
now!”

Morad tossed the pieces up.

“It’s so dark in here!”

It was Ali Genav. He swung the door open and entered the stable.

“Close the door!”

“Close it!”

“Shut the door!”

Ali Genav blinked, then shut the door. The game had picked up again. Ali Genav slowly pulled himself to the wall and stood watching over the game. Morad was still dealing, and he was dealing winning sets to himself, one after another. Jalil was upset. He had begun to lose. His fist was getting more and more empty. From time to time, he wiped his nose with his sleeve, and he kept his eyes on the pieces as they were thrown and as they fell. The coins, ranging from the small ten
shahi
to the valuable five
qerani
, were circulating around the gambling circle, going from hand to hand. Their palms were sweating. Eventually all the boys, including Jalil, had arranged all their coins in neat piles beside themselves. Each had constructed a little tower of coins—from large to small in value—in front of himself. The boys were caught up in the game. The game was moving along quickly; time passed without their noticing. Now, no one was anteing small change, like ten-
shahis
or one-
qeran
coins. Even
Jalil wasn’t anteing less than two
qerans
against the others. The pieces would go up in the air and fall on the ground and eight or nine
qerans
would change hands. Everyone was focused on playing the game. Their lips were dry, their eyes staring, their bodies tense. Even Ali Genav, the most accomplished gambler there, had stopped the knitting he had brought with himself and was fixated on the game. No one made a sound.

“Where is that son of a bitch?”

Kadkhoda Norouz’s angry voice echoed in the yard, followed by the sound of his feet stomping across the snow.

“Eh? Where is your pathetic excuse for a brother, girl?”

The game stopped. Abbas knew the Kadkhoda was looking for him. He froze in his place. Everyone froze. Only Ali Genav was able to do something; he picked up his knitting and busied himself with it. He somehow also managed to reposition himself back on the edge of the trough, to make it seem as if he had nothing to do with the disgrace going on in the center of the stable. Nonetheless, Ali Genav immediately wished he’d never come.

The door of the stable flew open with a body blow by the Kadkhoda. He filled the doorway with his worn camel-hair cloak, a scarf on his head, and leather boots on his feet. He glared at the boys. Abbas, like a sparrow in the sights of a hawk, braced himself with his back still to the door. Others, standing or half-standing, froze in their places and lowered their heads. The money was still on the ground, left in individual piles. The
bajal
pieces were scattered on the dirt where they’d fallen: a horse and three others. Everyone was frozen in place. In the dim light of the dusk, the Kadkhoda quickly recognized Abbas. He strode toward him and laid a boot kick into his back.

“You son of a dog! Now you’ve gone to lead my son astray as well? You’re running a gambling circle here?”

Abbas was thrown face down into the playing circle, and the first idea that occurred to him, while absorbing the Kadkhoda’s curses and kicks, was to grab one of the piles of coins. He reached out to the small tower of Jalil’s coins, grasping them in his hand along with a fistful of dirt and mud. The Kadkhoda took Abbas by the collar, lifting him up to turn his face toward him. The fear that the Kadkhoda would take the money away from him terrified Abbas, and so before he had been turned to face him eye-to-eye, he stuffed the coins—along with the dirt, mud, and old straw he’d grabbed from the ground—into his mouth, filling his cheeks as if he they were filled by two walnuts. The Kadkhoda planted a slap across Abbas’ face, and a few coins flew out from between his lips and teeth. Before the second slap could connect with his face, Abbas swallowed, and while the Kadkhoda watched him, his eyes bulged as if they would pop out of their sockets. The veins on his neck were visible, and the skin on his face reddened.

The Kadkhoda shouted, “Go bring some water! The fool’s going choke himself!”

He let Abbas go and turned to find his son Hamdullah. He found him in the corner on the trough. He dragged him down and jerked him left and right. Ali Genav saw an opportunity to sneak out. But the Kadkhoda turned toward him.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, man? Your beard’s getting white, your mother and wife are dying, and you’ve come here to gamble with a few boys who don’t have hair on their lips yet! Ach!”

Meanwhile, Hamdullah managed to escape his father’s grip and ran out into the alley, crying. Ghodrat, who until then had
been standing on the edge of the action, also dashed out. Only Morad and Jalil remained. Morad had left to bring a bowl of water, and now was busy pouring water down Abbas’ throat. It was as if Jalil hadn’t realized that he had a chance to escape. The Kadkhoda was still busy talking to Ali Genav. So Jalil crept out the door and tried to forget about his coins that he had lost inside.

Abbas was still swallowing the coins, with the help of the water that Morad was pouring down his throat. Although Morad kept telling him to spit them out, he didn’t listen to him. With his red face and bulging eyes and veins, he was swallowing the coins one by one. After the last one had gone down, he took a deep breath and leaned his shoulder against the wall. Because of the effort, sweat was pouring from his ears, his back, and under his arms. He felt like dying. He hoped that the Kadkhoda would have nothing more to do with him, but the Kadkhoda returned and stood above him.

Abbas cried out painfully, “Kadkhoda, I was wrong!”

The Kadkhoda then swung the door open and went outside. Ali Genav stood over Abbas for a moment, then stooped and walked out the doorway. Now that the Kadkhoda had left, Hajer came into the stable to see what had happened to her brother. Ali Genav looked her over as if she were goods he was about to buy, and then asked, “Your mother’s not returned yet?”

Hajer said no, then she entered the stable. Ali Genav was about to enter the alley when he changed his mind and entered the house. He sat by the doorway in such a way as to catch the last of the sunlight for the shawl he was knitting, and he busied himself with it. Hajer returned from the stable and began to light the lamp.

Ali Genav asked, “No news from my house?”

Hajer replied, “No. It was still light when I went there and came back. My mother was there then.”

Morad brought Abbas into the room and leaned him against the wall. Then he sat beside him and asked Hajer, “Don’t you want to light your stove?”

Before Hajer was able to reply, Abbas said, “The lock! Get the lock from the cabinet and give it to me.”

Hajer brought the lock. Abbas rose from his place with difficulty and as he was leaving told Hajer, “Go tell Mama to come and make me her herbal tea! The kind for your stomach! Get going! Ow …”

He reached the stable door, while bending over in pain. He put the lock on the door and returned the same way. He mumbled painfully through his teeth, “All I have is mixed in the dirt and mud in the stable. How am I supposed to find it all? That sneak Abrau, I don’t trust him!”

Abbas, wrapped in his own pain and worries, didn’t notice Abrau returning. He crept into a corner bent over, and he hid the key to the lock inside the hem of his pants.

“Castor oil! Strained oil! Girl, go get our mother!”

He said this and then collapsed against the wall beside the stove.

Wearing Ali Genav’s long cloak and his big boots, Abrau looked like a dwarf. He had wrapped something around his head and his face. His face was purple and his lips were cracked. The cold had broken his weak body down. In the doorway, his body collapsed like an old wall crumbling, and he fell to his knees. Ali Genav slowly rose up, grabbed Abrau under his arms, and pulled him to the side of the room. Hajer didn’t wait a moment longer and ran out to get Mergan. Ali Genav set aside his shawl and
began massaging Abrau’s frozen hand in between his own thick, dark hands. Abrau’s eyes were open, but he couldn’t speak. Ali Genav told Morad to light the stove. Morad left to bring back a stack of cottonwood from the oven outside. As he continued to massage Abrau’s heart and neck, Ali Genav asked, “So what happened? Did you bring him? The bonesetter?”