Missing Soluch (35 page)

“All the better! You’ll have a bit of life and color in your face now. You can’t go over there looking like a corpse!”

Mergan was clearly distracted. Her only worry was to find the nonexistent little hairs on her daughter’s lips and face and to eradicate them. So what if it hurt!

“The first time always hurts. All the girls feel the same burning when they thread their faces for their wedding!”

“It’s burning me, mama. It’s burning!”

“Now, that’s better.”

Megan pulled Hajer’s face into the light and examined it closely. There was nothing left; her entire face was now scarlet and irritated. Like a beet, nearly bruised. It was time for Hajer to splash some water on her face.

“Now, get up and quickly wash and come back!”

Hajer ran outside. The bucket was half full of water. Hajer thrust her entire face into it.

Molla Aman rose and made as if to leave. He stood by the door and said, “If you want the truth, I’ve heard myself that Soluch is dead, God have mercy on him.”

He didn’t wait to hear Mergan’s reply; he stepped out and left. Mergan had nothing to say; she just felt numb and dizzy. But she gathered her wits quickly and cried out at Hajer, “Are you taking a bath out there? Come back, it’s getting late!”

Hajer thrust her face into the bucket one last time, then rose and returned to her mother.

Mergan had prepared the rouge and face powder. Her look had become softer, gentler. As if she’d just remembered not to snap at her daughter—it was her wedding night, after all. Why direct her anger with Karbalai Doshanbeh at her daughter instead? Hajer was innocent, even though Mergan did not reckon herself a culprit either. It was just that they wouldn’t let her rest for even a second. She would escape from the cage they set for her like a wild animal, and before she’d realize it she’d have bit some person—her children were the most common victims of her anger. And this would in turn only distress her more.

And now, what had happened to Abbas came to be the greatest blow yet. His sudden aging, his injuries, his silence had all affected her terribly. Her hands had begun to tremble, and her eyes would dart from place to place. She would say one or two words and then be choked by tears that were welling in her eyes. It was as if she had lost her self-control. She’d go into a rage over nothing. She was sleepless and distracted. Her thoughts tormented her, depressed her—thoughts about Hajer’s wedding, which deep down Mergan knew better than anyone was an ill-considered, inopportune deed. Thoughts
about losing the bit of land they had had, about her sons having turned on her, and now, about the pain Abbas was in. Add to that the marriage proposal from Karbalai Doshanbeh and Mirza Hassan’s skill at taking their land … and now, Soluch’s death!

But could it be true? Was Soluch dead?

* * *

“Oh yes … look at that! Look at that!”

It was Ali Genav, whose body blocked the light. He was smiling. Hajer turned away and covered her eyes with the edge of her headscarf. Ali Genav pursed his big lips and looked at Mergan, who gestured at him to leave. She didn’t want Hajer to be affected by her fear of him.

Ali Genav turned to go, unhappily but still happy. Mergan finished applying the rouge to Hajer’s face. She rose, filled a cup with water, and set it beside her. Raising Hajer’s headscarf, she wet a comb in the water and drew it through the girl’s hair. Her hair was clean, thin, and fine, and it shone with its blackness.

Mergan combed her daughter’s hair with a hint of sadness, and the girl rested her head on her mother’s arm and looked at the ground with a deeper sadness. She stared at the earth. She was engaged now! That’s that. Marriage!

Hajer could not help but think about how easily everything had been handled when they went to town. The cost of making the engagement legitimate was even clearer to her than to her mother: the pair of red shoes, two silk scarves, a shirt, and a chador for praying. After the purchases, they took her from the bazaar into the alleys and through the alleys to the caravanserai. There, Ali Genav bought some bread and sweets. They sat by the
walls of the cavanserai looking toward the coffeehouse and ate the food. Then Ali Genav went over to the coffeehouse and brought three large teas back to them. They drank the teas. Then Ali Genav went to the caravanserai stables and put a bit of food out for his donkey there. Then it was time to go, so they left. The alley behind the caravanserai connected to the central mosque. The lower door of the mosque led into the courtyard, which they crossed and exited through the higher door. Ali Genav led them across a street and back into narrow alleys. They passed by a cistern and entered a very narrow alley: Twisting and turning, it became more and more narrow. So much so that Hajer began to feel dizzy. All she remembered was that the surface of the ground was cobblestone, which she could remember from the sensation of the stones pushing at her feet through her leather shoes. At the end of the alley, they stopped beside a low door, lower than the alley’s surface. You had to descend three steps to the door, through which you reached a small courtyard. Next to the shallow pool in the center of the courtyard, there were six pomegranate trees. Ali Genav took the women up a set of stairs onto a veranda. They had Hajer sit there by a door while Ali Genav and Mergan went inside. Hajer never saw the cleric; she only heard his voice, which was interrupted by his constant coughing. He sounded old. He asked Hajer to say “I do,” which she did, and the job was done. Now Ali Genav could take her hand in his, which he did and he brought her down the veranda stairs. Then they returned in the same way: alley, street, mosque, alley to the caravanserai.

Ali Genav took his donkey out of the caravanserai stables, placed the bridle on him, and took the tether in hand. He paid
for the stable, and left. Hajer and Mergan followed behind the donkey. Outside the town gates, Ali Genav stopped and again knelt for Hajer. Mergan grabbed her under her arms and she got onto the donkey. Ali Genav held onto the tether for a while, but after some distance, he tossed the tether on the donkey’s neck, pushed the tethering nail into the saddle, and walked alongside Hajer’s leg.

Mergan followed them and was lost in thought. Once, she sat down on the side of the path to adjust her shoes. Ali Genav had bought her new shoes, which she hadn’t yet broken in. Her feet were sweating in them. Once they reached the outskirts of Zaminej, Mergan walked about a hundred paces ahead of them. She was far enough ahead that Ali Genav was able to pinch Hajer’s leg two times. Hajer tolerated the pain of his pinches and acted as if nothing had happened. She was afraid to speak to Ali Genav. As they went, it was probable that he had spoken to her along the way, but she didn’t remember anything. She remembered much better the road itself, between Zaminej and the town. Morad’s shadow seemed to follow them everywhere. When they reached the gates of the village, he had passed by them, carrying a bag on his back, without so much as looking at Hajer. It was not that she was secretly in love with him. No. But now that things had ended up in this way, she thought about Morad often. He had become a kind of pillar of support in her imagination, a kind of refuge. But she was too young to actually have fallen in love with a young man like him. But she didn’t understand why it was that she kept thinking about the grimy back of his neck, his torn collar, and his sweat-covered shoulders?

And could it be that by now he was riding away in some automobile and was gone, truly gone?

Mergan tied the silk headscarf over Hajer’s brushed hair, and then artfully arranged her bangs over her forehead. She then took the girl from in front of the mirror and set her beside the trunk. She took out the cotton shirt Ali Genav had bought and put it on Hajer. Then she took out a pair of black trousers and gave them to her daughter, who took them to the pantry and returned a moment later wearing them. Mergan knelt and straightened out the waistband, pulling them up. But the legs were still too long, so she rolled up the bottoms. She thought to herself that now the pants looked good. She brought out the shoes. Hajer was afraid to put them on, but she had no choice. Mergan placed her daughter’s feet into the shoes, and she told her to walk around. Hajer walked with her face contorted; it was difficult for her to take steps with them. With the shoes on, she felt as if she had hooves, and it was difficult to keep her balance. It was as if her feet had been carved out of wood. She walked stiffly, jerking her feet as she went, in small, broken steps. With every step, she would bend at her knees. But she had to try. Mergan grabbed her elbow and began walking her around the room.

“Don’t be scared. Take a step. And another. Yes, another. Now just keep yourself up like that. You’re not a cripple, my dear. You can do it!”

Hajer walked in circles around the room. Then she suddenly sat down. Rather, she threw herself down and began to cry.

“My feet! My feet hurt! Why do I have to wear shoes at all! I don’t want to … I don’t!”

Before replying to her daughter, Mergan ran and quickly shut the door. She couldn’t let the sound of Hajer crying be heard outside. She then came and sat with her knees against her daughter’s, put the girl’s head against her chest, and calmed her. Hajer slowly stopped crying. She knew what her mother wanted. Mergan took her daughter’s head from her chest and carefully wiped the tears from her eyes before they could spoil the rouge on her cheeks. But it was difficult to see Hajer’s face, as the house was dark. Abbas’ white head, set on his bony shoulders, was all that could be seen, quiet and motionless.

Mergan suddenly rose, ran to the door, and opened it. Molla Aman was standing in the doorway. Calmly and clearly he spoke, “Why is the door closed?”

“I was dressing Hajer.”

“It’s night already. You’re not ready yet?”

“We’re nearly done.”

Mergan ran to Hajer, took her hand, and pulled her toward the light from the open door. She took another look at her face. Oh no! Her tears had made streaks in the rouge and powder that Mergan had applied to her face. Mergan carefully and calmly wiped under Hajer’s eyes with the edge of her scarf. Hajer’s tears were about to drip from her eyelashes.

Molla Aman said, “Why don’t you bring in a lamp for this house?”

“Honestly, I just forgot.”

Mergan went and brought out the lantern. A gray light filled the room. But now things could be seen a little better. Molla Aman sat leaning against the wall and looked over at Abbas, who was sitting quietly, not moving at all. Molla Aman
wanted to speak to him, but couldn’t. What could he say? He rose from where he was and went to pour some feed in his donkey’s trough.

Mergan was done. She felt as if she should sit for a bit, but didn’t feel as if she could stay in one place. Instead, she kept circling around herself, coming and going, for no particular reason. She went to the pantry, then into the yard, then up to the alley and back to the house again. Then she thought she would put a bit of incense in the fire, and the smoke from the incense filled the room. Molla Aman shook the bits of hay off his sleeves, then stepped in the room, intoning a prayer. Hajer remained sitting against the wall. Molla Aman sat to one side and lit a cigarette.

Where are they? Why haven’t they arrived yet?

This was what his eyes seemed to be saying. He finished his cigarette, put it out under his heel, and then left the house. Night had begun to spread. Molla Aman stood for a while by the alley, then came back. He was anxious. He stood by the door and said, “What do you say we go over to the groom’s house to see what is going on?”

Mergan said, “That’s just not done. How would it look? They have to come to seek the hand of their new bride and take her, not the other way around.”

“I’m just worried that woman … Maybe she’s pulled some sort of trick?”

“No! Wait a second. What’s that sound? Ah … I hear something …”

Molla Aman ran out to the alley. The light of a lantern was accompanying shadowy outlines. Molla Aman stepped forward and then suddenly stopped. He saw Raghiyeh, Ali Genav’s wife,
limping ahead with a crutch under her right arm. But it seemed she was also holding something in her left hand, a tray. In the middle of the tray was a copper bowl, shining with a dim light emanating from inside it, the light of embers. Beside her was the groom himself. Ali Genav was carrying the lantern and was walking slowly to keep pace with his wife. Behind them, Karbalai Doshanbeh, and beside him Hajj Salem followed. At the back, Moslem was following behind his father. As they arrived, Karbalai Doshanbeh stepped beside Raghiyeh and took a few seeds of incense from the tray and placed them into the embers. Hajj Salem called out a prayer. Molla Aman went to greet them; he was very clearly pleased. If all went well tonight, he would be able to load his things and leave first thing in the morning with a clear conscience.

They came into the narrow yard of the house. Mergan brought out her lantern. Raghiyeh stood leaning on her crutch. Mergan also poured a few seeds of incense onto the embers. Molla Aman entered the house, took Hajer by the hand, and brought her out. Hajer was walking with difficulty. She could hardly even stand up straight. Mergan held her by her elbow as the group turned to leave the house, lit by their two lanterns. The surface of the alley was uneven, so the shoes of the bride were that much more unwieldy. They moved slowly; in a way, it was good that Hajer could not walk fast, as Raghiyeh was also pulling herself ahead only with difficulty. That was why they had been late even traversing that short distance to the house. Once they arrived, Mergan took Hajer into the pantry of Ali Genav’s house. The nuptial bedroom was to be there. Ali Genav had prepared the bed already. Hajer took off her shoes, and
Mergan came out. The guests sat in the room just beside the pantry. Raghiyeh did not join the guests; she was standing by the oven holding onto her crutch. Mergan went to prepare the dinner. Raghiyeh was silent, but despite this Mergan was still uneasy. As a woman, she understood her perfectly.

God forbid it were I! I should bite my tongue!

Mergan could easily imagine a day when this weak and broken woman would try to harm Hajer.