Missing Soluch (13 page)

Where are you, Mergan?

She came to. The cold overwhelmed her. How far she had gone from the present! Where was she? Memories … remembrance. She turned. Her children were still asleep. The embers had burned to cold ashes in the hearth. The children had gathered themselves into a ball beneath the dozens of blankets that covered them. Mergan went and took a handful of corkwood to the stove and lit a flame beneath the kettle. Hajer turned her head. She had to get up earlier than the boys. Abbas and Abrau would rise shortly after her. Eventually they all were awake.

“What a snow!”

Abbas ran to the door. Abrau followed, standing shoulder to shoulder with his brother, and both stared out at the snow that had gathered on the wall around their house, and farther away at what had accumulated on the roofs of Zaminej. They stood transfixed. From a distance, crows were approaching: caw, caw. The brothers wanted to stay home today. The thought made them euphoric. On a day like this, no one would leave Zaminej. An idea entered Abbas’ mind suddenly—gambling! He could arrange a game today. The other children would be idle, gathering at the shop to buy sweets. Sweets with nuts. Then the older ones of them, those with money in their pockets, would quietly sneak to the storeroom to gamble. Recently, Agha Sadegh had brought a pack of playing cards from town. The
older ones would play with the cards and the youngsters would play
bajal
pieces. Since the time he’d brought the playing cards, Agha Sadegh didn’t like them to play with the
bajal
pieces in his storeroom. The racket it caused interfered with his business. And he didn’t just let anyone into the storeroom.

“What are you doing here, my dear child? You’re still too young!” he would say.

So now the younger children had nowhere to go. It had snowed, and it wasn’t any good trying to play
bajal
games in some ruins. Someone had to come up with a dry, warm, and empty place. A stable. And what stable better than the empty one by Soluch’s house? Abbas thought that maybe he could snare three or four of these two-bit players and arrange a game or two. And maybe even Ali Genav would join as well.

This thought drew Abbas toward the pantry. He found a tin box containing his
bajal
pieces under some bric-a-brac and returned to the door of the pantry gleaming. He poured the pieces from the box and gathered two sets of them, one set of three, and another of four. The set of three would be used for the game with three pieces, and the four would be used for the game they called wolf. He wrapped each set inside a handkerchief and hid them under the waistband of his trousers, and then went back into the room.

Abrau was standing before the stove. Mergan was pouring herbs in the kettle while Hajer busied herself with the task of folding up the blankets before coming to her mother’s side. Abbas positioned himself beside Abrau and held his hands over the flames that were choking in a cloud of smoke. The burning wet wood poured smoke and brought tears to their eyes. Because of this, although mother and children had gathered
around the stove to warm themselves, they were forced to bid a retreat with eyes tightly shut and noses sniffling. The house was filling with smoke. Abrau fell to his knees, placed his hands on the ground, and began blowing inside the stove. He blew with all his strength, but it wasn’t enough to bring a flame to the wet kindling. Self-loathing and hunger filled him; he felt abject and wretched. He kept trying, but he was unable bring the flame to life. He felt broken. His mouth protruded so that his teeth looked bigger and his lips seemed larger than usual. His trumpet-shaped lips began to darken, and his eyes flickered inside their sockets. Eventually, he lost his breath and fell back. Now Abbas leaned before the stove and directed his breath powerfully toward the source of the smoke in the wet kindling. Now the smoke blew upward, and a tiny flicker of a flame licked at the wood inside the belly of the stove. Mergan told Hajer to bring the cups, and she gathered two clay goblets from the cupboard, placing them before her mother. Mergan then told the girl to bring the oleander seeds. Hajer knew where the oleander was and brought back a small bag. Mergan divided the seeds, apportioning each person two. Then she filled the cups with hot herbal tea from the kettle. Abbas took one cup for himself—the fact that Abbas would take the first sip or bite of each meal had become an accepted fact within the family, regardless of whether they each approved of this or not. He saw it as his right, since he always reached for the food or drink before the others.

Mergan rose and went to the pantry while Abbas and Abrau drank their concoctions. When Mergan returned, Abrau was still looking out the door at the snow.

“I wish we could eat sugar-ice today!”

Mergan brought out a snow shovel and Soluch’s old dirt shovel and placed them by the door, saying, “If you’re men, you’ll go get sugar-ice for us. I’ll get the bread. Here’s a snow shovel, and here’s a shovel. If you clear snow from four roofs, you can buy ten
seer
of molasses for us.”

Abbas said, “Today we don’t have to go to the fields, but instead we have to shovel snow?”

“I’m saying, go for yourselves. You don’t have to go. Get some fresh air.”

“For one day, we can take a break from gathering wood stalks and you want us to get fresh air?”

Abrau said, “What if I get sick again?”

“You won’t get sick. You’re not a little chickadee, now! You can take my chador and wrap it around your shoulders.”

Abbas said, “What about shoes? You can’t wade into waist-deep snow with tattered shoes! My feet will go black from the cold!”

“So your shoes are good enough for getting up to tomfoolery in the snow, but not for work? Anyway, I’ll wrap your feet up myself, and by the time you get back, I’ll have built up a nice, big fire. The house will be as warm as an oven. What else do you want?”

Abbas said, “Everyone clears their own roof—who would pay to have us shovel their roof for them?”

“Plenty of people! Like the widow of Agha Malek. Who does she have to clear her roof?”

“Her gardener! She has a gardener—Karbalai Habib.”

“You expect Karbalai Habib to be able to shovel snow on a day like this? If you held his nose for a second he’d fall down dead, the poor thing!”

“So if I clear Agha Malek’s house, where will Abrau work?”

“Bibi Abdel’s roof. Abdel’s not around. He’s gone to town to buy a motorized miller. Abrau can clear that roof, and he’ll make a little from that.”

They could come up with no other excuses. Abbas said, “How about our own house? Are we just going to wait until there’s so much snow it collapses?”

Mergan said, “I’m here. I’ll clear our roof myself.”

“With what shovel?”

“Don’t worry about that! Go tend to your own work!”

That was that. Abbas rose and took the snow shovel. Not surprisingly, Abrau was left with the old dirt shovel. This was Abbas’ way, to take the best implement for himself. Despite this, Abrau complained, “Who’s ever seen someone clearing snow with a regular shovel?”

Abbas ignored him. He had already claimed the snow shovel and was now wrapping his feet in rags. Abrau looked up at Mergan, who said, “Any house with a roof should have a snow shovel you can use. Stop complaining; get up and get yourself wrapped up!”

Abrau was not lazy; he was tired. All of a sudden he was tired. His heart wasn’t in the task. His eyes showed his worries about the work ahead; he was even frightened. The cold and the misery of hunger had watered down his enthusiasm, replacing it with disappointment. Uncertain, deep down, he didn’t want to set foot outside the house in this snow! A kind of terror set in and fixed him to the floor of the house. Mergan tossed her night chador next to Abrau and said, “Take that and wrap it around you. Especially around your waist. And take some old rags and wrap up your feet. Don’t nod off there like an opium addict! Let’s go!”

Forlorn, Abrau shook off his paralysis and rose. He had no other choice. He folded his mother’s night chador. Mergan told Hajer, “Take the other end and help him, girl! Why are you just standing there like a stalk of grass?”

Hajer went to help tie the chador around her brother’s waist. Abbas pulled on his canvas shoes, wrapped a piece of cloth around his ears, and took the snow shovel before leaving. Abrau was left with his mother and sister to help him prepare for going out into the snowy alleys. Mergan wrapped the chador around Abrau’s shoulders and his sides.

Abrau said, “The cloth satchel—cover my back with the satchel, Hajer!”

Hajer looked at her mother, who said, “Get it. Let’s use the satchel to cover his back and shoulders. It’s as if we were sending the warrior Ali Akbar to the arena!”

Abrau said, “What about my feet? You want me to go out in the snow with bare feet?”

“We’ll wrap up your feet. And stop needling me with your complaints!”

Abrau pulled the satchel over his back and tied it across his chest. Now Mergan was tying the ends of Abrau’s pant legs shut with a piece of rag. Then it was time for the feet themselves. Abrau sat at the edge of the wall, leaning against it with his legs outstretched. Mergan took one of his feet onto her knee and Hajer took the other, and both busied themselves with wrapping cloth and rags around them. They tied the last knot around the back of his feet, and then Mergan tossed his canvas shoes over to him. She said, “Okay, now get yourself up off the ground. It’s not as if you’re a pregnant woman.”

Abrau put his shoes on while still seated. He still had doubts about this all. Because of this, his hands took their time putting on the shoes. Mergan decided not to bother herself with him any longer. She went to the stove and called Hajer to her and both busied themselves with drinking their tea. Finally, Abrau rose—he had used up all of his delaying excuses now—and he took the shovel and walked out the door.

The snowfall was slowing. The sky was shaking out the last of the precipitation. The snow fell more and more lightly. Mergan took the tin tray in her hands. She told Hajer to take the container for carrying embers and to clean out the ashes and to come to help her. They both went outside. The first task was to clear a footpath. They began working. The snow was heavy, but Mergan had seen snow like this many times before in her life. She would scoop up the snow with the tray, and then place the snow into the tin container for Hajer to take to the alley to pour in a ditch. Once the steps were clear, Mergan cleared the path to the roof and then climbed up onto it.

The snow had stopped. The sky was silent, overcast, and quiet. A heavy, solid cloud covered the entire sky. The roofs of Zaminej, whether domed or flat, were all white, covered with snow. The crows cut black lines with their wings against the flat white. Caw, caw. A few people were up on the roofs. A spot here, another there. The dark spots—they were the people, wearing dark clothes. They carried snow shovels in hands wearing gloves. Their feet were covered in pieces of canvas, and for undercoats they wore old sheets. Their heads were covered in hats or caps; their waists were tied with a cloth or a belt or an old rope. Here and there a woman was among them. Smoke rose
from burning wet kindling and blew across the white snowy landscape. The braying of a child from the other side of the village could be heard—the silence, broken. Sounds cut across other sounds. From one rooftop to another. Loud voices lay on the bed of steam made from their breath. Ali Genav was on the bathhouse roof. “What a snow! What a blessing!” Happy were those who worked the fields. The moist air still lay heavy over everything, like a thick woven carpet. Feeling alive, blood flowing, hearts awoke. As if everyone had found a sack of gold coins beside their pillow when they woke up. Bodies shook off their torpor. People moved their bruised bodies joyfully across the pure bed of snow. The measured gestures of arms and shoulders moving. Snow shovels swinging as if choreographed. Waists bent. An ancient illustration of the labor of humanity. Hanging on the white cheeks of the rooftops, clumps of snow clung to pants and leggings. Breath emerged from mouths in handfuls, and clouds rose in the cold. The snow on the roofs slowly disappeared. The color of the roofs slowly emerged, like a body rising out of the snow, coming to view, beginning to breathe. A man wiped the sweat from his brow. A woman held a broomstick with both hands. Whatever escaped the shovel was instead swept away. Balls of snow flew from one rooftop to another. The children grew excited, and snow games began. Angels’ wings, the open wings of angels. Jumping from one high point to another, in one leap. There were only a few trees in the village, one pine and a few oleaster trees. Black wings against the white background. The flight of the crows, their calls. As if they were made to fly in the snow. Why do they appear so soon after the snowfall? Where were they before, and where will they go to afterward? What drew them here? What were they seeking?

The crows’ cawing tells Mergan that the coming night will be very cold.

Mergan’s underarms are sweating, but her feet are freezing. The roof has been slowly cleared. She tells Hajer to light a fire and expends her last energy to clear the last of the snow off the roof. She asks Hajer to throw the broom up, but the girl is unable to. So she brings it up the steps and gives it to her mother, returning quickly to light the fire. Mergan sweeps the roof and looks around, worried. Worried for her sons. What if they’re not working? She cranes her neck from time to time, hoping to catch a sight of them. Abbas! Finally she makes out his outline. But there’s no sign of Abrau. She bends over to finish cleaning the roof. The cleared snow piles up against the wall. She pauses to consider if she should take it out to the alley. The roof was now clean.

Suddenly the cries of women rise from the far end of the alley. The roof of the house where Ali Genav’s mother lives has collapsed. The women scream. They had just been speaking of her! Mother Genav had separated from her son and his wife at the beginning of the winter and had made a nest at the end of the alley in an old abandoned house. The roof apparently collapsed in the middle of the night, the night before. Now the alley is full of the neighbors, and more are coming. The roof hasn’t completely collapsed. Some raw scraps of the ceiling are still hanging. People shout.