Free Missing Soluch by Mahmoud Dowlatabadi Page A

Tell me. Who was it? What bastard? Tell me. Whoever it was, I don’t care. I’ll make him pay. Tell me. I’ll beat him with a stick. The sons of bitches have found an orphan to attack? Hasn’t God done enough to this poor child, that now you also do this to him, you heartless bastards?”
    Mergan was no longer asking her son who had given him the beating. She wasn’t speaking to him at all. She was speaking to everything. To the air. To the walls and the doors. For ears that could hear and those that couldn’t. She placed Abrau back in the blankets and rose. She tied her robe to her waist and was walking in circles around the room, around herself. Hajer remained frozen in her corner against the wall, and Abrau had set his dizzy and confused head back down. Mergan would walk, then stop, stop and then begin walking, all the while speaking to herself. She spoke out loud. To herself. To the house. To the night. To what is and is not. What she was speaking of wasn’t simple speech. It was more like poetic recitation. She would speak, and then go silent. She would be silent, and then suddenly it would boil over, her voice rising and calling out.
    “Which one should I take care of? Which one should I cover with my wing? In which one’s mouth shall I put a few seeds? Whoever can comes and pecks at one of them. Whoever can comes and pecks at the head of one of them. So just come all at once and take us all! Come and toss us all in a pot of boiling water! Come, come on!”
    “I hope no one’s head is uncovered. We’re coming in!”
    The heavy sound of Kadkhoda Norouz’ footsteps, accompanied by a short cough, brought Mergan back to herself. The shoulders of two men filled the entryway of the room. Kadkhoda Norouz had a cloak thrown over his shoulders, and Salar Abdullah was wearing a long tunic. Both had head scarves tied around their heads. Kadkhoda’s scarf was tied with greater care, and the tail end of Salar Abdullah’s scarf trailed down onto his chest.
    The men brought the cold into the house with them. Until this moment, the cold had been forgotten. It was only Hajer who had suffered the cold and had stuck herself to the stove. Mergan and Abrau were each burning with their own fevers; Abrau of illness, Mergan of rage. On seeing the men, Mergan went silent and retreated to sit in a corner. Not that she wasn’t expecting their visit; she was. She had even prepared for it. All the same, their arrival was a shock. Seeing the men, she was frozen in her place.
    The men sat, Salar at the doorway, and the Kadkhoda by the stove. Hajer slid away from the Kadkhoda, who sat beside the stove in such a way as to position his crotch close to the faltering heat of the fire. Because of this, in order to look at Mergan so as to speak directly to her, he had to twist his large head on his shoulders, straining to face her.
    “Go bring those four bits of copper work!”
    Mergan stayed just as she had been, with her back to the wall, hugging her knees silently.
    The Kadkhoda repeated, “Get up. Get up and go bring those four pieces of copper work!”
    Mergan still did not respond. Did not move. Salar was eyeing her. Her parched cheeks and drawn profile were discernible in the flickering light of the tallow-burner. A stubborn silence had her frozen in her place as if she were not alive, like the outline of a woman cut from stone. But Salar was agitated. His spleen held more than a few things that he wanted to bestow on Mergan and her boys. But since Kadkhoda Norouz had come to mediate, it would not have been to his advantage to let loose at this time. The Kadkhoda turned his head again and shouted at Mergan, “Have you gone deaf? I told you get up and get those four bits of copper work! Do I have to become rude with you?”
    Mergan, staring ahead at the floor, said, “You go get them yourself. You know where they are.”
    The Kadkhoda replied, “If you don’t go get them yourself, that’s what we’ll have to do. I’ve not come