Read Online Missing Soluch by Mahmoud Dowlatabadi - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mahmoud Dowlatabadi
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together his heavy eyelids, and emitted a plaintive cry, “My bundle … bring my bundle over here … leave it here by me.”
He was sleeptalking—Abbas had heard that feverish people sometimes hallucinate. So there was nothing to worry about. He wanted to go and take a look at the bundle of wood Abrau had gathered. He went outside and set the wood straight. The bundle seemed heavy to him. He became curious. He sat next to the bundle; it made him worried. He set his back against the bundle. He drew the rope over his shoulder and pulled it. The loop on the rope tightened against his chest. He tied the end of the rope back to the bundle. It was now set tightly against his back. He gathered strength and pulled. The bundle would not risefrom the ground. The load was heavy, but Abbas couldn’t accept this. He convinced himself it was due to the wetness of the wood. Again he pulled with all his might. The bundle rose, but before falling into place on his back, it fell back on the ground.
How did that half-pint kid carry this?
He decided that it was because Abrau’s legs were shorter than his, and so could fit beneath the bundle more gracefully, and only had a short distance to be lifted before fitting on Abrau’s back. Despite all of this, it was too much to accept that he couldn’t lift a bundle that Abrau had carried. He summoned the last of his will and strength, and with two pulls, lifted himself with the bundle on his back. The weight made his knees tremble, and his legs could not steady him. He involuntarily made a half-circle in place, but before becoming dizzy, he managed to stop. He stood straight in his place. A sensation deriving from arrogance made the weight easier to bear. If it had been otherwise, if he’d not been able to lift the bundle of wood, he would have been ashamed of himself. He wanted to set the bundle back down on the ground. But something prevented him. He shifted the bundle on his back, set out to the alley, and was lost in the night.
Abbas sensed the sound of Mergan’s way of walking. Then he could make out the outline of her body. Abbas’ sister, Hajer, was walking beside their mother. Abbas leaned the bundle against a wall and remained stooped over under the weight of the load.
“Where the hell have you two been?”
Mergan, who was swallowing a sensation of rage, instantly said, “At your daddy’s grave!”
She was about to pass by her son when she slowed her step and asked, “Are you coming or going?”
Abbas raised the bundle back off wall. He set out with his back to his mother, saying, “I’m heading to the bread seller.”
Mergan ground her teeth and continued on.
Mergan and Hajer were lost in the house, and Abbas in the darkness.
Abrau continued his moaning. “My bundle. My bundle. My wood. Bring it here. Right here. Next to me. They’re taking them.”
Mergan was drawn to her son. She paid no mind to what he was saying. Abrau’s moaning made clear that he was unwell. Fever. Mergan lightened what was piled above him. Abrau’s eyelashes and eyebrows were awash in sweat. She dried his forehead and his eyelids with the edge of her scarf and sat beside him and ran her fingers through his hair. His hair was dripping wet.
Hajer was left there standing. She was still considered too insignificant to be able to have a role in such matters, much more than to become saddened by her brother’s plight. Hajer stood, waiting for an order or instruction, for someone to want something, to demand something. She’d not yet found enough of her own place to be able to go, of her own volition, to take a jug to get water. She was able to carry the jug on her shoulders. But she only did so when her mother asked her to. The little girl, the baby of the house. All this made Hajer seem insignificant. Her small face continually shifted between doubt and anticipation. Between weakness and irresolution. In this face, there was not yet a sign of her as herself—it was like a pool
He was sleeptalking—Abbas had heard that feverish people sometimes hallucinate. So there was nothing to worry about. He wanted to go and take a look at the bundle of wood Abrau had gathered. He went outside and set the wood straight. The bundle seemed heavy to him. He became curious. He sat next to the bundle; it made him worried. He set his back against the bundle. He drew the rope over his shoulder and pulled it. The loop on the rope tightened against his chest. He tied the end of the rope back to the bundle. It was now set tightly against his back. He gathered strength and pulled. The bundle would not risefrom the ground. The load was heavy, but Abbas couldn’t accept this. He convinced himself it was due to the wetness of the wood. Again he pulled with all his might. The bundle rose, but before falling into place on his back, it fell back on the ground.
How did that half-pint kid carry this?
He decided that it was because Abrau’s legs were shorter than his, and so could fit beneath the bundle more gracefully, and only had a short distance to be lifted before fitting on Abrau’s back. Despite all of this, it was too much to accept that he couldn’t lift a bundle that Abrau had carried. He summoned the last of his will and strength, and with two pulls, lifted himself with the bundle on his back. The weight made his knees tremble, and his legs could not steady him. He involuntarily made a half-circle in place, but before becoming dizzy, he managed to stop. He stood straight in his place. A sensation deriving from arrogance made the weight easier to bear. If it had been otherwise, if he’d not been able to lift the bundle of wood, he would have been ashamed of himself. He wanted to set the bundle back down on the ground. But something prevented him. He shifted the bundle on his back, set out to the alley, and was lost in the night.
Abbas sensed the sound of Mergan’s way of walking. Then he could make out the outline of her body. Abbas’ sister, Hajer, was walking beside their mother. Abbas leaned the bundle against a wall and remained stooped over under the weight of the load.
“Where the hell have you two been?”
Mergan, who was swallowing a sensation of rage, instantly said, “At your daddy’s grave!”
She was about to pass by her son when she slowed her step and asked, “Are you coming or going?”
Abbas raised the bundle back off wall. He set out with his back to his mother, saying, “I’m heading to the bread seller.”
Mergan ground her teeth and continued on.
Mergan and Hajer were lost in the house, and Abbas in the darkness.
Abrau continued his moaning. “My bundle. My bundle. My wood. Bring it here. Right here. Next to me. They’re taking them.”
Mergan was drawn to her son. She paid no mind to what he was saying. Abrau’s moaning made clear that he was unwell. Fever. Mergan lightened what was piled above him. Abrau’s eyelashes and eyebrows were awash in sweat. She dried his forehead and his eyelids with the edge of her scarf and sat beside him and ran her fingers through his hair. His hair was dripping wet.
Hajer was left there standing. She was still considered too insignificant to be able to have a role in such matters, much more than to become saddened by her brother’s plight. Hajer stood, waiting for an order or instruction, for someone to want something, to demand something. She’d not yet found enough of her own place to be able to go, of her own volition, to take a jug to get water. She was able to carry the jug on her shoulders. But she only did so when her mother asked her to. The little girl, the baby of the house. All this made Hajer seem insignificant. Her small face continually shifted between doubt and anticipation. Between weakness and irresolution. In this face, there was not yet a sign of her as herself—it was like a pool
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