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.
“Her son! Tell her son!”
“Where the hell is Ali Genav!?”
“He was clearing snow from the roof of the bathhouse!”
The women, one by one, began to curse Ali Genav’s bride. It was she who put her foot down at the beginning of the winter that his mother should live apart from them. Mergan arrives on the scene. Everyone waits for Ali Genav to arrive and help bring his mother out from under the rubble. Mergan rushes to the ruins, climbs onto the remains of the house, and grabs onto the remaining section of the roof. Mother Genav’s head had been at the edge of the wall, and for this reason she’s covered only up to her ribcage. Mergan conjures the courage to go into the area where the roof has half-collapsed, standing under the open sky. Then she turns and goes back toward the crowd. Two or three of the younger spectators swagger up, along with the wife of Kalati. They scrape away the snow and begin removing the dirt and rubble. Half of Mother Genav’s body has been battered and crushed, like ground meat. Her face is also bruised, the color of smoke. It’s not clear if she’s still alive. First, they have to remove her from the rubble; then, they wrap her in a blanket and bring her out. A handful of bystanders clear the snow from part of the alley. Mergan and Kalati’s wife, along with a few others, bring Mother Genav to the edge of the alley. Ali Genav finally arrives running, his jacket and the scarf under his hat snapping in the wind, his wife Raghiyeh just behind him. Ali Genav tosses the snow shovel to one side and falls beside his mother. He doesn’t cry; he screams. The men pull him aside and lift Mother Genav’s body. Ali Genav puts a hand on his face and lets it slide down. His eyes fall on his wife who is crying by the wall. He grabs the shovel — it is in his hands. He falls upon his wife, insults pouring from his mouth. He accuses her of driving his mother from his house. Raghiyeh doesn’t respond; instead, she tries to run. Ali Genav runs after her. Raghiyeh’s legs give out, and she slips on the snow. She falls on the snow on all fours, slides on her belly. Ali Genav reaches her. The shovel handle! He swings at her with the shovel handle. Raghiyeh is unconscious. She is senseless after the first blow. She stops breathing. Blood rushes into Ali Genav’s eyes. He has no awareness that the bag of skin and bones beneath him is breaking. He is deranged. The men rush to encircle him and grab the shovel from his hands, throwing it to one side.
“You fool! You’ll kill her, the poor woman!”
The women lift Raghiyeh from where she’s fallen in the snow. The snow is red with blood. The blood still pours from her head. Her shoulder and ankle are also broken. She can’t even cry. Two women, Mergan and Kalati’s wife, take the limp body to Ali Genav’s house. Ali sits on the snow and watches his wife with red eyes. What has happened? It’s as if he is only just realizing what has happened. He cries out all at once, hitting himself in the face and head, and breaks into sobs.
Ali Genav has broken down.
Abbas arrived on the scene; he had been busy gambling with Ali Genav. Often, Abbas and two or three others would start up a game at Ali’s hearth. Ali Genav was one of those people who love gambling. He had brought a set of cards to Zaminej shortly after Agha Sadegh, the shopkeeper. Now, sitting at the edge of the bloody snow, he looked as if he’d lost a round. His dark and broad face, his bruised and thick lips, were yellowing and defeated. His eyes were red, the color of blood. When he saw Abbas, he screamed, “I’m ruined, Abbas!”
Abbas grabbed him under the arms and lifted him from where he had fallen in the snow. Hajer was standing beside the wall. Abbas tossed the shovel beside his sister and said, “Did you light the fire? Go get one ready, as my hands and feet are freezing!”
Hajer took the shovel over her shoulder, and Abbas helped Ali Genav along to Ali’s home. Hajer had already set a fire in the hearth of the home, but the wet kindling still was difficult to light. So the house was again filled with smoke. She arrived first and leaned the shovel against the wall. She sat beside the hearth, leaned onto her hands, closed her eyes, and began blowing. Again, the wood would not catch and nothing but smoke came from the fireplace. Smoke. Smoke. But despite this, there was nothing she could do, she had to blow, because at least the smoke dried the wood a little. If just one spark caught, Hajer could take the tray and fan so much that the fire would spread to all the wood. But there was still not even a spark, so Hajer had to keep blowing. The smoke drew tears to Hajer’s eyes, and it set her nose running. Her lungs filled with smoke, but she still kept blowing. She knew her brothers well enough; if the fire wasn’t ready when they arrived, there was no knowing what might happen. But she understood why, as she could imagine what it would feel like to work for one or two hours in the snow with only tattered shoes and rags wrapped around their feet. Their feet would first sense the coldness, and then they’d begin to freeze. They’d become numb, and then throb with pain. And toes, like babies, can cry — her own toes were also crying right then. Fear — what was stronger in Hajer than anything else was her fear of everyone, and most of all, of her brothers. Not that her mother was less of a worry, far from it. If the fire wasn’t ready, Mergan was unlikely to be more merciful. At the very least, she’d give her a few slaps. So Hajer blew and blew. Either until the fire would catch, or until she collapsed trying.
Abrau threw himself into the house. He was shaking; his teeth were chattering. He tossed his shovel to one side and then sat down. He took off his shoes and unwrapped his feet and brought himself over to the hearth, saying, “It’s not lit yet?”
Hajer kept blowing. Abrau sank his feet into the kindling, but nothing worked. He took his feet out and knelt by his sister with his hands on the ground, blowing alongside her. Finally, in the center of the kindling, slowly a fire was catching. Brother and sister together blew at the spot that was catching. The fire was rising just as Mergan and Abbas arrived. Mergan came straight to the hearth and knelt beside the children. Abbas took his shoes off and joined them. The flames were spreading. There was nothing to say. Abbas knelt beside his mother and blew into the fire. Now all four were blowing without pause. The flame kept rising. The twigs and sticks had dried in the smoke and now were sacrificing themselves in the fire. The warmth of the flames began to spread, and mother and children began to sense it on their faces. The fire had caught, but still they continued blowing. The fire must catch well. A feeling of satisfaction spread; they had defeated the smoke. Once the fire was strong, they drew themselves back. They lifted their hands from the floor, wiped their noses and the edges of their eyes, and sat around the fire. Abrau had his feet up to the flames, so close that the edge of his trousers caught on fire. Mergan threw his legs to one side and smothered the flames. Abbas had a piece of wood in one hand and used it to stoke the fire whenever it weakened. Hajer set the kettle to the side of the hearth.
It was time to find out what Abbas and Abrau had brought home. Mergan wiped the tin tray with the edge of her shirt and set it before Abbas, who undid his belt. He opened his pockets — he had tightened his belt over the top of his pockets. He leaned over to his mother and said, “Empty them!”