“Mama, do you think the wheat Abbas brought was all of the grain he earned?”
Mergan, who was still licking her fingers, said, “You’re such a pessimist, boy! Of course it was all he earned. You think that woman would be able to pay him more than that?”
Abrau didn’t say anything further. Mergan said, “Lay down a bit and take a nap. The hearth is so nice and warm!”
Abrau stuttered, “I don’t believe it! Even if Abbas were to say that yogurt’s white, I wouldn’t believe it!”
Mergan didn’t reply. She made herself busy undoing the knots in Hajer’s hair. Abrau slid farther beneath the blanket and stretched his feet. The warmth of the hearth banished the fatigue and cold, and despite Abrau’s restlessness, his body slowly surrendered to pleasure. His eyelids grew heavy and sleep beckoned. For this moment, the world was nothing but a comforting crib.
Abrau’s gentle snoring brought peace of mind to Mergan. She unconsciously stared at her son’s face. His eyelids and eyelashes had closed, and his face was calm. The canker sore at the corner of his mouth had nearly healed. His short hair was clinging to his forehead and framed his wide face. His expression was pure and calm like the surface of water. Mergan’s heart wanted to go and sneak a kiss on her son’s cheek. But something like an invisible barrier prohibited her. She was ashamed to show her affection for him; that was her nature. She simply couldn’t be open with her kindness; she didn’t know how. Perhaps, as with showing your love to a beloved, it simply needed the right opportunity to occur. Sometimes, if Mergan felt affectionate, a hostile weight erected a barrier, blocking her from acting on it. So expressing her affection had become the most alien impulse to her. In its place, she acted with roughness and hostility. She used her claws and teeth and anger. This became a habit, her way of reacting harshly to everything. She had been dispossessed — one could say plundered — of the ability to express kindness. And so only in her most calm moments could Mergan feel it once again, with tenderness. Then, it was as if a calm sea had handed her a pearl — the pearl of kindness.
Mergan was now at ease; her face was calm. Along with her daughter, she slid under the blanket, leaning on one elbow and playing with Hajer’s hair with her free hand. Hajer was lying relaxed and satisfied next to her mother, as if nothing bad had ever happened and would never happen. Her mother was beside her — what could ever disturb her? Mergan sang a lullaby in her ear, with a gentle voice. Soft and gentle, pleasant to both the ear and the heart.
“The times change. We have both day and night. There’s both lightness and dark. Heights and depths, times of plenty and need. Winter’s nearly over; it’s ending. Spring will soon arrive. And the air will be warmer. People will be generous, and we will work. Scarcity will be gone. We’ll set out to the fields and prairies. God’s fields will be all green. Milk and yogurt will be plentiful. Even if we don’t have any sheep. Others may have more, or less. We’ll have a bit of buttermilk to wet our bread. Your brothers will grow up. Day by day, growing, working. You’ll grow older, taller. Become beautiful, become a woman. Your breasts and body will fill in. You’ll become your own girl, when you breathe the air of spring. What don’t you have that other girls have? You’ll be good for the rest of your life. Thank God you’re healthy and strong. You’re not deaf or dumb or blind. If you find yourself just skin and bones, it’ll only be because of winter. But in the winter everyone suffers, and in the spring a bit of water flows beneath your skin. But there’s no hurry. There’s two years till you’re fourteen. In this time, I’ll feed you the bread from my own mouth. I won’t let hunger whiten your eyes. I won’t let you be hurt. I’ll endure hard times, but will raise you day to day. I won’t let you go hungry. I’ll protect you, raise you. And eventually someone will come to ask for your hand, and take you to his house, and spend his days with you. Not today, tomorrow. And let them dream of the day. My daughter’s like a bouquet of flowers. Her father’s traveling for work, like so many others do. A man is built to travel, all men do. All men suffer danger.”
Mergan was lying, and she was well aware of her lies. But why? How was it that she began telling these lies about Soluch? She didn’t know. Why had she been lying and saying there was word from their father? Perhaps she wanted her children to sense that he was supporting them, no matter how near or far he was. Because of this, she would think of new lies to weave before the children, and these lies spread to the ears of others all around.
“He’s sent me money. From Tehran!”
“I’ve heard he’s bought a cart, knock on wood!”
“He wants to come and take us as well. But who wants to go? He’s deluded himself to think I’ll be running after him — ha!”
After these lies, she would make a meatless stew, sprinkle some dry bran onto it, and let the smoke from the fire billow out into the alley.
“You know, my dear, why should I let my children go hungry? Now that their father’s sent money to me, I’m going to buy two seer of meat and store it for them. After all, a believer is supposed to eat meat at least every forty days or he’ll be considered an unbeliever! No, thank God I am generous with my children.”
But of everyone, at least Shamsollah the butcher knew that Mergan hadn’t bought meat from him for a very long time.
Let him know. This lie did no harm to him, or to anyone else. But at any price and in any case, Mergan didn’t want her husband to be considered lost. At least for now … come what may.
Hajer had fallen asleep. The house was filled with the sounds of sleep. Only Mergan was still awake and was looking at the door. She was quiet, and in the gaps of her children’s snoring, her silence seemed even more pronounced. She was looking outside. In the yard, snow had been piled up next to the short wall around the house. It seemed the weather was growing lighter. It seemed the clouds were lifting. The sun might even shine, soon. The snow becomes beautiful in the sunshine. And so Mergan’s expression also shone, staring at the snow, in anticipation of the sunshine. She wanted to go and find out how Mother Genav was doing. But she didn’t know why she was slow to do so. She felt lazy. The hearth was warm, the house was calm, and her daydreams were enchanting her. But as soon as she thought of Mother Genav’s health, and the path to Ali Genav’s house, she felt uneasy. Something was nipping at her calm state. She couldn’t hold out. She rose from under the blanket, put on her shoes, put her chador over her head, and was about to leave the house when Ali Genav’s broad shoulders filled the doorway. Ali Genav was knitting winter wear, as he always did as he went about his business. Wool socks, hats, scarves. He stood silently by the door and glanced at Mergan.
“I was about to go to your house. How is your mother?”
Ali Genav moved his thick and dark lips slowly, speaking with a sonorous and deep voice.
“It doesn’t look good. I don’t think she’ll make it. I want to send someone to Dah-Bidi to get a bonesetter.”
“You want someone for Raghiyeh?”
“Yeah, for Raghiyeh. My mother’s a lost cause. Raghiyeh, that foolish woman, finally ruined my life! She pestered me so much that I sent the poor old woman to live in that ruin, and in the end you see what’s happened. And I just lost my mind this morning … I beat her and destroyed her. I think she’s got three or four broken bones. Now they’re saying I need to send someone to find a bonesetter. Raghiyeh’s mother’s cousin was about to set out to go, but his mother stopped him. She says she doesn’t want her son leaving the village on a day like this. She wants someone to go with him. I thought of sending one of your sons with him — I’ll pay a good wage for it.”