Jalil picked up the new piece and said, “I thought Ali Genav was going to bring his deck of cards over. So where are they?”
Abbas was just about out the door as he said, “I was just about to go and see where the hell he’s hiding his dark head!”
Abbas didn’t wait to hear anything more. He closed the door behind himself and entered the yard. He stuck his head into the room, but Mergan wasn’t there. Hajer was alone, asleep and snoring. He turned and entered the alley, finding himself face-to-face with Hajj Salem and Moslem. He was surprised for a moment, but gathered his bearings, saying hello and moving on. It wasn’t far to Ali Genav’s house; it was at the end of the dead-end. One of the doors was always open. Abbas entered; the house was always open to visitors. Ali Genav was sitting by the clay oven, in the sun, mending his camel-hair shawl. He seemed oblivious to the fact that both his mother and wife were in bed, crying in pain. Perhaps he thought to himself that he couldn’t do much for them other than what he had done already — to send Abrau to find the bonesetter. What else could he do? Beat himself? Cry out loud? No, Ali Genav was more thick-skinned than that. He was also cool-headed when playing cards. Although he was one of the most experienced card players in Zaminej, he had not once had a scuffle with another player. He was always cool and calm. And he rarely lost. When he did lose, all that he did was furrow his brow in anger, but he would stay as calm as he was before.
Abbas’ shadow fell on Ali Genav’s hands, and while he continued his sewing he looked up.
“Eh? Can I help you? You must be here for the cards, no?”
Abbas said, “No! How are they?”
“Fine!”
So as to follow up with what he had said, Abbas walked to the door and peeked inside the house. The two women, Raghiyeh and Mother Genav, were on two sides of the room, and Mergan was sitting between them. Abbas returned. Ali Genav was still busy with his sewing.
“So? What do you want? Get to the point!”
Abbas said, “I think Hamdullah and Jalil have full pockets today! But they really want to play cards.”
Ali Genav replied, “That one boy’s in love with cards. But I won’t lend them to anyone.”
Abbas said, “What I mean is that you should come yourself. It looks like a good group to play with.”
Ali Genav said, “If I come, I’ll bring my cards with me!”
Abbas walked back toward the door to the alley. Before reaching it, he slowed down and turned around. He wanted to say something, but couldn’t bring himself to. Abbas knew Ali Genav’s temperament. It would be counterproductive to push him any more than he already had. So he turned again and left. But as soon as he reached the stable, his eyes opened wide with amazement. He couldn’t believe that Hajj Salem and Moslem were inside the stable. Where did they come from? He hoped that Hajj Salem hadn’t come to teach a lesson to his nephew, Hamdullah! If he caused a commotion, what would Abbas do? He couldn’t think of a way around it. He said hello, and slid down beside one of the walls. Hajj Salem and Moslem were both sitting quietly. The former was sitting on the edge of the trough, with his cane leaning against the center of his chest. His son was sitting beside Hamdullah in the circle and was watching the game over the shoulders of Hamdullah and Morad. The game had heated up. Hamdullah was dealing; he would cast the pieces and then tell his Uncle Moslem to move his head to the side.
“I told you to move your muzzle to the side, you!”
Moslem followed Hamdullah’s every movement with his entire body, and at that moment had reached his head and neck over the gambling circle.
“Three donkeys!”
The pieces moved on from his hands; in the last hand, he lost fifteen qerans from his total winnings. Hamdullah shoved Moslem’s chest with his forearm, bellowing, “I told you a hundred times, sit back, you cow! You shook my hand so much I ended up with three donkeys!”
Moslem pulled himself back and collected himself before saying, “Be generous! A little gift! A gift!”
Hamdullah was collecting the coins from before his feet, and replied, “Go on. Forget it! God’ll give you gifts some other place! You idiot, you really think you’re going to get something here?”
Moslem didn’t listen to this and kept staring at the clenched fist of his nephew’s hand. Hamdullah said to Abbas, “Why don’t you throw him out?! What are we paying you to host us here for?”
Abbas spoke up, grabbing Moslem’s thick wrist between his hands and shouting, “Okay! Get up! I’m not a fool to want to split the host’s take, giving a payout to the likes of you. Get up. Open up this space, you!”
It was impossible to move Moslem from his place. He was like a block of stone. He didn’t listen, and he wasn’t easily moved. He kept staring firmly at his nephew’s fist until Abbas was somehow able to pull him into a prone position on the floor of the stable. But that didn’t end the problem; Moslem simply started bellowing loudly, sounding unlike any other living thing. If his familiar and unsettling cry was raised for too long, it was likely that all the neighbors would make their way to Soluch’s stable to see what was happening, and then Abbas’ work would be ruined. There was nothing he could do. He had to find a way to get Moslem out of there. So he began pulling at him with all his strength. Abbas and Moslem were slowly starting to scuffle, while Hajj Salem stayed where he was at the edge of the trough. The old man was like a cleric sitting inside a religious academy. With his long cloak, his scarf and cane, his thick beard.
“I’m not playing any more!”
This was Hamdullah who was pulling himself out of the circle.
Ghodrat replied sharply, “What? You’re out? That’s what kind of man you are? You win a round and then say you’re not playing? That’s incredible!”
Morad realized the game was about to fall apart at a time when he was down twenty-five qerans himself. It wouldn’t do. The money couldn’t leave their circle. He had to do something. He rose. The cause of the problem, Moslem, had to be removed. He gestured to Ghodrat to help him. Hamdullah opened the door of the stable, and Abbas, now assisted by Ghodrat and Morad, dragged Moslem out and threw him out into the snow. They ran back to the stable, closed the door, and threw their bodies against it. Hajj Salem had just risen from his seat and was passing his cane from hand to hand. Moslem reached the other side of the door and began beating on it, crying as he shouted, “Papa … Papa … Come here, Papa …! Come here! I’m scared. Come! I … want Papa. My Papa …”
Hajj Salem gestured at the door with his cane,
“He’s crazy! What can be done?”
Abbas said, “Tell him to calm down, Hajji Sir! If he keeps up, the neighbors will come running!”
A smile lit up in the midst of Hajj Salem’s bushy beard, and his eyes shone.
“A sensible person would say that’s it’s worth five qerans in order to not have a scene here, no?”
He had stretched one palm out before even finishing his sentence. Abbas handed him five qerans and said to the group, “You all see! I’m paying five qerans for all of you! It’s coming out of the general winnings. I don’t want any arguments about it later!”
Hajj Salem took the money in his hand and hid it in his fingers, shaking his head.
Abbas said, “Well, tell him calm down, then!”
Hajj Salem tapped his cane against the door and said, “Calm! You dog! Calm down!”
Moslem calmed down. The boys were able to leave the door and opened it for Hajj Salem, who stepped out. A few moments later the scraping of the steps of the old man and his son could be heard as they walked past the snow piled by the wall. Abbas spit thickly at a spot against the wall of the stable and said, “The blood-sucking leeches!”