Then he looked at Hamdullah and said, “I paid up quietly because of you lot! It wasn’t that I was too weak to take him on. I could take on a hundred like him. But I’m worried about the reputations of you two here!”
Morad tossed the pieces in the kitty and said, “Sit down!”
Ghodrat also sat and said, “Yes, sit down. It’s all done and over now! Each of us will pay one qeran to Abbas. Let’s shut him up and get on with it!”
Hamdullah tossed a coin next to Abbas, but Jalil hesitated, shifting on his feet and looking around himself. Morad shouted at him, “Get moving, then! It’s not like you have to give up an eyeball! You can’t believe he had to pay to get rid of that screaming fool? We’re not the ones that are afraid of anything. It’s the two of you that are afraid of your daddies. So pay up! Pay it, one qeran! And here’s my one qeran!”
Jalil said, “I’m not playing!”
“You’re not going to play?”
“No!”
The veins on Morad’s neck were beginning to show themselves and spittle was collecting at the edge of his mouth. He leapt up and grabbed the collar of Jalil’s shirt, shouting, “You think anyone can just dance in here like you and then take your winnings out of the circle without playing on? C’mon! You cheat!”
Jalil was struggling simply not to run away. First of all, because he didn’t want a scene, and more important, because he was terrified of Morad. It was clear to him that if it ended up in a fight, he’d not only get a beating from Morad and the other two, but that he’d end up with his pockets cleaned out at the end of it. So he decided to compromise. His problem was that he knew that Morad didn’t need to work in Zaminej for his living. Morad always left the village shortly after the beginning of spring, coming back to stay at home through the winter. So he was under the thumb of neither the Kadkhoda nor of Salar Abdullah. He could make his own bread from the heart of a stone, if he needed to.
Salar Abdullah’s son grabbed Morad’s fists in his hands and softly said, “Let go of my collar!”
Morad shook him and said, “So what’s your decision? Are you going to take your winnings, or will you keep on playing?”
Jalil still couldn’t decide. He just wanted to find a way to get out.
Morad shook him one more time and said, “So what’ll it be? Eh? I’m leaving soon anyway. Don’t do something that will make me have to give you a beating. Will you stay and play, or do you want to suck up the money?”
Jalil sat down. Morad also sat, and told Abbas, “Toss the pieces!”
Abbas said, “Whoever’s won has to pay up to the house first, and then I’ll begin!”
Ghodrat pointed to Hamdullah and Jalil, saying, “They’re the winners so far. Pay the house.”
Hamdullah and Jalil looked at one another. Hamdullah tossed one qeran over to Abbas, who then looked at Jalil, saying, “One qeran for the house charge, and there’s the other one you owe from before. That’s two all together. Pay up!”
Jalil took out two one-qeran coins and placed them before Abbas despondently. Abbas took the coins and tossed the bajal pieces into the circle. Morad collected the pieces before himself. Abbas said to him, “You set what everyone should pay the house, just so there’s no cheating later on.”
Morad said, “When the game goes two rounds, the dealer pays the house one qeran.”
Abbas wanted to bargain. “Why two rounds? Most places it’s one round.”
Morad said, “Okay, we’ll base it on the winnings then. And don’t be such a greedy host. For every twenty qerans won, the house gets one qeran. Okay! Ante up!”
Jalil was sitting to the right of Morad. He took out a ten-shahi piece from his pile of coins and tossed it into the circle.
“I’ve anted in!”
“So far, has anyone been anteing small change, like a ten-shahi, for you to start with that?”
“Here’s another ten shahis on top of it!”
“Cheapskate! You have to bid at least five qerans!”
Jalil took another one-qeran coin and added it to the others.
“That’s all!”
“It’s not enough.”
“That’s it. That’s my ante.”
“Very nice …! Three horses! Pay up six qeran! Ghodrat, you’re next?”
Ghodrat held his fist beside the circle. Morad warmed the pieces in his hand and said, “Ante up!”
Ghodrat spoke like an old hand.
“I’m in!”
Morad threw up the pieces and Ghodrat put his fist beneath them, ruining the round. Morad gathered the pieces, saying, “I’m doing well for myself, so you cheat! If you’re afraid, then ante up less!”
Ghodrat said, “Just toss them. I’m putting in an extra two qerans now!”
Morad tossed the pieces up.
“It’s so dark in here!”
It was Ali Genav. He swung the door open and entered the stable.
“Close the door!”
“Close it!”
“Shut the door!”
Ali Genav blinked, then shut the door. The game had picked up again. Ali Genav slowly pulled himself to the wall and stood watching over the game. Morad was still dealing, and he was dealing winning sets to himself, one after another. Jalil was upset. He had begun to lose. His fist was getting more and more empty. From time to time, he wiped his nose with his sleeve, and he kept his eyes on the pieces as they were thrown and as they fell. The coins, ranging from the small ten shahi to the valuable five qerani, were circulating around the gambling circle, going from hand to hand. Their palms were sweating. Eventually all the boys, including Jalil, had arranged all their coins in neat piles beside themselves. Each had constructed a little tower of coins — from large to small in value — in front of himself. The boys were caught up in the game. The game was moving along quickly; time passed without their noticing. Now, no one was anteing small change, like ten-shahis or one-qeran coins. Even Jalil wasn’t anteing less than two qerans against the others. The pieces would go up in the air and fall on the ground and eight or nine qerans would change hands. Everyone was focused on playing the game. Their lips were dry, their eyes staring, their bodies tense. Even Ali Genav, the most accomplished gambler there, had stopped the knitting he had brought with himself and was fixated on the game. No one made a sound.
“Where is that son of a bitch?”
Kadkhoda Norouz’s angry voice echoed in the yard, followed by the sound of his feet stomping across the snow.
“Eh? Where is your pathetic excuse for a brother, girl?”
The game stopped. Abbas knew the Kadkhoda was looking for him. He froze in his place. Everyone froze. Only Ali Genav was able to do something; he picked up his knitting and busied himself with it. He somehow also managed to reposition himself back on the edge of the trough, to make it seem as if he had nothing to do with the disgrace going on in the center of the stable. Nonetheless, Ali Genav immediately wished he’d never come.
The door of the stable flew open with a body blow by the Kadkhoda. He filled the doorway with his worn camel-hair cloak, a scarf on his head, and leather boots on his feet. He glared at the boys. Abbas, like a sparrow in the sights of a hawk, braced himself with his back still to the door. Others, standing or half-standing, froze in their places and lowered their heads. The money was still on the ground, left in individual piles. The bajal pieces were scattered on the dirt where they’d fallen: a horse and three others. Everyone was frozen in place. In the dim light of the dusk, the Kadkhoda quickly recognized Abbas. He strode toward him and laid a boot kick into his back.