The alley was still dark. However, the snow’s light was beginning to break through the darkness. The snow was now covered by a sheet of ice. It had become dry and impermeable. The coldness was spreading, that cold that follows every snow. As the saying goes, “Worry not for the day of snow; worry for the day after!” But Abrau was relieved that on the day after the snow, meaning on this day, he had no major chores to see to. He had already made his contribution with his work on the day before. Even on the short distance he had to go, the coldness burned him. His eyelids couldn’t fight the harsh dawn wind, which rose off of the snow and cut through him. His hollow eyelids, which were pockmarked from childhood chicken pox, flickered open and shut. They couldn’t stop blinking. His nose began to run. His face, bitten by the cold, began to look withdrawn and bruised. Abrau felt frostbite beginning to numb his chin and forehead while tears gathered at the edges of his eyes. He hid half of his face in the collar of his overcoat as he passed before the door of the mosque. The door was half open. Abrau peeked inside. A casket covered by an embroidered sheet was set onto the winter cover of the pool in the courtyard, which was frozen stuck. One of the stray bitches from Zaminej’s wild packs had decamped beside the casket. Abrau guessed that Mother Genav was still lying inside the casket, since people aren’t buried at nighttime. So, there was no time to waste. He continued on his way, entering the alley leading to the town’s public pool. The pool was a solid square of ice. All around the pool, piles of snow were heaped on top of each other. The bath’s boiler room was just a ways farther on, at the edge of one wall of the town baths, next to the drain to the pool. Abrau circled the pool and headed step by step down an embankment along a narrow path. The path twisted and turned like a snake’s tail, leading to the low and broken doorway into the boiler room.
Abrau opened the door. Ali Genav was sitting on a slab of rock beside the water heater stoking the heart of the fire with a metal poker, occasionally tossing a handful or two of kindling into the fireplace. He has sensed Abrau’s entrance, but Ali Genav was calmer and more deliberate than to be drawn out of his own thoughts by a sudden movement in his surroundings. So, he remained focused on his work, as if no one else were there. Abrau shut the door behind himself, approached Ali Genav, and sat quietly in the comfortable warmth of the fire. How the warmth entered his heart! Without looking at him, Ali Genav handed the poker to Abrau and extracted a crumpled packet of cigarettes from the pocket of his shirt. He took a cigarette out with his mouth, holding onto the end of it with his teeth. Then he took a burning branch from the fire, lit up, and exhaled a cloud of smoke from his nostrils. With a voice full of self-pity, he said, “I’ve not slept a wink since last night! The moaning and groaning of this damn woman stopped me from even shutting my eyes, damn her and her father and ancestors! She was swearing and moaning until the break of dawn. It’s as if she thinks she’s owed something. Infernal woman! She makes the world a salt-desert, bringing nothing good to it. If she’d die, I’d be free of her. Why should someone waste his wheat and bread on a woman who has nothing to offer and who brings no blessings! A female donkey would at least bear offspring once in a while, but this bitch won’t even bear a thistle bush so that one can at least feel the satisfaction of having left something behind! May her father rot in hell. What is supposed to give me hope in life? When I die, what will carry my name, except for a slab of stone?! When I die, it’ll be as if I never lived. So like some fool I came and went. So what? So I beat her once the first time she was pregnant and she lost the kid! Now what am I supposed to do with her? I lost my head and I beat her. Now what? She complained so much and harassed my father and mother so much that I couldn’t have a say in the house. And then this happened to my poor mother. I swear on this fire before me, she was the cause of all these problems. Otherwise, I would never have thrown my own mother out of my house to go and live in a ruins and to meet this kind of an end. Didn’t I suckle from my mother’s breast? How will she ever forgive me for what I’ve done? How? After all, she’s gone now!”
Abrau had come to raise the issue of his pay for his previous day’s work. His worries now came from the fact that, after having awoken at dawn to come down to the water-boiler room, Ali Genav was clearly so self-involved that Abrau didn’t have the heart to ask him for anything, much less for his money.
“And now my donkey has come down sick, too! The hairs on his body are all on end, and the poor thing is shaking like a leaf. What did you do to him yesterday?”
“A donkey that’s put to work doesn’t become sick, does it?! You must have let it get cold last night!”
Ali Genav replied, “No! He must have been sweating, and you must have had him stand somewhere for a while in the wind, and he caught a cold.”
Abrau took a handful of kindling and pushed it into the fireplace with the poker. “We went straight there and came right back. And I’ve ended up sicker than your donkey!”
Ali Genav smoked the last bit of his cigarette and sighed, “I don’t know what to do with this woman! She’s become the greatest burden of my life.”
Abrau carefully said, “Ali …”
Ali Genav looked at him. The pupils of his eyes shone in the light from the fire.
Abrau asked, “Do men who leave ever return?”
Ali Genav stared at the smoke rising from the fire, took the poker from Abrau, and said, “What do you know about the ways of the world? He might eventually come back. Some do. Your father could return one day.”
Abrau said, “And do they all leave in this way?”
Ali said, “No, each one leaves in his own way.”
Abrau said, “I just wish I knew where he’d gone. Why didn’t he tell us where he was going?”
Ali said, “Do you think he knew where he was going himself? Some have left and have never been heard from again; while others send word after some ten or fifteen years. Morad Nim Mani left and we didn’t hear from him for eighteen years, when we found out that he was in Bejnurd working as a prayer scribe. But once Muhammad Balachai left, it was as if he’d never existed! And we heard the news of the death of another fellow just recently — his children went up toward Sangsar to take his sheep, and they ended up staying out there. And then there’s Ghuli, the father of our own Safdar … He left like a real bastard. He had three camels and worked as a porter on the road to Ghuchan. Out there, he did business among the Kurds, and the women there attracted his attention. Some say he’d fallen in love. He used to play the dohul drum and he was a good dancer. Anytime the Kurds had a wedding, he’d show up. Eventually, he sold his camels and wasted away what little he had. Then one day he came back to Zaminej with his hands empty, begging. I remember it well. I had just shaved for the first time and I was going with some others to play kolah qidj when I saw that Ghuli Khan had shown up. His camel’s saddle was on his back. Those days, if you were a camel owner, you could marry well. He had a fiancée here, Safdar’s mother, who was then still really just a girl. He went to his fiancée’s home and was acting the role of the husband-to-be. That night, he had his way with her. He planted the seed of our own Safdar that very night. Then next day, he sold the inheritance he had from his father — a copper cup and saucer set and some bits — to Karbalai Doshanbeh, the father of Salar Abdullah. He bought some rice with the money and made a rice dish and ate it with his fiancée. The next morning he left and no one would ever see him again. No one knows what hell he’s gone to! Some say he’s gone back to those same parts, around Darreh Gaz, that is, where the Kurds are. Some say Safdar knows about this. But any time talk of his father comes up, Safdar shakes his head and says, ‘He can go to hell!’ One time, I jokingly said to him, ‘Go find your father; they say he’s been seen up by Darreh Gaz.’ He replied, ‘I hope he goes even farther away, to Kalleh Khavajeh or farther!’ And you’ve heard the story about my own uncle, no?”