The dawn was breaking. Hours had passed; many moments had given their lives. You could now see the camel’s neck more clearly against the mouth of the well, but only once you find it possible to move your head upon your neck. When you’ve escaped your paralysis and the spell upon you has broken and your eyes are no longer frozen on what is just in front of you. What you were staring at, captured by, even as dust has settled on your eyes and draws webs over all you can see. Your gaze has exceeded itself, broadened itself, grown distant. In your eyes the particles around you are not what they are. They have been transformed. Dirt is not dirt. The wall is not a wall. Day is not day. You are transfixed, lost in your gaze. The snakes … two dark snakes, two old snakes, perhaps two vipers can now be seen more clearly. Morning has probably broken.
The snakes were looking at Abbas. But Abbas no longer exists. He has become ashes. One of the snakes moves, slithering slowly. It unwinds its coil softly. It grows longer and longer. It faces Abbas. If only it were possible to say, “Put me out my misery!” If only it were possible to say this sincerely. But this is now impossible; the soul is frozen. The snake approaches, puts its head on Abbas’ knee, and slides over. It slithers softly and settles itself, coiling again and waiting. How long? Not for long, just as long as Abbas’ life is spent, then it will no doubt move on. It slithers over his naked belly, slides over his chest, and on his shoulder begins to circle around his neck, passing through his hair. Then heading to the wall, it softly departs from Abbas’ body and stops at the edge of the floor. Abbas no longer felt anything. He was blind, deaf, dumb, and numb. A corpse plunged into a cold sweat.
* * *
Hey … Hey … Abbas … Ahay!
Hoy … Hoy … Abbas … Hey!
Ahay … Aha … Abbas … Ahay!
The drunken cry of the camel sounded both near and far over the fields. The near and distant sounds of the field were caught in the camel’s cry. Sounds, not those sounds that are familiar, but those that are confused, incredible. The onset of sounds, cries, wails, prayers, shouts. The long shadows of hawks, vultures.
How much time has passed? How many suns?
The sounds came from another world. The world that they spoke of, the Day of Judgment. The so-called day of the fifty-thousandth year. The blistering hot day that they say will find mothers seeking their children and not finding them, brothers seeking brothers, children their mothers and fathers. The day of fifty thousand years! The day no one is no one to anyone. Where one hand will not recognize the other, nor one eye the other. Abbas is dead, and he is dragging his battered body across the hot desert sands of the Day of Judgment. Abbas is dead and hears the lamentations of his mother, brother, sister, and father from within his grave. But then Mergan pierces a crack into the grave; Mergan’s shouting and crying is heard. Mergan on the year of the fifty-thousandth year. The refugees of the hot desert, carrying the load of sins on their shoulders, beneath the hot sun. The sun of hell’s fire. The dead have raised themselves from their graves and are silent. The day of reckoning. Hands are shaking in all directions. Hands and shoulders uncovered. Uncovered bodies writhe against each other, their mouths, tongues, cries, all silent. Fear and terror. Bodies in shrouds. Thirst. Panting from thirst. Fire rains from the sky. Abbas is dragged from the grave. He’s uncovered, nude. The sun. The desert is panting. They encircle him; the camel is dead. Its body is bloated. The poison from the snake’s venom has bloated it. The Sardar is beating himself with his fists. The camel lies to the side of the well; its legs are stiff. Hajer is hiding herself behind Ali Genav. Abrau cannot bring himself to look at his brother. Ali Genav cannot remove his eyes from the shock. Mergan can’t believe it. No! This is not her Abbas! She comes forward. Abbas is at the edge of the well. He doesn’t move. He’s spellbound. Paralyzed. The sun shines. The hairs on Abbas’ head are all entirely white.
The boy’s sack falls from Mergan’s hand to the ground. Mergan comes closer. No! How can one believe it? An old man stands before her. She comes closer. Her eyes are like the outlines of two dry wells. In the depths of her eyes, two old vipers are coiled. They are lost. The sun of hell shines over the fields and into Mergan’s eyes. Her gaze is lost in the fields. She puts her hand upon Abbas’ hand. His hand is in his mother’s hand. Mergan begins to walk; everyone begins to walk. The Sardar remains with the body of his camel. They walk slowly. An old man is holding Mergan’s hand. They are silent. Silence, sun, the sun of hell fire rains on the fields. Where is water?
4
Karbalai Doshanbeh was used to sitting with his back to the wall. He would sit with his legs wide apart, the palms of his feet flat on the ground, and his elbows on his bony knees and he would finger his worry beads.
The cup of tea sitting before him had grown cold, and he was staring quietly into space. His silence was as heavy as a millstone. He was like a useless millstone leaning against a wall. Old and out of use, heavy and silent. He had plenty of reasons for making an appearance at Mergan’s house, such as to ask about Abbas’ health or to offer congratulations on Hajer’s upcoming marriage. But more effective than these was the excuse of Molla Aman’s presence in Zaminej village: this was Molla Aman, his old friend and the former herder of his camels. However, the actual motivation for his visit was doubtless the debt that Molla Aman owed to Karbalai Doshanbeh. It was time for Molla Aman to at least settle the interest that had accumulated on his loan so far. His host Mergan could choose to accept any of the possible excuses for Karbalai Doshanbeh’s visit. The generous interpretation of his visit was the idea that he had come to see his old friend and companion Molla Aman, and was enjoying a cup of tea celebrating the marriage of this old friend’s niece. The more jaundiced interpretation was the notion that Karabalai Doshanbeh suspected Molla Aman of trying to cheat him out of his dues and that he had shown up right then and there to begin such a row that the good news of the wedding would be quickly forgotten by all in the village. Mergan knew that both of these possibilities simply meant that he had at his disposal the ability to present different excuses, giving him the right to show up uninvited to her house in the morning over the next day or two: he could slide in and sit in a corner quietly, drinking tea, and, if possible, eating the bread and stew offered him, occasionally tossing out a suggestion or comment invariably tinged, as they always were, with sarcasm or a veiled insult. This was his nature and in fact the story of his life, and the residents of Zaminej had come to just recognize it as the way he was.
Since Molla Aman was in a tight spot, he had no choice but to act obsequious and deferential to Karbalai Doshanbeh. He had to let pass most of the more insulting insinuations and had to find a way of coming to terms with his old friend. At heart, he simply wanted to find a way to bear the next two days, since he didn’t have much keeping him in Zaminej. He was only there to give Hajer’s hand to Ali Genav before taking his donkey’s tether and heading back out on his way. As for Abbas, it was clear that there was nothing to be done for him.
Abbas sat in a dark corner, quietly staring at the floor, as if in shock. No one bothered him, and he interacted with no one. He was silent and sullen, with lips shut and eyes open. Eyes that had not yet seen sleep. Yet no remedies were offered him, no prayers said for him.
“Just wait a few days. A few days have to pass first.”
This had been Karbalai Doshanbeh’s suggestion. Ali Genav had nodded his head to this. Molla Aman had to respond in turn, and said, “What’s done is done. Now things just have to return to normal. Ah … life is full of these twists and turns!”