Ali Genav took his donkey out of the caravanserai stables, placed the bridle on him, and took the tether in hand. He paid for the stable, and left. Hajer and Mergan followed behind the donkey. Outside the town gates, Ali Genav stopped and again knelt for Hajer. Mergan grabbed her under her arms and she got onto the donkey. Ali Genav held onto the tether for a while, but after some distance, he tossed the tether on the donkey’s neck, pushed the tethering nail into the saddle, and walked alongside Hajer’s leg.
Mergan followed them and was lost in thought. Once, she sat down on the side of the path to adjust her shoes. Ali Genav had bought her new shoes, which she hadn’t yet broken in. Her feet were sweating in them. Once they reached the outskirts of Zaminej, Mergan walked about a hundred paces ahead of them. She was far enough ahead that Ali Genav was able to pinch Hajer’s leg two times. Hajer tolerated the pain of his pinches and acted as if nothing had happened. She was afraid to speak to Ali Genav. As they went, it was probable that he had spoken to her along the way, but she didn’t remember anything. She remembered much better the road itself, between Zaminej and the town. Morad’s shadow seemed to follow them everywhere. When they reached the gates of the village, he had passed by them, carrying a bag on his back, without so much as looking at Hajer. It was not that she was secretly in love with him. No. But now that things had ended up in this way, she thought about Morad often. He had become a kind of pillar of support in her imagination, a kind of refuge. But she was too young to actually have fallen in love with a young man like him. But she didn’t understand why it was that she kept thinking about the grimy back of his neck, his torn collar, and his sweat-covered shoulders?
And could it be that by now he was riding away in some automobile and was gone, truly gone?
Mergan tied the silk headscarf over Hajer’s brushed hair, and then artfully arranged her bangs over her forehead. She then took the girl from in front of the mirror and set her beside the trunk. She took out the cotton shirt Ali Genav had bought and put it on Hajer. Then she took out a pair of black trousers and gave them to her daughter, who took them to the pantry and returned a moment later wearing them. Mergan knelt and straightened out the waistband, pulling them up. But the legs were still too long, so she rolled up the bottoms. She thought to herself that now the pants looked good. She brought out the shoes. Hajer was afraid to put them on, but she had no choice. Mergan placed her daughter’s feet into the shoes, and she told her to walk around. Hajer walked with her face contorted; it was difficult for her to take steps with them. With the shoes on, she felt as if she had hooves, and it was difficult to keep her balance. It was as if her feet had been carved out of wood. She walked stiffly, jerking her feet as she went, in small, broken steps. With every step, she would bend at her knees. But she had to try. Mergan grabbed her elbow and began walking her around the room.
“Don’t be scared. Take a step. And another. Yes, another. Now just keep yourself up like that. You’re not a cripple, my dear. You can do it!”
Hajer walked in circles around the room. Then she suddenly sat down. Rather, she threw herself down and began to cry.
“My feet! My feet hurt! Why do I have to wear shoes at all! I don’t want to … I don’t!”
Before replying to her daughter, Mergan ran and quickly shut the door. She couldn’t let the sound of Hajer crying be heard outside. She then came and sat with her knees against her daughter’s, put the girl’s head against her chest, and calmed her. Hajer slowly stopped crying. She knew what her mother wanted. Mergan took her daughter’s head from her chest and carefully wiped the tears from her eyes before they could spoil the rouge on her cheeks. But it was difficult to see Hajer’s face, as the house was dark. Abbas’ white head, set on his bony shoulders, was all that could be seen, quiet and motionless.
Mergan suddenly rose, ran to the door, and opened it. Molla Aman was standing in the doorway. Calmly and clearly he spoke, “Why is the door closed?”
“I was dressing Hajer.”
“It’s night already. You’re not ready yet?”
“We’re nearly done.”
Mergan ran to Hajer, took her hand, and pulled her toward the light from the open door. She took another look at her face. Oh no! Her tears had made streaks in the rouge and powder that Mergan had applied to her face. Mergan carefully and calmly wiped under Hajer’s eyes with the edge of her scarf. Hajer’s tears were about to drip from her eyelashes.
Molla Aman said, “Why don’t you bring in a lamp for this house?”
“Honestly, I just forgot.”
Mergan went and brought out the lantern. A gray light filled the room. But now things could be seen a little better. Molla Aman sat leaning against the wall and looked over at Abbas, who was sitting quietly, not moving at all. Molla Aman wanted to speak to him, but couldn’t. What could he say? He rose from where he was and went to pour some feed in his donkey’s trough.
Mergan was done. She felt as if she should sit for a bit, but didn’t feel as if she could stay in one place. Instead, she kept circling around herself, coming and going, for no particular reason. She went to the pantry, then into the yard, then up to the alley and back to the house again. Then she thought she would put a bit of incense in the fire, and the smoke from the incense filled the room. Molla Aman shook the bits of hay off his sleeves, then stepped in the room, intoning a prayer. Hajer remained sitting against the wall. Molla Aman sat to one side and lit a cigarette.
Where are they? Why haven’t they arrived yet?
This was what his eyes seemed to be saying. He finished his cigarette, put it out under his heel, and then left the house. Night had begun to spread. Molla Aman stood for a while by the alley, then came back. He was anxious. He stood by the door and said, “What do you say we go over to the groom’s house to see what is going on?”
Mergan said, “That’s just not done. How would it look? They have to come to seek the hand of their new bride and take her, not the other way around.”
“I’m just worried that woman … Maybe she’s pulled some sort of trick?”
“No! Wait a second. What’s that sound? Ah … I hear something …”