Missing Soluch by Mahmoud Dowlatabadi Read Free Book Online Page A

stalk roots in the soil. So not only is the work of gathering the stalks not a detriment to the land, it actually benefits the landowner. So what could Salar Abdullah complain about?
    “Gather your things, you sons of bitches! Pick up your bundles and rags and get off this land!”
    Abrau looked at Abbas. Abbas was silent; his lips trembled softly.
    Salar continued, “And hand over the sickle you borrowed from my house this morning. I need it for something.”
    Abrau again looked at Abbas, who reached over and took Salar Abdullah’s sickle from Abrau’s hand and tucked it into his belt. Then he turned away from the man and went toward the pile of stalks he’d picked.
    Salar Abdullah glared at Abrau. “Didn’t I tell you to bring the sickle and give it to me? Are you deaf?”
    “He has it!”
    Salar looked at Abbas and said, “Hey … you, idiot! Bring the sickle and give it to me.”
    Abbas, who had just finished piling the stalks onto his bundle, said, “I didn’t borrow a sickle from you.”
    “Didn’t you just take it from Abrau?”
    “I borrowed it from Abrau, not from you. Call an apple an apple. Get it back from him!”
    “It’s tucked in your belt and you want me to get it from him?”
    “That’s not my problem!”
    “So you want me to straighten you out with a few swiftkicks, eh?”
    “Let’s see if you can!”
    “You think I’m worried about you? Your mama’s not here to throw her skirt over her head and raise a ruckus! You bastard son of a bitch, I’m telling you to hand over that sickle right now! Are you deaf?”
    Abbas had already tied up his bundle of stalks. Ignoring Salar Abdullah, he raised his half-full bundle to his back and said to Abrau, “Don’t you want to take all those stalks you spent so much time and effort digging up? Well, get on with it!”
    Abrau quickly devoted himself to gathering up his loose stalks. Salar Abdullah strode toward Abbas, saying, “I’m talking to you, idiot! Hand over the sickle! It’s mine!”
    Abbas started walking away with his back to Salar Abdullah, saying, “Get it from him. What’s it to me? I didn’t borrow it from you!”
    He spoke quietly, and walked quickly.
    The man set out after him, saying, “Don’t make me angrier than I already am today, you bastard’s child! Hand over the sickle and go back to whatever hell you’re from!”
    Abbas picked up his pace and threw a quick look over his shoulder. Salar Abdullah’s strides grew longer. Abbas sped up, just waiting for the right moment to begin running. Salar Abdullah bent over and picked up a stone. Abbas began running. Salar Abdullah began to run after him and threw the stone in his direction. The stone hit Abbas in the buttocks, but despite the pain he showed no reaction. He ran. Faster and faster. Abbas was light on his feet, while Salar Abdullah lumbered. Abbas outran him for a distance. Salar Abdullah stopped and let out a stream of insults. Abbas also stopped. They werenow far from each other. Each insult that Salar Abdullah shouted landed squarely on Abbas’ heart, so Abbas let his own tongue loose, eventually adding invectives involving the man’s wife and children as well. Hearing his wife being named, and by a nobody who wasn’t mature enough to have had a woman, made the insults a hundred times more denigrating for Salar Abdullah. Even in a passing joke it would be impossible for a young, inexperienced man to assume the right to speak of women to a man with a wife. And of course, that was quite apart from the other kinds of insults about his ancestors and so on.
    Salar Abdullah began running again. Only a beating could even the score now. But Abbas was still faster on his feet, and quicker. He ran farther away, with fear giving him an extra incentive to run even faster than before. Running from one field to another, leaping from one ditch to another. Hopeless, Salar Abdullah stopped once again. He stood for a moment and suddenly turned around. Abrau was just placing