The Wolf by Amin Faqiri translated by Iraj Bashiri © copyright 1987, 2002

Hossein Qoli said good-bye to his wife. Rain was falling, the kind of light and reviving spring rain that gives the grass a fresh and dewy look. The petals of the wild roses, scattered by the rain, brushed the surface of the roaring river and were gone. A gusty wind, bending the poplar trees challenged even the tents to hold their ground. The scene of Hossein Qoli's departure was lively in the true sense of the word.

The raindrops on his face, like tears of happiness, seemed to Hossein Qoli erase his heart. For the past two days the flock had been grazing on Ali Jan's plot. "Ali Jan's land" Hossein Qoli thought, "must be fertilized quite well." For two years, however, even though in very bad need of repair, his own land had been neglected. Indeed the landlord had scheduled his flock to fertilize every other villager's plot for two days but had systematically excluded Hossein Qoli's land. The landlord's flock was large. Hossein Qoli had been denied its favor because he did not like the landlord and because they did not see eye to eye. Furthermore, at harvest, instead of a third of the yield, the landlord had given Hossein Qoli only a fifth. Hossein Qoli had complained; but his complaint had opened a can of worms. None of Hossein Qoli's fellow villagers had supported him. Even his relatives had sold out to the landlord, for which Hossein Qoli spurned them. The lot of them were cowardly and yellow, he thought.

This is how the enmity between Hossein Qoli and the landlord had begun. Initially, the villagers had urged the resident Agri-Corps deputy to write up a report against the landlord. But soon after, when governmental officials had arrived to investigate the matter, the villagers had denied having had anything to do with either the report or the complaint. They had openly denied having any complaints. Only Hossein Qoli had owned up. The landlord, a relative of the provincial education director, had urged the director to pull some strings and transfer the Agri-Corps deputy to another region. This he did, and the dismal episode had made Hossein Qoli's heart as heavy as the sky with the difference that the sky could cry.

His wife had become tired of pleading with the landlord. And even though she had not had the heart to say no to Hossein Qoli's request that she intervene, she had said, "I don't understand what is wrong with you that the landlord should not allow his flocks to graze on your land!"

Hossein Qoli had answered, "I haven't asked him myself. But I know if I did, he would say no just to shame me. After all, he considers me an enemy. The Agri-Corps deputy was such a nice man. I hope wherever he is, his bread is warm and his water cool. He was a true man. Our villagers weren't."

She had said, "The landlord owns all the land around here. So what difference could it make for him?"

"You are right," Hossein Qoli had said. "All the land belongs to him. But is he in need? He can leave a corner of his property fallow. In fact, if it were not for Land Reform, he would have thrown me out of this place a long time ago."

The woman had insisted that he should do something about his land. Their previous year's wheat supply had lasted only half the year, leaving them considerably in debt.

Hossein Qoli knew that he had to hold to the land. "The land is like a man's mother. He has to take care of it," Hossein Qoli thought. And so Hossein Qoli walked to the landlord's village and pleaded with him. On the other hand, the landlord, since Hossein Qoli's complaint to the authorities, had been looking for ways by which to push Hossein Qoli off his land. Since the incident they had lived in spite of each other. Hossein Qoli's hands were especially tied because his wife, Kefayat, was pregnant. He had to obey the decrees of the landlord, which hurt his pride. But hunger, too, affects a man's pride. Besides, he well knew that his efforts on the land would benefit only himself. His land would yield more.

The rain had penetrated his thick hair. In this cloudy weather he felt as though he were walking on air. He carried a club made of good bitter almond stock. He felt like a carefree bird. But while physically he felt light, his heart was heavy. Vague feelings about the past nagged at him. He circled the hills, proceeding in the direction of the landlord's village. Finally, it appeared. These villagers knew Hossein Qoli well and respected him. Was it because he was the only man to have stood his ground before the landlord?

A gusty wind scattered the clouds, allowing the sun to burn the tips of the poplar trees. Hossein Qoli knocked on the landlord's door. The two men's eyes met and, for a moment, they both felt uneasy. While surprised by Hossein Qoli's visit surprised the landlord, Hossein Qoli was remorseful to have come. The landlord reclined against a well-stuffed pillow. His driver prepared an opium pipe for him from a couple of saucers full of opium resting in front of them. The driver, too, was an opium addict. At about forty, he drew a salary of seven tumans a day. Two or three times, due to quarrels with the landlord, he had quit. For a while he had driven a taxi in Kerman, but not being a skilled driver, had been in an accident. Joblessness and his habit had returned him to the landlord's service. The landlord was nice to him; they were buddies.

Hossein Qoli said hello and sat at the threshold. The landlord could not take his eyes off him. As he spoke, smoke spewed from among a row of decayed, black teeth, the landlord said, "Hello, son. What brings you to this neck of the woods? Tell me about the village!"

"I'm fine," Hossein Qoli said. "The farmers send their greetings."

"Tell me, son. Did they sow the fields on the tail end?"

"No, sir," said Hossein Qoli. "They sowed only four acres. The land is too high; water has a hard time accumulating."

"Son, I myself must be there. They will never behave as a human being would!"

He then began to smoke the opium pipe. The red pieces of charcoal glowed in the pot of fire. Hossein Qoli felt dizzy. Smoke filled the room. A soft sifting of ash littered the beautiful design of the Kerman rug. Hossein Qoli looked outside. Most of the clouds had disappeared. He worried that soon it would be late for getting back to his village. Yet he did not know how to broach the subject. He felt he did not belong in this room.

"Sir," he said. "I came to tell you that the land needs attention. If you permi..."

"...permit my flock to graze on your land?" interrupted the landlord. "No, son, I won't. Remember, God is the provider, not the landlord. Go ask God to send a flock to graze on your land! Have you forgotten how you peddled that philosophy? Don't you remember how the Education Corps had become your everything. Wasn't that all at the expense of my credibility and honor? But where did all that get you? I gave each of your fellow villagers an acre of land. What did you get? Nothing!"

Hossein Qoli was speechless. He knew that the landlord was lying; he had not given anyone any land or even decreased their suffering. To avoid argument--he did not wish the landlord to have him bastinadoed--and instead of protest, he riveted his eyes on the floral pattern of the carpet. There was silence. It was getting late. Hossein Qoli was getting restless. Never before had he been humiliated to this degree.

"Sir," he said. "It's getting late. You are our provider. My family is under your protection. I have nowhere else to turn."

"Son," said the landlord. "You must know with whom you are dealing. It took me just one day to transfer the all-powerful Education Corps deputy, didn't it? But now, since you have taken time and come to me, I will not turn you away. I will tell Mash Darvish to put the flock on your land for the next two nights. But there is a catch to this."

"What catch, Sir?"

"Even thought it is several days past Now Ruz, the snow is still with us. Akhzar and Ganj Ali have spotted a few wolves around your land. Apparently one of the dogs has defected to the wolves. You must accept to reimburse me for any sheep that might get killed by the wolves? Are you willing to do that?"

"What option do I have, Sir?" said Hossein Qoli. "I shall keep a vigil. And I will help Mash Darvish. I shall take care of everything."

"Fine. May God help us, son. I will pay a visit to the village. Give my greetings to your fellow villagers."

A cold wind blew into Hossein Qoli's face. Black clouds, still loaded with rain, rested on the horizon. Hossein Qoli's wife was worried. Hossein Qoli arrived home. He sat down and stared at the fire, playing with his long-stemmed pipe. The moon had risen above the tent. The river roared. The thought of the dog that had made friends with the wolves nagged him. He could not sleep. Worried, his wife looked at him. Intermittently the sound of crickets, frogs, coyotes, and porcupines broke the silence. The village rested quietly at the foot of the mountain.