24 Restless Hours

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Three children, satchels in hand, were looking into a store window. I stood behind them. A pleasant smell came from their combed hair. I couldn't help sniffing at the back of the neck of one of them. The children turned around, looked me over, moved away from me frowning in disgust, and left. From a distance I heard one of them say, "He sure smells!" I had a chance to look at my reflection in the store window. My hair was so long and thick that it hid my ears. It looked like a hat of hair placed on my head. My burlap shirt was a dark dirty color and you could see my sun-burnt body at its torn collar. My bare feet were filthy, and my heels were cracked. I wanted to shatter the brains of the three rich children. But was it their fault that I lead such a life? A man came out of the store, motioned me away and said, "Get out of here, kid. It's still early, and I haven't made any sales to give you something." I didn't move and didn't say anything either. The man motioned me away again and repeated, "Well, go on. Get lost. What impudence!" I didn't move and said, "I'm not a beggar." "Well, excuse me, Little Sir, then what do you want?” "I don't want anything. I'm just looking." And I left. The man went into the store. A piece of white glazed tile shone at the bottom of the water in the gutter. "I didn't hesitate. I picked up the piece of tile and threw it with all my strength at the store window. There was a crash, and the glass broke into pieces. The shattering glass seemed to lift a heavy burden from my heart, and I started running as fast as I could! I don't know how many streets I had passed when I ran into Ahmad Hossien and realized I was now very far from the store. 19
As always, Ahmad Hossien was scurrying this way and that in front of the girls' school, begging at the cars that brought the girls. This is what Ahmad Hossien did every day early in the morning. I still don't know who Ahmad Hossien lived with, but Qasem said he had only a grandmother who was a beggar too. Ahmad Hossien himself never said anything. When the school bell rang and the children went to class, we started on our way. Ahmad Hossien said, didn't bring much in today. Everyone says they don't have any change." "Where shall we go?" I asked. "Let’s just wander around like this." “No, that won't do, "I said. “Let's go and find Qasem and drink a glass of buttermilk." Qasem sold rial glasses of buttermilk at the end of Si-Metri Avenue, and every time we went to see him, we drank a free glass of buttermilk. Qasem's father bought and sold used clothing on Hajj Abdol Mahmud Street; a shirt, fifteen rials; two pairs of shorts, twenty-five rials; coat and trousers, seventy or eighty rials. Hajj Abdol Mahmud Street was one turn from the area where Qasem worked. Doorways, walls and even the ground of this street were littered with old dilapidated objects: each owner stood over his pile, calling to customers. Qasem's father had a tiny shop where he, his wife and Qasem, all three of them, also slept at night. They didn't have a house other than this. Qasem's father bought torn, dirty clothes from this one and that, and from morning to night, Qasem's mother washed them in the shop or in the gutter of Si Mctri Street and then mended them. Haji Abdol Mahmud Street was dusty and didn't have a water gutter. No vehicles passed through it. After one or two hours of walking, Ahmad Ihisjyn and I reached Qasem's work area. Qasem wasn't there, so we went to Hajj Abdol Mahmud Street. Qasem's father said that Qasem had taken his mother to the hospital. Qasem's mother was always having trouble with either aching legs or an ulcer. Near noon, Ahmad Hossien, Zivar's boy and I were sitting at the edge of the gutter on Naderi Street next to the camel, cracking sunflower seeds and discussing the price of the camel. We decided to go inside and ask the storekeeper. The storekeeper thought we were beggars; we hadn't even gotten in the door when he ordered, "Get out of here. I don't have any change." 20
Page 1 and 2: A short story by Samad Behrangi 24
Page 3 and 4: Samad Behrangi was born in the Cher
Page 5 and 6: streets by myself, returning to my
Page 7 and 8: The four of us still wanted to beat
Page 9 and 10: As they passed in front of us, the
Page 11 and 12: I suddenly came to. A heavily made-
Page 13 and 14: As my camel reached the balcony, I
Page 15 and 16: “But where's the owner of the gar
Page 17 and 18: The street sweeper's broom passed r
Page 19: "He was in a bad mood; he's probabl
Page 23 and 24: We went under the trees of City Par
Page 25: The father went and sat at the whee

24 Restless Hours

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