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was small—or about to beat her—ferociously—for some trivial offense—or was it for none at all? And a year or so ago, when Leyla had malaria and he gave her a pomegranate, which he had kneaded to break up the cells within, and she had pierced the rind with her teeth, and sucked it, and all its juices had flowed out. Then she grasped his hand and drew him down on the bed beside her. Her lips were stained red and a trickle of pomegranate juice was running down her chin. She appeared in his eyes like some Ishtar of the old religions. “Kiss me, father,” she said. He kissed her on the lips. With a shock he drew back. Was it only that he suddenly realized that she had become a woman, rich in passion like the woman he had lost, and had drawn back merely stung with desolation? Or in the mouth that pressed so yieldingly against his, did he think he could detect a buried sexual urgency? Or was it that he discovered a hideous element in his own feelings? Whatever it might have been, she had seen his fright only too plainly.
    As he headed back toward the rock, he felt apprehension for Ali. Recalling that savage face he felt reassured. The night was silent and steeped in light. His thoughts went back to Leyla. ‘A slut. . . .’ He realized that on occasions when he had lost his temper with her it had been nearly always on account of boys. They had kept hanging around . . . Once he had broached the subject of marrying off his daughter to the wool-beater. “It’s true, as a wool-beater, I beat second-hand wool,” was all the man had said in reply.
    Jamshid saw the great rock in the moonlight. As he approached it the world seemed to become deserted. A deadness came into the air. There was something poisonous about the moonlight. The rock alone seemed to live. A struggle seemed to be taking place on its glistening surface.Its black light cast straight down on the earth, illuminated a broken form. Jamshid ran over. In the blackness he found the body of the old man. The shears were sticking out of his chest just as they had out of Torbati’s.
    â€œCurse me to burn in hell,” Ali whispered, bleeding at the mouth. “Five of them came . . . five . . . they saw me somehow . . . I got one on the arm . . . curse these ears . . . curse me for one who’s getting old and deaf . . .” The blood was coming from his mouth. “They’ll be back soon,” Ali said. “Help me to the camel . . .” With his arms around Jamshid’s neck he started to pull himself up. The blood that had overflowed from his mouth while he was on his back now poured down. He let go and fell back. He took hold of the shears and tried to pull them free. Unable to speak, he turned toward Jamshid with a furious, imploring eye. Jamshid took the old hands from the shears. Ali clutched at his hand; then the grip faded out.
    â€œTake these remains back to Shiraz,” Ali whispered, “I beg you, my friend.”
    Jamshid succeeded in getting the dead body lashed across the camel with the carpet covering it. Hassan rose with this burden into the moonlight.

chapter nine chapter nine
    J amshid kept walking all night, through the yellow-green dawn, and into the daylight. He was moving automatically, only partly awake. It was not until nightfall that he reached rocky ground, where Hassan would not leave tracks. He lay down beside a spring, under some poplars that shut out the moon.
    He awoke feeling the flopping of Hassan’s jowls across his face. He sat up. It was the first glimmer of dawn. The camel’s face, usually staid and sardonic, appeared now to be grinning. The half-closed eyes were almost satanic. There was blood on his face. Jamshid touched his own face. Blood came away on his hand.
    Now he spied the bird that Hassan had just sliced in two. The black body lay a little way from the white head, with its peaceful, closed eyes. The head and body seemed parts of different animals.