Sadegh Hedayat, Dash Akol

Everyone in Shiraz knew that Dash Akol and Kaka Rostam were sworn enemies. One day, Dash Akol was squatting on the platform of the Do Mil teahouse, his old haunt. He had a partridge in a cage beside him, covered with a red cloth, and with his fingertip, he was stirring ice around a bowl of water. Suddenly, Kaka Rostam entered, cast a contemptuous look at him, and with his hand on his shawl, sat on the opposite platform. Then he turned to the teahouse boy and said, "Hey, boy, bring me some tea!"

Dash Akol cast a meaningful glance at the teahouse boy, causing him to feign busyness and ignore Kaka's command. He took the glasses out of the brass holder and dipped them in a bucket of water, then slowly dried them one by one. The rubbing of the towel around the glass made a creaking sound.

Kaka Rostam, enraged by this disregard, shouted again, "Are you deaf?! I'm talking to you!"

The teahouse boy looked hesitantly at Dash Akol with a smile, and Kaka Rostam said through gritted teeth, "Those who boast and swagger, if they're real men, they'll come tonight and wrestle!"

Dash Akol, still stirring the ice in the bowl and secretly observing the situation, let out a brazen laugh that revealed a row of strong white teeth under his henna-dyed mustache. He said, "Cowards brag. Then it will be known who Rostam-Sowlat and Afandi Pizi are."

Everyone burst into laughter, not because they were laughing at Kaka Rostam's stammer, as they knew he stuttered, but because Dash Akol was as famous in the city as a cow with a white forehead. There wasn't a single "looty" (street tough) who hadn't felt his might. Every night, when he drank a bottle of double-distilled arrack at the house of Mullah Ishaq the Jew and stood at the Ser-e Dozdak neighborhood, Kaka Rostam, let alone his ancestors, would have surrendered. Kaka himself knew he was no match for Dash Akol, having been wounded by him twice and pinned to the ground three or four times. The unfortunate Kaka Rostam had found the field empty a few nights ago and was making a fuss. Dash Akol arrived like an angel of death and showered him with insults, saying, "Kaka, your man's not home. It seems you've smoked too much opium, it's really gotten to you. You know what? Stop this cowardly behavior, this low-life act. You're pretending to be a thug, aren't you ashamed? This is a kind of begging you've taken up. Every night, do you block people's way? By Pouriay-e Vali, if you get drunk and misbehave again, I'll singe your mustache. I'll cut you in half with this very dagger."

Then Kaka Rostam tucked his tail between his legs and left, but he held a grudge against Dash Akol and was looking for an excuse to retaliate.

On the other hand, everyone in Shiraz loved Dash Akol. Even while he patrolled the Ser-e Dozdak neighborhood, he never bothered women or children. On the contrary, he treated people kindly, and if some unfortunate soul joked with a woman or bullied someone, they wouldn't escape Dash Akol's wrath alive. Often, Dash Akol was seen helping people, giving to the needy, and if the mood struck him, carrying people's burdens to their homes.

But he couldn't stand seeing anyone above him, especially Kaka Rostam, who smoked three mithqals of opium a day and pulled a thousand tricks. Kaka Rostam sat like a coiled snake after the humiliation he suffered in the teahouse, chewing his mustache, and if you had stabbed him, no blood would have flowed. After a few minutes, when the burst of laughter subsided, everyone calmed down except the teahouse boy, who, with his faded shirt, Hassan-style collar, nightcap, and dark trousers, had his hand on his stomach and was writhing with laughter. More than anyone else, they were laughing at his laughter. Kaka Rostam lost his temper, reached for the cut-crystal sugar bowl, and threw it at the teahouse boy's head. But the sugar bowl hit the samovar, and the samovar, along with the teapot, fell to the ground from the platform, breaking several cups. Then Kaka Rostam stood up and, with a flushed face, left the teahouse.

The teahouse owner, in a distraught state, inspected the samovar and said, "It was Rostam and a set of weapons, and it was us and this rickety samovar."

He uttered this sentence with a mournful tone, but because it contained an insinuation against Rostam, the laughter intensified.

The teahouse owner, in his desperation, attacked his apprentice, but Dash Akol smiled, reached into his pocket, pulled out a bag of money, and threw it in the middle.

The teahouse owner picked up the bag, weighed it, and smiled.

Meanwhile, a man in a velvet waistcoat, wide trousers, and a short felt hat rushed into the teahouse. He looked around, went up to Dash Akol, greeted him, and said, "Haji Samad has passed away."

Dash Akol lifted his head and said, "May God rest his soul!"

"Don't you know he left a will?"

"I'm not a corpse-eater. Go tell the corpse-eaters."

"But he made you his executor and trustee…"

It was as if this statement broke Dash Akol's concentration. He looked him up and down again, ran his hand over his forehead, and his egg-shaped hat slipped back, revealing his two-toned forehead, half of which was tanned and brown from the sun's rays, and the other half, which had been under his hat, remained white. Then he shook his head, took out his khatam-handled pipe, slowly filled its bowl with tobacco, packed it with his thumb, lit it, and said, "May God bless Haji. Now that it's over, but he didn't do a good thing, he put us in a bind. Well, you go, I'll follow."

The person who had entered was Haji Samad's steward, and he left with long strides.

Dash Akol furrowed his brow, puffed leisurely on his pipe, and it was as if suddenly the cheerful atmosphere of the teahouse was covered by dark clouds. After Dash Akol emptied the ashes from his pipe, he stood up, handed the partridge cage to the teahouse boy, and left the teahouse.

When Dash Akol entered Haji Samad's reception area, the funeral was over. Only a few reciters and book handlers were squabbling over money. After waiting a few minutes by the fountain, he was led into a large room with oriel windows facing the outside. The lady of the house came behind the curtain, and after the usual greetings and courtesies, Dash Akol sat on the mattress and said, "Madam, may your health be good, may God bless your children."

The lady said in a choked voice, "The very night Haji's condition worsened, they brought the Imam Jomeh to his bedside, and Haji introduced you as his executor and trustee in the presence of all the gentlemen. You must have known Haji before, right?"

"We became acquainted five years ago during a trip to Kazerun."

"Haji, God bless him, always said if there was one man, it was him."

"Madam, I love my freedom more than anything, but now that I'm indebted to the deceased, I swear by this very blade of sun, if I don't die, I'll show all these turban-wearers!"

Then, as he turned his head, he saw a girl with a flushed face and captivating black eyes through another curtain. It was less than a minute before their eyes met, but the girl, as if embarrassed, dropped the curtain and stepped back. Was this girl beautiful?

Perhaps, but in any case, her captivating eyes did their work and changed Dash Akol's mood. He lowered his head and blushed.

This girl was Marjan, Haji Samad's daughter, who had come out of curiosity to see the city's famous "Dash" and their guardian.

From the next day, Dash Akol began to attend to Haji's affairs. With an experienced antique dealer, two local thugs, and a secretary, he meticulously recorded and inventoried everything. What was superfluous he put in a storeroom, sealed and locked its door. What was for sale he sold, he had the property deeds read to him, collected his debts, and paid his liabilities. All these tasks were completed in two days and two nights. On the third night, Dash Akol, tired and weary, was returning home from near Chahar Sou-ye Seyyed Haji Gharib. On the way, Imam Gholi Chalangar met him and said, "Kaka Rostam has been waiting for you for two nights now. Last night he said the fellow really got the better of us and saw a sheikh. I think he's forgotten his promise!"

Dash Akol ran his hand over his mustache and said, "Forget about him!"

Dash Akol remembered well that three days ago at the Do Mil teahouse, Kaka Rostam had drawn a line in the sand for him, but since he knew his opponent and knew that Kaka Rostam had conspired with Imam Gholi to humiliate him, he paid no attention to his words, took his own path, and left. On the way, all his thoughts were focused on Marjan. The more he tried to remove her face from his mind, the more vividly and powerfully she appeared before him.

Dash Akol was a thirty-five-year-old man, stout but unattractive. Anyone who saw him for the first time would be put off by his appearance, but if they spent some time talking to him or heard the stories about his life that were on everyone's lips, they would become enamored with him. If one overlooked the crisscrossing dagger scars on his face, Dash Akol had a noble and captivating appearance: hazel eyes, thick black eyebrows, broad cheeks, a slender nose with a black beard and mustache. But the scars had ruined his looks; there were dagger scars on his cheeks and forehead that had healed poorly, and red flesh gleamed through the furrows of his face. Worst of all, one of them pulled down the corner of his left eye.

His father was one of the great landowners of Fars, and when he died, all his wealth went to his only son. But Dash Akol was carefree and generous; he valued neither money nor worldly possessions. He lived his life with manliness, freedom, generosity, and magnanimity. He had no other attachments in his life and bestowed all his wealth upon the poor and needy, or he drank double-distilled arrack, roared at crossroads, or spent it on feasts with a group of friends who had become his parasites.

All his flaws and virtues were limited to this extent, but what seemed astonishing was that the subject of love had never penetrated his life until now. Even when friends had tried to set him up and arranged private gatherings a few times, he had always withdrawn. But from the day he became Haji Samad's executor and trustee and saw Marjan, a complete change occurred in his life. On one hand, he felt indebted to the deceased and was burdened with responsibility; on the other hand, he had fallen in love with Marjan. But this responsibility pressed on him more than anything else – he, who had squandered his own wealth and burned through a part of his fortune due to his carelessness, now woke up early every morning with the thought of increasing the income from Haji's properties. He moved Haji's wife and children to a smaller house, rented out their personal house, hired a private tutor for the children, put his assets into circulation, and from morning till night, he was busy running around and supervising Haji's interests and properties.

From then on, Dash Akol stopped his night patrols and guarding the crossroads. He no longer socialized with his friends, and his former enthusiasm was gone. But all the "Dashes" and thugs who rivaled him, instigated by the mullahs whose hands had been cut off from Haji's wealth, found an opportunity to criticize Dash Akol. His words became the talk of gatherings and teahouses. In Pachnar teahouse, they often mocked Dash Akol and said, "Dash Akol, you mean? His mouth stinks, who is he? The fellow was thoroughly duped, he's sniffing around Haji's house, it seems he's trying to get something. When he reaches Ser-e Dozdak neighborhood, he tucks his tail between his legs and passes by."

Kaka Rostam, with the grudge in his heart, stammered, "An old man making a commotion! The fellow fell in love with Haji Samad's daughter! He sheathed his dagger! He threw dust in people's eyes, he spread a rumor to become Haji's executor and then embezzled all his properties. May God grant him luck."

Dash Akol no longer held any sway with anyone, and they didn't even bother to acknowledge him. Wherever he entered, people whispered amongst themselves and made fun of him. Dash Akol heard these words from all sides but feigned ignorance and paid no attention, for his love for Marjan had rooted itself so deeply in his veins that he had no other thoughts or concerns but her.

At night, out of distress, he would drink arrack, and for his entertainment, he had bought a parrot. He would sit in front of the cage and confide in the parrot. If Dash Akol had proposed to Marjan, her mother would surely have given Marjan to him readily. But on the other hand, he did not want to be tied down by a wife and children; he wanted to be free, just as he had been raised. Besides, he thought to himself that if he were to marry a girl entrusted to him, it would be disloyal. 

Worst of all, every night he would look at his face in the mirror, examining the poorly healed dagger scars, the pulled-down corner of his eye, and in a hoarse voice, he would say aloud, "Perhaps she doesn't love me! Maybe she'll find a handsome and young husband… No, it's unmanly… She is fourteen years old and I am forty… But what can I do? This love is killing me… Marjan… You have killed me… To whom should I tell? Marjan… Your love has killed me..!"

Tears would well up in his eyes, and he would drink glass after glass of arrack. Then, with a headache, he would fall asleep while still sitting.

But in the middle of the night, when the city of Shiraz with its winding alleys, delightful gardens, and crimson wines went to sleep, when the stars twinkled calmly and mysteriously in the pitch-black sky, when Marjan breathed softly in her bed with rosy cheeks, and the events of the day passed before her eyes, it was then that the true Dash Akol, the natural Dash Akol, with all his emotions and desires, without pretension, would emerge from the shell that society's customs had built around him, from the thoughts that had been instilled in him since childhood. He would freely embrace Marjan tightly, feel the soft beat of her heart, her fiery lips, and her tender body, and kiss her cheeks. But when he awoke from his sleep, he would curse himself, curse life, and like a madman, pace around the room, muttering to himself. The rest of the day he would spend running around and attending to Haji's affairs to kill the thought of love within himself.

Seven years passed in this manner. Dash Akol did not neglect his care and devotion towards Haji's wife and children for a moment. If one of Haji's children fell ill, he would stay up all night like a devoted mother, and he had grown attached to them. But his affection for Marjan was something else, and perhaps it was Marjan's love that had made him so calm and docile. During this time, all of Haji Samad's children had grown up.

But, what was not meant to happen did happen, and a significant event occurred: a husband was found for Marjan, and what a husband he was – older and uglier than Dash Akol. Dash Akol did not even frown at this event; on the contrary, with utmost composure, he set about preparing the trousseau and arranged a splendid celebration for the wedding night. He moved Haji's wife and children back to their personal home and designated the large oriel-windowed room for entertaining the male guests. All the dignitaries, merchants, and elders of Shiraz were invited to this celebration.

At five o'clock that afternoon, when the guests were seated shoulder to shoulder around the room on expensive carpets and rugs, with trays of sweets and fruits laid out before them, Dash Akol, in his old Dash style, with his combed and slicked-back hair, striped arghalakh (robe), dagger band, ghoze-knotted shawl, black debi trousers, Abadeh-made shoes, and a new tasouleh hat, entered. Three men with ledgers and documents followed him. All the guests stared at him from head to toe. Dash Akol, with long strides, went up to the Imam Jomeh, stood, and said, "Mr. Imam, Haji, God bless him, made a will and put us in a predicament for seven long years. His youngest son, who was five years old, is now twelve. Here is the account of Haji's wealth. (He gestured to the three men who followed him.) Until today, whatever has been spent, including tonight's expenses, I have paid from my own pocket. Now, we are on our own, and they are on their own!"

As he reached this point, a lump formed in his throat. Then, without adding anything else or waiting for a reply, he lowered his head and, with tearful eyes, left through the door. In the alley, he took a deep breath, felt free, and the burden of responsibility lifted from his shoulders, but his heart was broken and wounded. He took long, careless strides. As he passed, he recognized the house of Mullah Ishaq, the Jewish arrack-drinker. Without hesitation, he entered the damp brick steps into the old, smoke-filled courtyard, which had small, dirty rooms all around it with perforated windows like a beehive, and green moss covered the water in the pond. The smell of sourness, opium, and old cellars permeated the air. Mullah Ishaq, thin, with a dirty nightcap, a goatee, and greedy eyes, came forward, giving a forced laugh.

Dash Akol said gloomily, "By your two mustaches, give me a good bottle to freshen my throat."

Mullah Ishaq shook his head, went down the cellar stairs, and after a few minutes came up with a bottle. Dash Akol took the bottle from his hand, struck its neck against the wall, and its head broke off. Then he drank half of it, tears welled up in his eyes, he suppressed a cough, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Mullah Ishaq's son, a dirty, snot-nosed boy with a swollen belly and an open mouth with mucus hanging from his lip, was looking at Dash Akol. Dash Akol put his finger under the saltshaker on the courtyard niche and put it in his mouth.

Mullah Ishaq came forward, patted Dash Akol on the shoulder, and said haltingly, "The taste of a man of honor is dust!"

Then he reached under Dash Akol's garment and said, "What is this you're wearing? This arghalakh is out of fashion now. Whenever you don't want it, I'll buy it for a good price."

Dash Akol gave a sad smile, took some money from his pocket, placed it in Mullah Ishaq's palm, and left the house. It was twilight. His body was warm, his mind was confused, and his head ached. The alleys were still damp from the afternoon rain, and the scent of straw and mud and orange blossoms filled the air. Marjan's face, her red cheeks, black eyes, and long eyelashes, with her lock of hair falling over her forehead, appeared vaguely and mysteriously before Dash Akol's eyes. He recalled his past life; old memories passed before him one by one. He remembered the outings he had taken with his friends to the tombs of Saadi and Baba Kouhi. Sometimes he smiled, sometimes he frowned. But what was certain for him was that he was afraid of his own house; that situation was unbearable for him, as if his heart had been torn out. He wanted to go far away. He thought of drinking arrack again tonight and confiding in the parrot! His whole life had become small, empty, and meaningless. Meanwhile, a poem came to his mind; he murmured it out of boredom:

"I envy the night gathering of prisoners,

For the topic of their discourse is the links of their chains."

Another melody came to mind, and he sang it a little louder:

"My heart has gone mad, O wise ones, bring chains,

For there is no remedy for a madman but the chain of wisdom!"

He sang this poem with a tone of despair and sorrow, but as if he lost patience, or his mind was elsewhere, he fell silent.

It was dark when Dash Akol reached Ser-e Dozdak neighborhood. This was the same square where he used to patrol when he was in the mood, and no one dared to approach. Without intending to, he sat on the stone platform in front of a house, took out his pipe, lit it, and smoked it slowly. It seemed to him that the place had become more dilapidated than before; the people had changed in his eyes, just as he himself had become broken and changed. His vision blurred, his head ached. Suddenly, a dark shadow appeared, approaching him from a distance, and as it drew near, it said, "A true looty knows another looty in the dark of night."

Dash Akol recognized Kaka Rostam, stood up, put his hand on his hip, spat on the ground, and said, "By the soul of your cowardly father, you think you're a big looty, but you haven't even pissed on solid ground!"

Kaka Rostam gave a mocking laugh, stepped forward, and said, "It's been a long time since you've been around these parts! Tonight, Haji's house is having a wedding, they didn't let you in…"

Dash Akol cut him off: "God knew you, so He gave you half a tongue. I'll take the other half tonight."

He reached and pulled out his dagger. Kaka Rostam also took out his dagger like Rostam in the bath. Dash Akol struck the tip of his dagger into the ground, stood with his arms crossed, and said, "Now I want a looty to pull this dagger out of the ground!"

Kaka Rostam suddenly attacked him, but Dash Akol struck his wrist so hard that the dagger flew from his hand. A group of passersby stopped to watch, but no one dared to come forward or intervene.

Dash Akol said with a smile, "Go on, pick it up, but on the condition that you hold it firmer this time, because tonight I want to settle our old scores!"

Kaka Rostam came forward with clenched fists, and they both grappled. For half an hour, they rolled on the ground, sweat pouring from their bodies, but victory fell to neither. In the struggle, Dash Akol's head hit the pavement hard, and he almost passed out. Kaka Rostam, though he was fighting to kill, was also exhausted. But at that very moment, his eyes fell on Dash Akol's dagger, which was within his reach. 

With all his strength and ability, he pulled it out of the ground and plunged it into Dash Akol's side. He plunged it in so deeply that both their hands went limp.

The spectators rushed forward and with difficulty lifted Dash Akol from the ground. Drops of blood dripped from his side onto the ground. He put his hand on the wound, dragged himself a few steps along the wall, and then fell to the ground again. Then they picked him up and carried him on their shoulders to his house.

The next morning, as soon as the news of Dash Akol's injury reached Haji Samad's house, his eldest son, Vali Khan, went to inquire about him. When he reached Dash Akol's bedside, he saw him lying in bed, pale, bloody foam coming from his mouth, his eyes blurred, and breathing with difficulty. Dash Akol, as if in a coma, recognized him and said in a faint, trembling voice, "In this world… I had only this parrot… By your life… By the parrot's life… entrust him… to…"

He fell silent again, but Khan took out a silk handkerchief and wiped his tears. Dash Akol lost consciousness and died an hour later.

All the people of Shiraz wept for him.

But Khan picked up the parrot's cage and took it home.

It was that same evening. Marjan had placed the gray cage in front of her and was staring at the colorful feathers, the curved beak, and the round, lifeless eyes of the parrot. Suddenly, the parrot, in Dash Akol's hoarse voice, said, "Marjan… Marjan… You killed me… To whom should I tell… Marjan… Your love… killed me."

Tears streamed from Marjan's eyes.