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Overview
Finalist, 2018 John Gardner Fiction prizeThe Place of Stones is Ali Hosseini’s newly translated first novel, his second book to appear in English. In it, he paints a vivid portrait of Sangriz, a village in the southern part of Iran where life has been disrupted by industrialization and the revolution of 1979. Haydar and Jamal are best friends, and their families have always made their living from the land in the foothills of Iran’s Zagros Mountains. Haydar is a dreamer who searches the hills for an ancient treasure called the Black Globe. Jamal is in love with Haydar’s sister, Golandam, and he attempts to accommodate himself to modernization as a way to create a better life for the two of them. The rapacious conversion of farmland to brick factories draws the trio into escalating conflict with the village landlord. As Jamal, Haydar, and their families confront land reform, industrialization, revolution, and war, their lives are pulled forcefully toward the explosive events that will change them all. In masterfully crafted prose that never sinks into sentimentality, The Place of Stones illuminates how a lost past continues to shape the present.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780810135758 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Northwestern University Press |
| Publication date: | 09/15/2017 |
| Pages: | 248 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.90(w) x 8.90(h) x 0.70(d) |
About the Author
ALI HOSSEINI is the author of the novel The Lemon Grove (Curbstone/Northwestern, 2012). The Place of Stones (Sangriz) and two short-story collections were published in Iran, and his short fiction has appeared in Persian in the United States in PAR Monthly and Persian Book Review. His work in English has been published in Epoch, StoryQuarterly, Guernica, Tweed’s, Fiction International, American Letters & Commentary, and elsewhere. He lives in the Boston area.
Read an Excerpt
The Place of Stones
A Novel
By Ali Hosseini
Northwestern University Press
Copyright © 2017 Ali HosseiniAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-8101-3575-8
CHAPTER 1
Haydar lay facedown on the ground, enjoying the warm spring sun on his tired body. Always when resting from his work in the fields, he would lie like this, hugging the ground and listening to the beating of his heart, its insistent throbbing seeming to be coming from the depths of the earth. He had just finished the lunch — naan with dates and yogurt — that his wife, Mehrangiz, and younger sister, Golandam, had brought him and drunk hot tea from the tin kettle and was going to take a short nap before starting work again, but today he couldn't sleep. He sat up on the hillside and watched his wife and sister walking back home to Sangriz through the wheat field. Golandam had taken off her scarf and her jet- black hair fell to her shoulders. She skipped along and circled ahead of Mehrangiz, the red and yellow of her skirt cutting through the dark green of the winter wheat, then waited for her sister- in- law to catch up and went off again
Haydar kept them in sight until they got close to the village at the end of the fields and vanished from view. Seeing Golandam young and happy sent a joyful feeling through him, and he found himself thinking that it wouldn't be long before a young man would ask for her hand and take her away.
It was time to give up the pleasant sun. He put on his hat, grabbed his shovel, and walked down the hill to the edge of the wheat field. After checking the irrigation stream, he went back to the pit on the hillside and started to dig. He was so engaged in his task that he wasn't aware that someone was watching him from the top of the pit.
"Hey, Haydar ... What's going on? You're digging as if you're only a few inches from the hidden treasure."
Haydar, startled, looked up and saw the tall figu e of Jamal above him. He planted the shovel in the ground and then took off his hat and swept the droplets of sweat from his face.
"Eventually I'll find it," Haydar said, catching his breath. "One day I'll drag it out of the dark ground and let it shine in the sun." Then he grabbed Jamal's extended hand and pulled himself up from the pit.
"Do you mind the water at all?" Jamal asked with a smile. "Or do you leave it to run wherever it wishes while you're treasure hunting?"
"I checked it just before you got here," Haydar said. "My mind is always on the water. I've fi ed it on the lower section of the field. It will be a while before it's all irrigated."
They walked over the scattered pieces of pottery that Haydar had tossed out of the pit over the past few days of digging. At the sound of their footsteps, a couple of field rats ran by and disappeared into their holes.
Haydar pushed a few shovelfuls of dirt into the holes and packed it down with the back of the shovel. "The e are too many of them recently. They seem bigger and they're nesting all over the fields. They dig holes and the little water that the pump brings up is lost."
"Haydar," Jamal said, "how long are you going to search for the lost treasure? And how do you know that the Black Globe that you're after is hidden in this hill? It's only a fable. People like to tell stories from the past — you're wasting your time."
They reached the irrigation stream, a trickle of water running down the field. Haydar shifted the shovel from one shoulder to the other. "You've been bugging me more and more about this. I'll tell you something. It's been said that when Alexander of Macedonia defeated the armies of King Darius and was approaching Takht-e-Jamshid, the palace of Persepolis, one of the king's lovers ordered two of the palace guards to bury the imperial treasure in the nearby hills and then sent two other guards to kill them so that the location would remain secret. But when Alexander entered the palace, she lost her heart to him and to capture his affections showed him where the treasure was hidden, all except for the Black Globe. Alexander didn't let her down. He took all the treasure and her and headed farther east."
"You're telling me that Alexander took all the treasure?" Jamal stopped in his tracks. "Then what are you looking for in these hills? Haydar, you always puzzle me!"
"And you never let a man finish his story. You're always in a hurry."
"You always exaggerate everything, my friend. Okay, I'll shut up."
"All the treasure did not equal that globe. The Black Globe was something unique. It was so dark and shiny you could see yourself in it. It's said that it was for this globe that Alexander attacked our country. If he had found it, he would have discovered the road to aab- e zendagi — the water of life — since one look into the globe was to confer eternal life. Alexander tortured the palace inhabitants, but no one knew where the globe was hidden except the woman who had been the king's lover and became Alexander's lover. He took her with him, not because he loved her — no, because he thought that someday, somehow he could get the information out of her."
Haydar pointed to a few low hills that rose here and there across the fields. "It's said that the globe is still here, hidden in one of the hills, probably not far from where we're standing."
"May God grant you some wisdom and me some wealth. Fine, but my dear friend, this story is more than two thousand years old. Do you understand what that means? It means that from then until now this land has been plowed at least once, and sometimes twice, a year. That makes several thousand plowings, right? And people have been all over these hills taking dirt to make mud bricks."
"So what? What are you getting at?" Haydar said.
Jamal scratched the top of his head and gave Haydar a smile. "Well, with so much plowing and other activity, how many hills could have been flattened? Besides, the gates of this country have been open to everyone during its long history. After the Greeks came the Arabs and then the Mongols, and ..." — he was quiet for a moment — "even the Americans were here looking around these hills with their electronic equipment when we were little. Have you forgotten?"
"No, I haven't forgotten. I remember them very well. Especially the one who had a big dog that sat next to him in the car like a person. He used to come to the pump house — no, I guess it wasn't the pump house, there was no pump then. We used to draw water using a horse. He liked that and took pictures, do you remember? Anyway, he would come every day and fill up a big tank with water for the workers on his excavation site. He was very polite. Ejazeh hast aab bebaram? he would say — Is it okay to take some water?"
"Yes, I remember him. He knew a few words of Farsi — Salaam Agah. Sohb be- khair. Now after all that's happened around here, you're still trying to find the treasure? Whatever may have been buried here, it's gone, my friend. Don't waste your time. Where did you hear all these stories anyway — from your grandfather?"
"Of course, may God rest his soul. I've forgotten some of the things he told me. I was very small when he died. I think it was during the time of Ahmad Shah, or maybe it was Reza Shah, that the Western archaeologists came to Persepolis." He pointed toward the stone columns of the ruined palace that were barely visible on the distant mountainside. "My grandfather was six or seven years old and used to work at the excavation site as a water boy. He would carry jars of water from the river on a donkey for the men, who worked long hours during hot summer days and were always thirsty. The secret that he told me is" — he lowered his voice — "that when the sun is setting behind the palace, the shadow of one of the columns points toward the hill where the Black Globe is buried."
Jamal looked toward the ruins with amusement. "Okay, let's say he was right. But the problem is, first of all, that the columns were not just the ten or fifteen left standing. As you know, the palace had two or three hundred columns. Second, the area between here and the ruins is vast. Do you know how many acres of land we're talking about? All we can say for sure is that the treasure you're looking for could be buried somewhere within hundreds of acres."
"I know all that, Jamal. I've studied the area for a long time and at diffe ent times of the year. The way I see it, there's only one possibility. If you stand on the hill where I'm searching, you'll see the sun going down just behind the seventh column, no matter the season of the year. So I'm digging in the line of its shadow."
"Fine. Let's say you're right and you found the treasure, the Black Globe that you're after. What are you going to do with it? You won't be able to sell it, will you? The government will have you arrested and put in jail straight away. Like the poor farmer from the village of Khaaksar who ran up against a jar full of old coins with his plow. They didn't just take the treasure from him, they arrested him and threw him in jail."
Haydar stared at him from beneath his bushy eyebrows. "Well, I haven't got the Black Globe to be thinking about selling it, have I? I've got to find it in the first place, and if I ever do find it, I only want to take a look at it. I want to see it shine under the sun — that's all. I'll sneak a glance at it and then bury it in the same place." He pounded the ground under his foot. "I would like to touch something that has been in the hands of Darius the Great, the king of Persia. Then I'll put it back in its place where it's been buried under the earth for centuries."
"As long as I can remember, Haydar, you've been dreaming about finding a treasure, any treasure, but this is the first time you're telling me what you are specifically looking for, something that Alexander was after — the road to the 'water of life.'"
"Yes, aab-e zendagi ...," Haydar murmured.
"I hope you'll give me a drop after you find it," Jamal said, laughing.
They were nearing the pump house and could hear the pop, pop sound of the motor.
"Do you hear that?" Haydar said. "The pump's been drawing water from early morning. It hasn't choked a moment all day." He moved aside the dried brush and tumbleweeds that had gathered on the stream, then struck the shovel into the ground and sat down next to Jamal, who had stretched out on the grass beside the stream. Haydar took off his hat and sat resting his elbows on his knees. In front of them a flock of quails landed, disappearing into the green wheat, and another flock took off a oss the sky.
After a while Haydar stretched out as well. Theywere quiet. Both had grown up on the vast plain at the foot of the Zagros Mountains and learned to work the land from their fathers. They knew in their bones the hard labor of harvesting wheat and rye in the high heat of summer and digging out sugar beets during the frozen chill of winter. They were children of the land and had learned to farm at an early age. Jamal, in his twenty- four years of life, had never been as close to anyone as he was to Haydar, who was two years older than he. In the ups and downs of their lives, they had been together like brothers. For the past ten years, they had been working the land for Mr. Rahbari, who lived in the city of Shiraz, eighty miles or so beyond the mountains, and owned most of the good land near the village of Sangriz.
Jamal sat up. "Well," Haydar said, recognizing his uneasiness, "aren't you going to tell me about your trip to the city? What happened? Were you able to persuade that little brother of yours to stay?"
"No, I couldn't make him understand. Jaffar is becoming a stubborn boy. He doesn't want to stay in the city and doesn't want to go to school."
"Did you bring him back, then?"
"Yes. If he won't go to school, I can't leave a twelve- year- old boy at Baraat's, can I? Baraat is always on the road between the city and the villages, and his wife hardly manages with four children."
"If you hadn't brought him back, maybe he would have changed his mind after a few days and gone back to school."
"No matter how much I tried, the stupid kid wouldn't budge. I almost tied him up to make him stay. He jumped up and down like a chicken with its head cut off, crying and asking me not to leave him there. He begged me so much I gave in." Jamal looked up at a flock of quails circling close by. "Do you remember when he finished sixth grade at the village school, how happy he was to go to the city and start seventh grade? Now he says that he doesn't like the city, that it's closed up and crowded. I think he missed his mother and his friend Marafi"
"Ay baba! The e are kids his own age in the village who can manage a pump house and irrigate acres of land by themselves. Mirza-ali's son, when he was younger than Jaffa, took care of two hundred sheep during the winter and summer. Jaffar has it too good, staying in the city with a nice family. What could be better than being with Baraat and his wife? Bring him over here to help with the farm. Then he'll realize what life is about." After a few seconds, Haydar regretted his words. "But it's a shame if he doesn't continue with his schooling. The misery of many of us, including you and me, is from lack of education. At least I thought this boy would know better."
"And that he would take advantage of his situation," Jamal added, lowering his head and looking at the ground. Close to his feet, an ant was moving between the blades of grass. It climbed all the way to the tip of one blade and then turned around and reversed its path. Then it started up another and did the same thing, as if it were confused and couldn't figu e out where to go.
After a long silence, Jamal looked up and turned to Haydar. "As you know, two years ago, when my poor father was on his deathbed, all he asked of me was to make sure that this little brother of mine got an education. That was his last wish. Now what am I supposed to do? My father didn't want Jaffar to end up like me, who ran away from the mullah's madrese."
"I'll talk to him," Haydar said. "I'll try to convince him to go back to school. Anyway, what's he going to do in the village? Become a farmworker? Or a shepherd?" He laughed aloud. "That mullah, he wasn't a teacher. He was a madman. I believe we did well in tolerating his stinging stick. Enough for a lifetime."
They both laughed, and Jamal said that after all Jaffar wasn't to be blamed, that when they were in Baraat's minibus coming back home, he had managed to get it out of him. At first Jaffar had been too embarrassed to admit it, but eventually he'd told him. Haydar had gotten up, ready to go back to the pump house, but sat down again. Jamal was still following the progress of the ant. "The city kids, those sons of bitches, are to blame," he said. "The've caused Jaffar lots of problems. They laughed at him, teasing him that he was a country boy. A country boy who had come to the city to be a city boy. They teased him that he had a country accent, stuff like that. After the Nowruz holidays, when he went back to school, the crotch of his pants was ripped. He was embarrassed to ask Baraat's wife to stitch it for him, so what does he do? He goes to school in his pajamas. After everyone, including the teachers, had had their laugh, the principal sent him home to dress properly. After that, no matter how Baraat and his wife tried, Jaffar wouldn't go back to school and wouldn't tell them what had happened."
"Well, no wonder," Haydar said, shaking his head in dismay. "Those city boys are something else. May God help a shy kid among those sons of bitches. Have you forgotten Bahram Khan, the landlord's son? When he was a boy and used to come to Sangriz, even the village dogs would run away from him."
"I feel sorry for Jaffa . After all, there're only a couple of months left in the school year. And I haven't told my mother yet — she thinks he's back on vacation. If she finds out, sh 'll have a fit " "Don't worry yourself," said Haydar, "I'll try to find a way to persuade him to go back."
"That would be good. e likes you and he'll listen to you."
The sun had reached the peak of the mountain and an afternoon breeze was cooling the air. Haydar grabbed his shovel and they walked toward the pump house.
"Now at a time that I have all this going on," Jamal said, "Mirzaali, may God rest his father's soul, stops me at the village entrance and asks me when I'm going to shape up. I think my mother went to him again and complained that she's getting old and I haven't been thinking of getting married."
"Have you forgotten three years ago when he wouldn't leave me alone?" Haydar said. "Every afternoon he would stop me and remind me that I should get married. I would ask him to let it be and say that when it was time I would let him know and he could look for a bride for me. Eventually, I caved in and became Mehrangiz's suitor."
When they got close to the pump house, Jamal's horse, Abrash, which was grazing in the pasture, perked up her ears and looked their way. Jamal whistled and she came, her mane flying and her gray coat glinting in the sun. Jamal walked over to the horse and ran his hand along her back. Abrash rubbed her face against Jamal's hip, snorted, and snapped her long tail in the air.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Place of Stones by Ali Hosseini. Copyright © 2017 Ali Hosseini. Excerpted by permission of Northwestern University Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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