The suffocating heat wave that hung over the village, made breathing difficult. The village itself was quite like a mosque moments after the communal prayer--deserted. In groups, the villagers returned from the fields, their faces tanned. Tired as they were, they carried large stacks of wheat stalks on their backs. It was hot.

Rah Ali said, "Last night Abdul Ali was going the rounds calling for a meeting in the mosque tomorrow. What's up?"

Ramazan replied, "The Sheykh, may I die for him, has returned. But I don't know what strikes his fancy!"

Satiyar said laughing, "Last night the talk was about a bathhouse. I heard it in, at least, a couple of places. It seems that they are planning to build a new bathhouse."

Panjeh Ali said, "What I like to know is: What is wrong with the bathhouse we have? If it were good for our ancestors, it should be good for us. The difficult thing, however, remains. The Sheykh has the last word!"

Ali said, "Don't be disrespectful. The Sheykh is your honorable ancestor. May I die for him. He can put the jinx on us!"

Nur Ali said, "Don't get riled up now! Are the Manjanis any better than us? Their village has a new bathhouse with showers. Besides, why don't we wait till tomorrow when we go to the mosque; it all will be made clear."

The mosque was overflowing with people. You could not find room for even one more. Tall poplar trees surrounded the mosque providing ample shade. The floor of the mosque, recently washed, was wet. Outside the mosque children played in the water; the muddy water flowed away. The Sheykh muttered prayers and worked his rosary, repeatedly asking the people to chant the praises of the Prophet. The villagers chanted. The Sheykh was tall. He wore a black cape and a long, sparse beard. His face was bony, his turban black and large. His eyes, which sank deep in his skull, were small and piercing. It was hard to keep any secrets from him; you had the feeling that he could read your mind. He began to speak. He preached. He made everyone cry. He made the villagers receptive to his suggestions by making them sorrowful. At the end he brought up the subject of the bathhouse. He began with counting the benefits of a bathhouse with showers. Then he talked about the disadvantages of bathhouses with hot-water reservoirs only. He explained how diseases were transmitted through these reservoirs. Finally, in order to fully convince the villagers, he talked about religion and stated that religion viewed cleanliness next to Godliness. Most of the villagers were already convinced. They had seen the showers in the bathhouse in Manjan, several kilometers from the village. The Sheykh promised to open a modern bathhouse in the village in a month.

That day the villagers did not go off to the fields, rather they accompanied the Sheykh. The sun had not risen yet. Only the mountain top was golden. A pleasant breeze wafted, making the air delicate and exciting. The Sheykh said, "For the bathhouse we need a low place, low enough for the water to accumulate."

Mash Siyavash said, "Sir, how about this garden right here? It is near the stream and there won't be need for a lot of pipes."

Aqa Baba said, "No. This place won't do. The land near my house is much lower."

Fariborz said, "To hell with you and your house. Don't you understand! We are looking for a place where there in no need for a lot of pipes! So, quit this: my house...my house...will you!"

Hossein Khan said, "Now. Let's not squabble. The aqa himself knows what needs to be done."

The Sheykh walked on the edge of the stream, carefully monitoring all conversations. Everyone had an opinion. But no one was convinced yet. In the fort, they held a meeting and discussed the pros and cons. Finally they decided on a plot about a hundred meters from the stream. It was a treeless piece of land seemingly low enough for the water to accumulate!

By noon, the mosque was crowded again. The Sheykh had called for another meeting. He said, "The problem of where to build the bathhouse is solved. Now we reach the crucial problem, the heart of the matter."

Ali asked, "And what would that be?"

The Sheykh stroked his sparse beard and cunningly said, "The solution to every problem: money." Then he added, "I have, however, a suggestion for collecting the needed funds: per capita. That is, every individual, adult or otherwise, whoever uses the showers, must accept to pay thirty tumans."

The people began to talk among themselves. Mash Siyavash said, "Aqa. All told we are seven hundred and forty people. How much do you think would be needed for the bathhouse?"

The Sheykh said, "What are you talking about? What business of yours is it how much it would be? Besides, you are all intelligent people. You have eyes and ears. Can't you guess how much it would be?"

Fariborz said, "We don't dare contradict you, sir! You are the offspring of the Prophet. We know that whatever you do, you have our good at heart. How can a man who initiates a project for constructing a bathhouse be bad?" Then he turned to the audience and said, "By God. He is a true Sheykh."

The crowd chanted, "May God bless him!"

Mash Hossein Khan said, "In the bank we have eight thousand tumans leftover from the two percent tithe. And the shopkeepers have accepted to contribute five hundred tumans each."

Fariborz turned to the Sheykh and said, "Who has thirty tumans to pay right away? At the present we are all destitute." There was commotion among the people. Someone from the end of the hall shouted, "He is right. We haven't harvested our rice yet. We don't have any money."

Sheykh Ali said, "Altogether, my family has eight people. How am I to pay four hundred and twenty tumans?"

The Sheykh listened attentively and asked the people to chant the praises of the Prophet. The people chanted. Then he said, "Nobody asked you to pay cash. Pay for two or three now, pay the rest at harvest time. The same time you pay the government loan."

The people chanted the praises of the Prophet to indicate their indignation. In the afternoon, the Sheykh began his rounds. Poplar trees were cut, sheep were rounded, and most people paid him thirty or forty tumans. The next morning the Sheykh took all the sheep along with the lumber and the money collected in the village to town. This is not to include the cash money he had received from the shopkeepers.

Four days later the Sheykh returned with a dump truck. In groups, the villagers were sent to the side of the mountain to gather rocks. It was rumored that the driver was charging two hundred and fifty tumans a day. The driver of the dump truck for the school had charged only one hundred and fifty tumans. In the presence of the Sheykh, however, out of respect for him and his ancestor, everyone kept silent. They talked only of the Sheykh's benevolence. The Sheykh traveled back and forth with the dump truck. He toiled with the rest. Eventually the needed rocks were piled up at the site. Only two fingers were smashed; the Sheykh wrote prayers for those! Everyday, at midday, there was communal prayer and sermons. A special sense of excitement filled the village. Sermon after sermon, elegy after elegy. Everyone talked of good deeds, of the Sheykh's goodness and of his sympathy. If a member of a household got sick, the Sheykh was sure to visit the house three, four, even five times. People helped by contributing working hours. They had to. The Sheykh would drag them out of their wives' embraces if they didn't.

Summer was coming to an end. Whenever there were shortages, the idle master builder went from orchard to orchard smoking the qalyun, and the village foreman called on different households for the Sheykh's expenses and those of the builder and his apprentices. There was, of course, no problem except, perhaps, for the chickens who would be killed for them!

Gradually the excitement of the onset of the project subsided. Two months was now an acceptable timetable for the completion of the bathhouse. The foundation was down and a few walls were up. Steel beams for the roof were delivered. The bathhouse was large and impressive, especially to those not knowledgeable about bathhouses. It had five private baths and ten shower stalls. Nowhere else in that region was there a bathhouse like that.

Time for the harvest of rice came and went. It was now fall. And the extortionist hajis had arrived from town to collect their IOUs. Competing with the hajis, the Sheykh tried to outwit them so that he could collect his money first. The villagers were confused. They were baffled by the many intricate patterns of payment. Neither did they think about their future. The day they had money, they spent it to the last penny. They became destitute. As soon as the harvest was finished, they headed for town. Nothing could stop them. They stayed in town until they spent all their cash, save enough for their return ticket. Those who ran out, borrowed from the hajis who operated from small shops around the bus depot. In the parlance of the village, this was called salaf kari. According to this mode of transaction, one man of rice, normally worth forty-five rials, was sold in IOUs for twenty rials; their wheat went for fifteen rials. And, strangely enough, the villagers accepted this price gladly.

Once the hajis were in the village to cash their IOUs, the villagers were obliged to house them. Twenty or thirty such hajis were lodged in various houses. They spent their day visiting the thrashing sites. The Sheykh intended to throw a wrench into their wheel, but the hajis were too smart for him. He could not collect anything at all. Then again it was not clear what the Sheykh wanted. It was not clear whether he wanted to collect thirty tumans per head, or more! It seemed that most of the villagers were going to pay just the thirty tumans a head. Even the tall trees of the mosque were cut down and taken to town. But, in spite of all this, the villagers still seemed to owe the Sheykh the original debt!

Now they were two months into autumn; the bathhouse was half built. Still there was no sign of pipes or of concrete to finish the project. More and more the villagers sought information about government assistance that could be funneled through the health and development assistance funds to the village fund. The Sheykh denied the existence of such assistance. Rather, he claimed that he had approached both the health and the development officials and that he had been turned down cold. The villagers were disappointed that the government should treat them so shabbily.

It was noon. Everyone was at the mosque for prayer. Their faces bespeaking little of the patience, obedience and cooperation evident during summer.

Mash Siyavash addressing the Sheykh said, "Aqa. You know we cannot question your authority. But, pray tell, why was the old bathhouse demolished?"

The Sheykh said, "I wanted to burn all the bridges behind you so that you pay more attention to the bathhouse and finish it."

Satiyar said, "And who accepts the responsibility for people not being able to say their prayers? The water was dirty, but it provided a means for qosl. Besides, it was you who promised to build a bathhouse, not us!"

The Sheykh said, "Workers! You need to provide more laborers. Let us finish the project and attend to other business. I needed the boiler of the old bathhouse to use in the new one. But even that didn't work. The old boiler is too small. I need to bring one from town."

Oroj said, "What are you going to do with the old one, then?"

Qasem said sarcastically, "He will sell it for fair or for some other trumped up expense. I really can't take this any more. I give up. You could be the offspring of the Prophet or whoever: Why did you cut down forty of my best poplar trees? Do you think simply because you don a turban and a cloak, you can do whatever you fancy?"

The Sheykh said, "Don't get hot under the collar or you will get sick. I cut them down instead of charging you thirty tumans a head."

Angrily, Qasem shouted, "But we are only three. That makes only ninety tumans, not four hundred tumans!"

The Sheykh said, "Nothing is wasted. Think of it as something that you have contributed for a good cause. Chant the praises of the Prophet!"

Qasem said, "By God I shall turn the other way (i.e., away from Mecca) to pray. Did you cut the trees in the mosque, too? Whose thirty tumans a head do they cover? Have you opened a lumber yard or something? If you are God's prayer leader, to hell with prayer, to hell with faith!"

The Sheykh said, "Don't use profanity, you fool. Do you intend to insult me and my ancestor, the Prophet, on God's own premises? People. See to it that this man is appropriately punished. He is an infidel."

The villagers went about punishing Qasem. The whole mosque was about to be ripped asunder. At the end, the nearly lifeless and bloody body of Qasem was thrown in a corner. Ostracized. Nobody paid any more attention to him.

This done, they returned to the village. Here not a word was said about government aid. Rather they said that they had pleaded with officials in town, but that they had not been able to move them. They further said that the Bureau of Health had promised to give them seven thousand tumans worth of pipes and concrete, if they paid three thousand tumans in cash. The people were perplexed. The Kadkhoda was influential and now, supported by the Sheykh his influence had increased. In every conversation he interjected, "I am paying all government officials. For your sake I am bribing everyone. On every trip to town, I take of my sheep, chickens, and rice and distribute them among city officials." The villagers, too, being simpletons, believed all that.

However, in every society there are a few who are influential but who look at issues from a different perspective. Such individuals do not accept things at their face value. They act on their instincts, even though soon they are destroyed by a barrage of innuendoes and accusations. The village savant questioned the deeds of the Sheykh and the sincerity of his intentions.

It was a few days into Ramazan. Utter misfortune was apparent on faces all over the village. People were not able to make ablutions or clean themselves as decreed by religious law. Ritual cleanliness was especially important to the villagers, because they relate fasting to sin and felt that proper fasting would take off such sins as backbiting. The Sheykh really led them by the nose. He had made them divided. An opposition group had been formed; but theirs was only verbal opposition, not supported by action. Behind the Sheykh's back, they were lions, before him, they turned into lambs. Why are the village folk like that? Because they are illiterate. The literate ones swindle the others out of their everything. The former can influence affairs in town but since their education lacks proper social direction, it harms rather than aids the community.

Building had stopped for three or four days. The Sheykh and Hossein Khan had said that without a payment of three thousand tumans to the Health Department, there would be no possibility of finishing the bathhouse. People continued to pay what they could until one day when Rostam and Shir Ali returned from town. It was a cloudy and cold day. People were chatting in a corner of the fort. Rostam and Shir Ali had paid a visit to the Department of Health and Development and were back with some special news. Everyone, including the Sheykh was there. As soon as the name of the Department Of Health and Development was mentioned, however, the Sheykh left.

Rostam said, "We went to town to complain. First we went to the Health Office and said to them that a nice Sheykh has undertaken to build us a decent bathhouse to improve our health. Why don't you people help him?" The health director did not allow me finish my sentence. He said, "We have helped!"

I said, "What kind of assistance is it if you demand three thousand tumans before you supply pipes?"

The engineer became angry. He shouted at me. He thought I was calling him a liar. They put the office records in front of me. I could not believe my eyes. I asked them to type a copy for me. Here it is. The villagers examined the record. Anger filled everyone of them. They felt extremely helpless. Then they asked Rostam, "Then what has happened to the pipes and the concrete?"

Rostam said, "I had to really look for them before I found them. They were all in Haji Mohammed Reza's garage. I went there and saw them with my own eyes. Top grade pipes and concrete. The engineer's advice was this: 'fire the Goddamn village head and hound the Sheykh out of your village. The Sheykh is a charlatan. What business of a Sheykh is it to build bathhouses! He should preach and lead prayers. Write a letter of complaint to me and have everyone sign it. I shall do the rest'."

There was commotion among the people. Mash Nosrat said, "The engineer had talked out of turn. No one talks about the offspring of the Prophet in that way. Don't even think about it. Accusing the Sheykh!"

Rostam said, "May I die for his ancestor. But the man lies."

Sabz Ali said, "There might be virtue in his hiding the truth!"

Shir Ali said, "What virtue? You just paid him another two thousand tumans for what?...for pipes?"

Hassan said, "I have paid three hundred tumans so far. I can write that off as a dead bull."

Rostam said, "Why should you have to write it off at all? What kind of foolishness is this?"

Shir Ali said, "We went all the way to Shiraz to get information. Why do you think we did that? To help you nincompoops! We thought you were worth the effort. We thought you would, at least, appreciate what we did. Did you know, for instance, that so far the Department of Health and Development has paid the village over twenty thousand tumans. This bathhouse consists of only three rooms. For three rooms, the Sheykh has received goods at harvest time; he has charged us thirty tumans per capita; and he has cut all of our trees. What right does he have to claim more at harvest when the two percent for the development loan is also due? Is there anywhere a list of all this? Why does he answer all inquiries with a curse? Has anyone had an opportunity to exchange a couple of serious words with him? Has he responded to us with anything but either insults or jokes! We went through all this trouble for you. It seems that you do not approve. Then let me tell you this as well. God does not approve of what you do either. You have to stand up for your rights. Today they infringe upon your rights, tomorrow they will soil your honor."

Hassan said, "What are we to do? He is the offspring of the Prophet. What if he puts a curse of us?"

One by one, people left the meeting. At the end only Shir Ali and Rostam remained.

Things proceeded this way until the rain eventually melted the snow and the blue sky showed its face.

It was late in the afternoon, about a week later, when a car showed up in the village. Everyone came out of his house. The Sheykh and the village head had brought the equipment; it was quickly taken out of the car and arranged outside. Everyone looked happy. The thought of separation is painful. For two months now, the villagers had not had a bath and, if they did, it had been in the baths in the other villages. They felt proud. This being the low season during which the villagers had nothing to do in the fields, they sat around the bathhouse and looked at it. The bathhouse and the bathhouse alone preoccupied them. They were oblivious to details like bills; instead, they were concerned with qosl, and with prayer. Their complaints were indirect and transient. The Sheykh repeated his past words. Mash Siyavash, who was in cahoots with the Sheykh and the village head, incited the people. He constantly talked about religion and about the Prophet. Drawing on the villagers' apprehension of his own dubious parentage, he intimidated them. He was the type who participated in drawing up all reports and complaints in the village, but he never signed any; the type who always disappears at the crucial time.

Three days remained to the anniversary of the Martyrdom of Imam Ali. Nobody was fasting. The next day was the day to introduce water into the bathhouse.

It had rained the night before, making the alleys a morass. But in the morning, the sun rose displaying the scattered clouds like some small ducks in the deep blue sky. The mountain top remained under a blanket of fog.

The villagers gathered outside the village, around the water reservoir. The plumber was busy. Everybody with a spade wanted to be the one to open the sluice. A cold wind blew. The crowd returned to the village; they made themselves at home next to the bathhouse. Everyone was there: men, women, and children. The Sheykh, the bath attendant, the village head, and Mash Siyavash were on the roof of the bathhouse, viewing the hot water reservoir. Nobody breathed. The sluice was opened. Runners came ahead of the water to announce the arrival of the water. There was silence. All eyes were riveted on the fellows on the roof, waiting for the news of the arrival of the water. How long had they looked at those waterless taps! Every man and woman had daily circumambulated the bathhouse four or five times, as if the bathhouse were an Imamzadeh. This was the moment they were all waiting for. Mash Siyavash smiled. People felt encouraged. Then Mash Siyavash shouted, "The water is not accumulating."

The crowd echoed, "The water is not accumulating!"

The Sheykh squatted on top of the roof, propping his chin with his hand. The people were tired; they had lost hope. They were dejected. they, too, squatted in their places at the foot of the walls. A quarter of an hour passed. Then the Sheykh came down. Opposition voices began to be raised; fingers of blame were pointed at this and that person. Finally it was decided that the water source needed to be adjusted; it had to be raised. The fitter got busy and rebuilt everything. This, however, did not help raise the morale. The water reached the reservoir with ease. Abdul Ali, the bathhouse attendant, started the boiler. The bathhouse opened the next day.

It was a cold morning. Walking on the frozen ground, you could hear the chunks of ice as they broke under foot. People's breath made them resemble those who smoked cigarettes. The Sheykh opened the door. People rushed in. The bathhouse attendant pleadings with people that they should, at least, clean the bottoms of their shoes, fell on deaf ears. There still were no pegs installed or nails hammered into the wall for hanging clothes; the floor of the lobby received their clothes. From here they rushed to the bathing chamber, breaking the entrance door in the process.

The cold air in the bathhouse made the patrons tremble. The bathhouse attendant had asked his brothers for help. They manned the shower stalls. Each held a faucet, preventing a waste of hot water. The bathhouse was crowded. People stood in the showers. Nobody could move them out. Even the Sheykh's curses were not heeded. Many had made a fire outside the bathhouse, eagerly waiting for their turn in the shower.

Women viewed the men with envy. In the village, women are not as free as men; they cannot, for instance, take their shower before men. The villager marries for two reasons. One to get help in culturing the rice, the other for procreation. A wife can also be helpful at harvest and when the villager feels like beating on someone. That day, until sunset, men took baths. Everyone took a bath.

They were happy. It was as if cleanliness had chased sickness away from the village. A couple of times the bathhouse was closed to repair the hot water reservoir. But it opened right away. The Sheykh rode the car to town. People forgot their gripes. Happiness chases unhappiness away. They continuously took baths. Just like frogs!

They took the engineer to the bathhouse for an appraisal of the structure. He moved from one room to another, asking questions about materiel, ceiling beams, the roof and the like. He inspected every nook and cranny carefully. Then they returned to the house and discussed the appraisal. It came to fifty thousand tumans. When the engineer was leaving, the village head insisted that he should stay longer. But the engineer did not accept. People were perplexed. How could a three-room structure be worth fifty thousand tumans!

The next day the Sheykh began his rounds for money. Nobody had any money. They were waiting for Farmers' Aid. They needed loans not so much to pay the Sheykh, but for traveling to town. Every afternoon they gathered on the roof and watched the serpentine road. Eventually the Farmers' Aid jeep appeared on the horizon. They will be rich tomorrow!

Later in the afternoon of the same day another vehicle arrived in the village. This, a van, brought the money lenders--the hajis, the storekeepers, and the tractor driver who had plowed their fields. All greedy. All trying to cash their IOUs first. The engineer (i.e., the bank representative) asked people to assemble. Then he said, "This year's loan will include no cash money!"

The Sheykh said, "What do you mean by 'not including money'?"

Without looking at the Sheykh, the engineer said, "It is none of your business. I was talking to the farmers."

The Sheykh said, "Why is it none of my business? I have built a bathhouse; I went through a lot of trouble; I improved the village's health."

The people asked, "Why is it that there is no money for us?"

The engineer asked, "How many years is it since the lands were divided?"

The people said, "Four."

The engineer asked, "What did you do with your plots during this time?"

The people said, "Farmed them."

The engineer said, "Didn't the government sell these plots to you to be repaid in fifteen-year installments? Have you paid any installments?"

The people said, "No. Because nobody came to collect!"

The engineer said, "Why do you think they built the Agricultural Bank? Didn't one of you, at least, go there an pay one installment? My orders are to return the money to the bank!"

There was commotion. People pouted; indicating that they were no longer on speaking terms with the engineer, and they left."

The Sheykh and the hajis incited the people; they urged the farmers not to sign the receipts. Made helpless in this way, the Sheykh and the hajis thought, the engineer would give up and give out the money.

At night the Sheykh and the hajis brought a Qur'an to the engineer.

The wood in the fireplace was red and the room was pleasantly warm. The engineer was arranging the files.

The hajis said, "Mr. Engineer, we paid these people cash. They gave us IOUs to be paid with the loan they receive. If you don't pay them, we will have to wait till the next harvest. We will never receive our money!"

The engineer said, "This is all of their own making. The farmers' case is like the case of a tree whose roots have decayed. No amount of water will revive it. Four years have elapsed since these farmers were given land. Why should they still not be able to pay their installments? You people ruin everything. These farmers didn't know what a debt was before they received their plots. Their problems began only after you flooded the village with record players and transistor radios and after you sold them your junk double the price on credit. Village life is based on imitation. The villager feels obliged to keep up with the Joneses. The storekeepers came exhibiting gaudy materials. The villager who thought he actually owned land, and thereby could afford almost anything, began to buy on credit. Further trouble followed when they began to enjoy trips to town. Each one of these villagers goes to town at least two times a year. To afford these trips, he borrows from you at more than fifty percent interest. How can he prosper, if he has sold you his rice at a mere twenty rials a bushel instead, of the regular forty-five rials a bushel?"

The Sheykh said, "what you say is so very right. But I improved the health of the village."

The engineer said, "And you received what you worked for. Nobody said you have to receive cash. In fact, using your turban and cloak, you robbed everyone of every penny."

The Sheykh said, "Has anyone complained?"

The engineer said, "These people are destitute. They don't dare complain. They cannot rise against religion. You take advantage of these people's destitution and ignorance. Why do you turn whatever is against your personal interests around and attribute it to religion and to the Imam?"

Rostam said, "Mr. engineer. It is not that we have not complained. I did. But I am only one person. I went to town and I tried to put things right. But rather than thanks, I was bombarded by a barrage of abuse coming from this same so-called Sheykh. When the health inspector appraised the bathhouse at fifty thousand tumans, he included labor, builder's wages, and the price for stone. All that, however, was donated. The Sheykh has never given an account of what he has received."

The Sheykh said, "Who, besides you, has asked for an account? Everyone but you trusts me!"

He then took his turban off his head, hit it against the floor and shouted, "You will respond to my Lady Saviour, the Prophet's daughter!"

Rostam said to the engineer, "He is about to put a jinx on us!"

The engineer said, "So what!" Then he got up and respectfully ushered the hajis and the Sheykh out of the room.

There was a great deal of confusion. The Sheykh gathered the people around him and announced that the engineer was an infidel. The villagers, angry for not receiving their money, accepted his verdict. They were angry because they had spent a lot of time on rooftops waiting, looking at the road and because, after four years of cultivating their land for free now, suddenly, they were being asked to pay installments. Mash Siyavash incited the villagers not to sign their receipts. They obeyed. The engineer waited till noon of the next day, then he took the money to leave. Rostam and his clan came and signed. Then others came and, one by one, signed. They knew deep down in their hearts that they were not in the right. Besides, they figured that it was better to pay the installments than to get the money and had it to the Sheykh and the hajis. The hajis and the Sheykh tried to prevent the people. The people said, "At least in this way we know who is paid." To the Sheykh they said, "With due respect to your Ancestor, the engineer is right!"

On its way out, the villagers accompanied the engineer's jeep to the outskirts of the village. From there it left, leaving them unhappy and destitute. The Sheykh all but cried.

The villagers resumed their routine, as if nothing unusual had happened. They arranged harvest time for the Sheykh's money to be paid. The discrepancies about the bathhouse were forgotten. Everyone prayed for the Sheykh. There was a long time between then and the time for harvest!

Summer 1968
Shiraz, 1967