Throwing watermelon seeds into his mouth and spitting out the shells in front of him, he came out of the bazaar. He breathed the fresh spring air and remembered that now he had to go home: first there would be a scuffle, he would say one thing and she would answer back, and finally it would lead to his beating her. Then they would eat supper and glare at each other, and after that they would sleep. It was Thursday night, too, and he knew that tonight his wife had cooked sabzi pilau. These thoughts passed through his mind while he was looking this way and that way. He remembered his wife’s words, “Go away you phoney Hajji! If you’re a Hajji, how come your sister and mother have become something worse than beggars in Karbala? And me! I said no to Mashadi Hosein the moneylender when he asked for my hand only to get married to you, a good for nothing phoney Hajji!” He remembered this and kept biting his lip. It occurred to him that if he saw his wife there and then he would cut her stomach into pieces.

By this time he had reached Bayn ol’Nahrain Avenue. He looked at the willow trees which had come out fresh and green along the river. He thought it would be a good idea tomorrow, Friday, to go to Morad Bak Valley in the morning with several of his friends and their musical instruments and spend the day there. At least he wouldn’t have to stay at home, which would be unpleasant for both him and his wife. He approached the alley which led to his house. Suddenly he had the impression that he had glimpsed his wife walking next to him and then straight past him. She had walked past him and hadn’t paid any attention to him. Yes, that was his wife all right. Not only because like most men Hajji recognized his wife under her chador, but also because his wife had a special sign so that among a thousand women Hajji could easily recognize her. This was his wife. He knew it from the white trim of her chador. There was no room for doubt. But how come she had left home again at this time of day and without asking for Hajji’s permission? She hadn’t bothered to come to the shop either to say that she needed something. Where was she going? Hajji walked faster and saw that, yes, this was definitely his wife. And even now she wasn’t walking in the direction of home. Suddenly he became very angry. He couldn’t control himself. He wanted to grab her and strangle her. Without intending to, he shouted her name, “Shahrbanu!”

The woman turned her face and walked faster, as if she were frightened. Hajji was furious. He couldn’t see straight. He was burning with anger. Now, leaving aside the fact that his wife had left home without his permission, even when he called her, she wouldn’t pay any attention to him! It struck a special nerve. He shouted again.

“Hey! Listen to me! Where are you going at this time of day? Stop and listen to me!”

The woman stopped and said aloud:

“Nosy parker, what’s it to you? You mule, do you know what you’re saying? Why do you bother someone else’s wife? Now I’ll show you.