Roasted Turkey - 1

Mohammad Ali Jamal-Zadeh is one of Iran's most prominent short story writers. He is sometimes known as the forefather of realism in Iranian contemporary literature. His stories are often written in simple language and contain many instances of slang and commonplace idioms. The following story is one of his most popular short stories in the comic genre.
The Roasted Turkey (Part 1)
It was the New Year's eve and about the time when our company would announce the next year's promotions. That's the firm, we had come up with the idea that whoever got to promotion would invite everybody to their house and prepare for them the biggest and most magnificent turkey he could find, so the friends could eat the roast turkey and wish him the best of luck for the upcoming job. I was so lucky to get the promotion so I immediately went home and told my wife about the party. As we had just gotten married, she the smart wife of mine quickly decided that we owed my friends a good wedding dinner anyway, so they could all come to my house and enjoy the roast turkey. There was one slight problem however: we only had cutlery and silverware for two people, so in order to serve everybody that either had to buy a new set or we had to give the party in two consecutive nights to be able to serve everybody. I said: my dear, you know better than I that this being so close to the New Year's holidays, and our expenses so outrageously high already, I really can't spare a penny" and then I added rather meekly: "and my friends really can't be reduced either, I owe them all a good dinner". She speculated on this for a second and then said: "How about, for this particular dinner party, you invite those with higher ranks and invite the lowlier ones sometime later?" I said: "but darling I really can't disappoint them! How very rude would it seem to forsake my own former peers? I've promised them a turkey and they've been hoping to get a slice of it for so long. How about we borrow a set of dinner things from a friend instead?" she looked simply horrified: "Do you honestly not know, that if we borrow silverware for our first dinner party after the wedding it will bring us frightfully bad luck and our first born would die?" feeling completely unfit for dissuading from another of her many silly superstitions, I pleaded: "could we maybe give the party in two nights, each for one half of my friends, to come and enjoy the feast?" she agreed to this and we decided on two nights in the New Year's holidays to invite my friends over.
It was now the time for the first of the two promised parties. Beside the promised roasted turkey, my wife prepared a hearty pottage of barley and cream, roasted herb crusted lamb, steamed rice and several students that she spread on the table ready for my friend to arrive and enjoy. I was literally lying in a corner reading a favorite piece of Sadeq Hedayat when my wife appeared, in slight distress and announced the arrival of an "odd young man" by the name of Mustafa, Who had claimed to be my first cousin and wanted to see me and to observe the custom of meeting relatives during Noruz, The ancient Persian new year.
Mustafa, far from being my first cousin, was in fact the grandson of my grandmother's second cousin on her father's side. He seemed to be about 25 or 26 years of age, about 6 feet tall, very skinny and somewhat bank and figure, and to say it politely, he was not exactly what you would call easy on the eyes. To top off all of his many visual deformities, he was also unemployed and homeless. It was my great luck that I only had the honor of meeting this exceptional specimen of human beings once a year. But on this particular day and I'm on the pleasant excitement of the party, I could not bear the thought of dealing with him. I begged my wife: "please, my dear, do tell him I'm still asleep or otherwise engaged" my wife, irritated by all the work she had done since the early morning, would simply not hear of this: "why would I do with HIM? He's your own first cousin, your flesh and blood, and go deal with him yourself". It seemed like there was no way to avoid the lad, and a good natured part of me kept nagging that he was probably hungry and cold while waiting for me outside so, with much difficulty, rose myself from my delightfully comfortable position and went to the front door to meet him. I had not thought to myself capable of surprised at his sight, yet by seeing that his appearance had unbelievably worsened our last meeting, I was entirely lost for words when he lowered his head and abashedly entered my house. He seemed to have grown a few inches further since the previous year and his skin looked a much darker shade of gray as his most important occupation was to lie down and stare about him wherever he would be permitted, and preferably indoors. His neck, long and thin and leathery, perfectly resembled the neck of the turkey roasting in the oven that very moment.
It is almost painful to describe his state dress, so it would suffice to say that he had been washed so many times and had been worn for so many years that the knees had bulged out to at least three times their original size and I had a strong suspicion that he could securely stuff a pair of watermelons in them without them being noticed. I was mesmerized by watching this wonderful creature with my wife entered, now visibly enraged: "you numb-wit! How am I supposed to cook one turkey on two nights? What came over you when you bought one turkey, and not a pair?" When I did a bit of careful reasoning, I realized that the poor woman was in fact right. I had made a great mistake. But what was to be done? I asked her: "could we cut the bird in half, and present each side to the company of our guests each night"? She looked at me with pure disbelief at my ignorance: "that kind of disgrace has never been seen! Good Lord! To serve half a turkey!" In a very desperate attempt to calm her nerves I called Mustafa over to see if the useless wretch could somehow miraculously have a solution. He is speculated on the matter for a good 15 minutes and then, with a gurgling and breaking voice solemnly declared that, we could have sent out a servant, or on this special occasion, the wonderful man himself, to go to the market and buy another turkey for tomorrow. But how could anybody find an open market on the New Year's holidays? Privately, he's reasoning was not entirely flawed. On the holidays such as this one finding a turkey would be quite as difficult as finding the continent of America all over again. As I had seen a glimmer of hope in the formerly useless boy in front of me, I risked another attempt at testing his abilities: "your cousin, I would present you with the most precious of awards if you somehow, in one of the ways only you know best, would find a fresh turkey to roast for tomorrow" upon hearing this, although eager to seem helpful, he said: "there is absolutely, definitely, no possible way to secure a turkey on such a day as this".
It finally dawned on me that I was now, officially in a serious trouble. What was I to do? How could I say for both parties? I had a feeling that I was to be the laughing stock of my whole company for the whole of the next year if I failed to produce a whole roasted turkey to both dinner tables. I could not possibly take another piece from my dear cousin that now insisted I should cancel both parties altogether. How on earth could I managed to cancel a party hours before the arrival of the guests? He suggested I could pretend to be unwell and have my wife tell the guests that the doctor had forced me to bedrest for a considerably long time. Even though I was thoroughly desperate enough to take this into consideration, I remembered that I had called my friends that very morning and talk to some of them leisurely for long periods of time, which a sickly bedridden person could hardly be expected to do. His next amazing suggestion was to claim that my turkey, perfectly sound and healthy in the kitchen, was stolen by a stray dog. Apparently he had assumed that my colleagues were a group of gullible eight-year-old boys. Grown men would demand to see the delinquent dog, as any sane grown-up would do. He then, after another long moment of careful thought said that I should have a servant greet the men at the door and claim that I have gone on a pilgrimage and will not return for several weeks. Bike this time I had returned to my previous impression of him as a useless wretch, so I resolved to get rid of him as soon as possible: "my dear Mustafa, let me give you your New Year's present to take to my kind uncle and aunt and wish them a very happy new year from me". The idiot however was visibly not paying any attention to me as he mumbled, with signs of deep concentration on his face: "what if we could find a way to make sure the turkey remains untouched, so that we can reheat it and bring it to the table a second time?" I heard this, at first I was outraged and resolved to fro the poor idiot out of my house but then it occurred to me that, as outrageous the idea was, I had absolutely no other choice. What other option that I have? So I told him: "I do believe we can do this, but you need to help me. Use some of your extraordinary intelligence to make sure that the guests will not eat any of the turkey tonight so we can carry on with our ingenious plan"
Mustafa seemed immediately intrigued. I had a strong suspicion that he was not very sure as to what I had just suggested but he seemed excited enough to take my orders so I tried to keep up this positive mood to serve my purposes: "come cousin, sits by me. Sit on this velvet cushion, by my side, and tell me about yourself. What have you been up to these days? Do you want me to find you a suitable job or even a good wife? Here, have a piece of baklava!" As he position he is awkward body on the little cushioned seat, and started with many small theatrical struggles to thank me sincerely for the never before seen kindness bestowed upon him, I stopped him midsentence and continued: "come, come, my dear cousin! You are closer to me than my own brother! I will by no means allow you to leave my house tonight before having dinner with us. I will promptly ask my wife to bring you one of my best suits for you to wear and I would ask you to do me the honor of sitting by me at the dinner table. All you have to do to thank me is to make sure, that once all the side dishes have been eaten, and everybody has eaten to all you have to do to thank me is to make sure, that once all the side dishes have been eaten, and everybody has eaten to their full, you would exclaimed loudly that there would be no way for you to even taste the turkey because you have eaten so much already that even a bite could kill you. You would graciously beg me and my wife to take away the turkey because the very sight of it would make your already heavy stomach haul. You would keep on insisting that the turkey has to be brought back to the kitchen because neither you nor any other of the guests can bear the very sight of it because they all have eaten so much already. Then you would go on to say that if even a single bite of the turkey is forced upon you, you would fall ill right on the spot and would be a great trouble for the host. I will keep insisting that you please take a bite out of the roast turkey and you would persistently decline so that the other guests would eventually agree and refuse to try the turkey".
Mustafa, which was following my words with an open mouth and nodding occasionally, grinned and said: "I get it cousin, relax. I can totally do this."
I however, knowing him and his famous stupidity, repeated to him my instructions several times until he almost knew them by heart and then I sent him to another room to clean up and wear my fresh clothes.
End of part one