Amir had never known a person like Saj: a man whose outside appearance perfectly matched his demeanor. Saj’s features were harsh and twisted; his nose was crooked as if it had been crushed in a fight long ago, and both sides of his protruding jawline came to a sharp point at his chin. His brow line was perpetually furrowed so that whenever he looked Amir’s way, it was with an expression that made Amir’s palms sweat, and occasionally caused him to lose his grip on his shovel. To make matters worse, at nearly seven feet tall, Saj towered over Amir—casting long shadows wherever he went. For Amir and the other farmhands, Saj’s shadow was a dark presence that simultaneously spoiled an otherwise enjoyable day and threatened something worse to come.

Despite all this, Saj was Zahid’s top farmhand. This had been made clear by Saj himself on Amir’s first day. “I’m in charge,” Saj had told him, his face so close that Amir could smell Saj’s stale, sour breath. “Do as I say and there will be no problems.”

The problems, Amir soon learned, usually manifested in a missing family heirloom or stolen chicken—items kept in each farmhand’s private home on the eastern end of the farm—that disappeared with remarkable consistency after anyone dared to cross Saj. This had always been the case, the farmhands told him, but the problems with Saj had grown worse as the farm floundered. Even though the farmhands themselves never went without pay, Zahid’s well-known generosity had caused many aspects of the farm to slowly fall into disarray, which, for whatever reason, infuriated Saj. A week without rain, a broken piece of machinery, any upset at all, could send Saj into a tirade, his shouts echoing out across the spice fields and high into the nearby hills. However unpleasant, Saj’s anger was as much a part of life on the farm as the smoky scent of the cardamom pods in bloom.

“And no one has ever stood up to him?” Amir had asked, fingers throbbing from the hard day of work.

Dhruv, the oldest farmhand, shrugged. “He has Zahid’s ear.” The old man looked across at Saj, who was yanking hard on the rope of Zahid’s newest cow. “You know,” Dhruv said quietly. “Saj had his own farm once.”

Amir’s hands stilled. “He did?” Dhruv nodded. “What happened to it?”

“Monsoon. Saj lost everything. Even his family.”

“Then how—”

“Saj and Zahid’s fathers were friends. Long ago. Back when Saj was as rich as Zahid. Of course, now he sleeps in a hut just like ours.”

The fact that Saj looked up at the same muddy roof as Amir each night did nothing to still the ever-mounting resentment Amir felt each time he saw Saj yell at Dhruv for pausing to catch his breath, or the time when another farmhand’s beloved family bangle disappeared and appeared on Saj’s wrist the next morning while Zahid was giving out the day’s orders. Saj only smirked, lips curled tight, and Amir had to clench his fist by his side to keep his words from spilling out. He so badly wanted to expose Saj for the thief he was and for the irrepressible callousness with which he treated those around him.

Sometimes, Amir thought back to that day and wished he’d spoken out. But he’d seen the way Saj acted around Zahid—bounding around the property, smiling at everyone he passed, boasting about his own successes, while whispering the names of the other farmhands whenever Zahid spied something not yet done. Around Zahid, Saj was inexplicably capable of being humorous, and more than once Amir had gaped at the sight of Zahid, bent over at the waist, emitting the kind of deep belly laughter that leaves a mark on a man through the creases of his face.

After a year on the farm, Amir too, had come to the same conclusion as those before him. Neither standing up to Saj nor telling Zahid of Saj’s true nature would do anyone any good. Zahid would never believe his top farmhand was capable of such cruelty unless Amir could offer tangible proof. But proof would be difficult to find.

No, Amir would have to try to find a way to live with Saj, until an opportunity to amass proof presented itself. Despite his temptation to engineer a situation that would unmask Saj to Zahid, any scenario Amir could dream up felt cruel and malicious.

It was in these moments, late at night, when ill thoughts plagued his mind and the warm air cradled the farm in its lulling embrace, that Amir would walk the perimeter of the farm and think of his father, who had led a modest but respectable life. His father had never stooped so low and—at least for the time being—neither would Amir. Right now, he had the darkness all to himself, the cool earth soothing his bare feet and the sweet scent of the spice fields filling his lungs, and for now, that was enough.