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AN AD IN VEČERNJE NOVOSTI

by Kati Hiekkapelto

Fontana, New Belgrade

Translated from Finnish by Aleksi Koponen

It’s all Mom’s fault. I’m lying in a big double bed with a tall, squiggly iron headboard. That’s the only furniture in the entire apartment. Nothing in the living room or in the kitchen. Windows without curtains. The sky outside looks the same as back home in the village, the fluffy gray clouds float by, heavy with rain, water pours down the windowpane. Everything’s quiet and I feel like I’m about to cry.

The bed’s covered in satin sheets with a bit of a sheen. Or they had a sheen, but not anymore. Mom chose them from the ones in her chest, saying she’d only used them a couple of times. First time away from home and in a new place, won’t hurt to have something that smells of home, she’d said. It will help you sleep.

I can’t move. If I try to lift my head, the fog comes down with a terrible pain that rips and burns everywhere. I can’t feel my hands but I can see them above me, dripping with blood. They’re cuffed to the iron headboard and my mouth is stuffed with some type of leather gag. It’s difficult to breathe. Every part of me is broken. Mom’s fine sheets are rumpled, doused and dappled in brown and red blood and feces and other bodily fluids.

It’s the morning after my wedding and my wife’s gone, having left me tied to the bed. She told me as she was leaving that she was never coming back. She said it with an evil laugh. I know Mom would save me, but she can’t because she doesn’t know where I am. I can’t call her with a gagged mouth and tied hands, and besides, I don’t have a phone. Mom wouldn’t let me have a mobile phone. She told me I’d get brain cancer from any radiation near my head.

This was all Mom’s idea. It wasn’t me who wanted to get married. I was happy with my quiet life in our village. She became obsessed with marrying me off. Yesterday was the same, she was fussing outside the courthouse where we got married, having packed three bags full of food so that I’d last until the morning. She told my wife that I’ve always liked to eat. And made us swear that as soon as we were awake we’d return home so that she could make us a proper breakfast. She saw I was nervous and said I’d be all right, nothing would change, except now I had a wife and she’d live with us. Only one night away from home and we’d see each other in the morning as usual. Oh dear, did she get that wrong? I haven’t had a single bite to eat. My wife started torturing me as soon as we got here. It’s likely that before starving I’ll bleed to death or my wounds will get so infected that I’ll die of blood poisoning. There’s no one who knows where I am and I doubt anyone will come until my corpse starts to smell. It’s not my wife’s home and the marriage ceremony was just an act. That’s what the woman said before she left.

* * *

I’ve slept next to Mom every night until now. She wouldn’t let me go on class trips or to church camps even though we did go to church regularly. When I turned eighteen I asked her for a room of my own but she just laughed and pooh-poohed me, reminding me how scared I am of thunder. She said that somebody had to make sure I didn’t masturbate, pour my seed into the ground. She made such an awful face that I didn’t mention my own room again. I was scared she might really get angry. And, of course, I knew she was only thinking of what was best for me. She’d always told me I was very sensitive, not like other people, that I need to be protected from the evils of this world, from temptation and sinful thoughts. How did she not see this coming? The first night away from home and this happens.

* * *

I’ve had a nice life with not too many worries. Mom’s looked after things. I wasn’t keen on leaving the village or home, things have been peachy. I’ve had enough to eat and clean clothes. That’s everything a man needs, Mom told me. Once one Friday I did want to go into the city to go barhopping but Mom wouldn’t give me money for the bus, so that took care of that. I wouldn’t have known when to press the button. Would’ve gotten lost. So I stayed home to watch television as usual and it wasn’t too bad. We kept a tally of how many questions each one of us got right. Mom said it’s far easier to stay at home and she was right. She never went into the city. There’s nothing there for people like us, she told me.

When I turned forty a couple of years ago, Mom changed her mind all of a sudden. She started nagging and braying and was always in a foul mood, especially when she was cooking or washing my socks or underwear or sweeping the front. Just find a wife, she’d say. Get married. Good to have a daughter-in-law. Find one. And so she went on. I did answer back once. Where am I going to find her? I said. You don’t even let me go to the shop on my own, someone might lure me into the kafana to drink and smoke. It was brave of me to say that. Usually, I just listen to her in silence, because she does lose her temper and that’s what happened this time too. She boxed my ears and started weeping, telling me I was blaming her for my own uselessness, an old woman who’s given me everything. And how could she look after me if she got worse? I’ll be seventy soon! she shouted, as if I didn’t know. And you need a wife! One who does your washing, your shopping, keeps a tidy house, and feeds you. Young, strong, and modest.

I realized she was right, I could see she was old and ground down by her rheumatism. She was thinking of what’s best for me, but it did make me anxious. A wife. What am I supposed to do with a wife? I asked her. I wouldn’t know what to do. All sorts of slightly shameful thoughts started swarming in my head. Phooey, she said, and told me she’d give me advice. I’ll look after you and won’t let her treat you badly. It’ll go without a hitch. Just find the right one, she said, looking worried.

* * *

Some years passed with her asking around, putting out feelers, telling people that her son was looking for a wife. He’s a good man, she said, who doesn’t drink or fight or run around. But there was no one really suitable for us. The ones she had in mind had left the village a long time ago. The remaining few weren’t good enough for her. They went out in the city, their faces thick with makeup, looking for someone richer and smarter. And I don’t know how to dance. They wouldn’t understand, she said with huffy contempt. Whores, the lot of them, thinking they’ll get ahead and don’t realize that if someone’d have them, they would’ve snapped them up a long time ago. Past their sell-by date, sour and off, she complained. I didn’t like her speaking ill of others even though she didn’t really say nice things about anyone. There was one, a divorced lady who returned to our area, who Mom was interested in. I faintly remembered that she was one of the few who’d left me alone. I thought that I could build a marriage on that basis, but it all fell apart. Apparently, she was already going out with somebody, about to be engaged. Mom was furious. The bitch is lying! she shouted with her eyes ablaze. How could no one have seen anything in the village? Somebody would have known because there are no secrets here. That evening she calmed down and told me she wouldn’t have wanted a divorced woman for her dear son, that something must be wrong with the bitch since the previous husband up and left. There was nothing to add. I was happy that we couldn’t find anyone.

* * *

Then one day everything changed. It was one of those hot days where the air moves slowly, the cornfields breathe heavily, and the sun’s your enemy. I’d stayed in all day. Mom had gone to the shop and I was waiting for her to come back with sweet treats. I was sitting in the kitchen listening to the radio, without a care in the world. As soon as Mom came back I knew something had happened. Her hands were shaking as she spooned coffee into the džezva and she had a big smile across her sweaty face. I’ve got a great idea, she said, putting a cup on the plate.

Mom had heard the shopkeeper gossiping with Jovanka next door, telling her about going to her cousin’s wedding in the city that weekend. I kept munching on my šampite and said nothing even though I was getting slightly worried. Guess how this cousin found her husband, Mom said to me, her face glowing and red. I couldn’t guess, I had no idea how to find a husband. I knew something was up. The woman replied to a personal ad in the paper, Mom said, nearly shouting. The man, her future husband, put an ad in the paper looking for a wife, and she read it and felt in her heart that this was the one. And now they’re getting married! Just think about it. Pastry crumbs were flying from her lips as she excitedly told me the story. We’ll do the same, she said. My dear boy, we’ll run an ad. I’ll write it so you don’t have to worry about mistakes. Think! All the women of Serbia are going to read it. Your wife won’t be someone from our tiny little circles who could end up being a distant relative, yuck. The whole of Serbia will see our ad and there’ll be someone who realizes right away that this is her man, the only one for her. This is how we handle it. This is how people do things now.

She wrote the ad and I didn’t object. I couldn’t, even though I had a bad feeling from the start. I should’ve paid heed to that feeling. Maybe she would’ve listened to me if I’d protested enough. I could’ve stopped eating. That would’ve shown her how serious I was. But I couldn’t. And I thought to myself, Mom is wiser and more experienced and knows what’s best for me. Plus, I don’t like to starve myself.

The ad ran in the July 15 issue of Večernje Novosti.

Women of Serbia! I am looking for a wife for my 42-year-old son. Only hard-working, honest women with serious intentions. “Country Mouse.” (D094109)

And that’s how we found a wife. She was from Belgrade, short and compact, like her name, Una. She called us two weeks after we’d posted the ad. I knew Mom was already worried after no one called even though she tried to hide it and pretended to be cheery and hopeful. We’ll find you a fine wife, my dear boy, she said every night as she tucked me in. There’ll be a call tomorrow, I just know it. A week later I felt secretly relieved. That’s when I was sure I wouldn’t find a wife, neither a fine nor a bad one, and was happy. I didn’t want one. I wanted to be left alone with Mom. And then one night Una called. It was after my bedtime. Mom was watching a crime show she wouldn’t let me watch. I heard the phone ring and Mom getting up from her chair.

They spoke on the phone for half an hour. I couldn’t properly hear what Mom was saying but I realized something was going on. After the call, she was full of energy. She rushed into the bedroom, switched on the light, and told me with a shaky voice that it was my wife who called and that she’d be here tomorrow. She wasn’t even angry that she’d missed some of the crime show. She started cleaning the house in the middle of the night, like a crazy woman. She rummaged around so that it was impossible for me to sleep. After she calmed down and laid down next to me, she proudly declared that it was now time for me to have my own room. For me and my wife, that is. You’ll move into the sewing room, we’ll make a nice nest for you, she said. I started worrying and wanted to cry. I didn’t want my own room anymore, and I definitely didn’t want to sleep with a stranger in a stupid nest, and besides, where would we put Mom’s sewing? She told me to be quiet. She told me we’d just rearrange things, a bed by each wall and the sewing machine between them, where the window is. That’s not my own room then, is it? I was about to say, but I didn’t have the nerve. You can always sleep in my bed if you feel like it, she said before she finally fell asleep. I didn’t sleep at all that night.

* * *

Una arrived the following morning. Mom opened the door as we’d planned and I peered through the curtains in the kitchen. I tried to be careful not to brush the curtains. Mom had told me to wait in the kitchen and only come into the living room when she called for me. Sweet suffering Jesus, Una was pretty. She and Mom talked for a long while on the steps and at times she’d glance at the kitchen window as if she knew I was there. She swayed around very slowly, and her long dark hair swayed too. I’d never seen anything like her. Her clothes were special, not at all what other people wore. Her shiny dress was skintight, like someone had doused her in oil. Her eyes and lips were painted black. No one in the village looked like that, not even in the magazines I sometimes secretly skimmed in the shop. As I saw her swaying on our doorstep, I started to think it wouldn’t be too bad to have a wife of my own. My little mickeybob, which is what Mom called it when she was washing me, started to swell inside my pants and I became short of breath. I had to rub myself through my pants when they went into the living room and continued talking. I did feel a bit ashamed and dirty. Mom would’ve thrown a fit if she’d seen me like that, but I couldn’t show up in front of my fashionable wife with bulging pants. She would’ve thought I was a fool and Mom had warned me time and time again that I shouldn’t look like a clown. Hair combed, no staring with an open mouth, no picking your nose, and whatever you do, don’t fart, is that clear? she’d shouted at me repeatedly that morning. Best to keep my mouth shut and let Mom do the talking. I said I’d try my best.

After Mom and Una had chatted for a while, Mom came into the kitchen and put the džezva on. She told me in a low voice that after the coffee was ready I could join them and that it seemed promising, she was really interested in me. Mom was not pleased that Una was forty. She wanted me to marry somebody much younger. But then again, she said, best not to quibble when you’ve got a good one. An older woman could be better than a young thing, might have seen the world and wouldn’t be after something impossible, would understand how the world works. Well then, she said as she was putting down the sugars next to the cups and biscuits, now it’s time to meet our Una.

Una said nothing to me and I was pleased because I was so scared my stomach was doing somersaults. She kept staring at me with her black-painted cat’s eyes, and my cheeks started to flush. She looked at my crotch and I saw a flick of her wet, red tongue. Thank Jesus I’d sorted out my mickeybob, I thought, and remembered to shut my mouth. I felt sweat starting to run down my brow but I didn’t have the gall to wipe it off because my hands were shaking something awful. Sweet Jesus, they were already planning for a wedding and life after that. Yes, yes, Una nodded, and promised to do Mom’s washing too, and of course let the poor guy go sleep with his mother if ever there was a thunderstorm. It was okay with her that Mom would be in charge of cooking, no one else would understand what my appetite was like, but Una would help her with the chopping and peeling and slicing when needed. And wash the dishes. Una didn’t seem to mind that I wasn’t very talkative, she said she liked quiet men who weren’t always blabbing. No, she didn’t seem to mind that Mom would live in the room next to ours and would occassionally use it to sew in. Yes, she’d pull her weight when it came to living expenses like electricity and gas and water and could even pay Mom some rent. That’s when Mom started to smile very broadly and asked Una if she wanted more coffee.

The earliest possible date was set for the wedding. Papers wouldn’t take longer than two weeks and the ceremony would take place in Belgrade with official witnesses. Mom and Una agreed that there was no need to organize any sort of celebration, much less invite guests.

What a find, Mom said when Una excused herself. Una didn’t sit back down but told us that for her it was all settled. Her lifelong dream was about to come true, and all she needed to do was go back to the city to sell her apartment and organize a few other things. Then she’d return for the wedding. She only had one condition: she wanted to spend the wedding night in her old apartment in the city. She wanted to have one last fond memory of the place where she’d thought she’d die an old maid. Mom didn’t agree freely. I don’t know, she said. The poor boy hasn’t even seen Belgrade during the day. He won’t be able to sleep there. Would be best to come back right after the wedding.

That’s when I opened my mouth. I don’t know what possessed me to make that mistake, I was so taken by Una’s clothes and hair and cat’s eyes and tongue. Please, Mom, let me do it this once, I said. Since we’ve found such a good wife at last. Mom stayed quiet for a long time and I could nearly see the steam coming out of her ears as she was thinking. Una did the correct thing with Mom. She didn’t start pleading or reassuring. She just waited patiently, calmly looking out of the window. It took a long time until Mom finally agreed, this once. Una started laughing and sounded so happy that I couldn’t help but laugh too. I had to clap my hands and jump up and down a couple of times, I felt so good. Fine then, said Una. She promised to take good care of me and to bring me back the following morning when she would also move in. She said that she’d drive Mom to the shop or even into the city if Mom wanted. No more schlepping heavy bags. That sealed the deal for Mom.

* * *

As I said, we were married yesterday. Mom took the bus home from the courthouse and Una and I came to her apartment. I thought about how my life had changed completely, and so suddenly. The day before I’d never even been to the city and now I’d spent a whole day there with my wife. My head was swimming from all the cars and crowds and noise and the closeness of Una. Outside the courthouse, she took my hand and kissed me so hard that my lip bled a bit. Don’t worry, she said, I’ll take you home tomorrow. I love you. It must be real love, this, I thought—I’d never felt anything as lovely even though my lip was awfully sore. I wanted to tell her I loved her too but I didn’t have the nerve.

This apartment must be far from where we got married because we drove for a long time—at one point we even changed cars. I was nervous because I’d never been alone with a woman except for my mother, but she didn’t count, and hadn’t been in a car that often. But then on the side of a wall, I saw a large painting of two men whom I recognized from the news, probably presidents, and somehow they made me feel safe. I thought nothing bad could happen if those two were watching. We drove around until it got dark and started raining. The city lit up with a thousand lights. I saw tall houses pass outside the window, one after another, one street after another, the windshield wipers made screeching noises and puddles reflected the streetlights. Finally, we stopped in front of this building and took the clanking elevator to the sixth floor. There was no name written on her mailbox and I wanted to ask what her full name was, but I still didn’t have the courage to speak.

When we were inside the apartment my anxiety took over. My little mickeybob was dead stiff and achy in my pants. I did know what you’re supposed to do on your wedding night, and that’s what made me so nervous. Maybe I wouldn’t know how and she’d lose interest in me. I started making the bed with Mom’s sheets to give me something else to think about. Una stood in the doorway of the bedroom. She was wearing a black sheer lace dress and tight red boots. She was so devastatingly beautiful I could barely put the pillowcases on the pillows—I was so distracted. My wife!

After I finished making the bed, she told me in a low voice that it was time for us to start, that for years she’d dreamed of this moment. She told me to lie down on the bed and clicked my hands into the cuffs and then to the headboard. Then she took out an ugly rubber mask from under the bed, I’d seen them in old war films, as well as a long, thick whip and knives wrapped in soft velvet. She licked her lips with her red tongue, smiling and breathing heavily. She told me again that she loved me, then she put on the mask and began.