Читать книгу Test-&-mend - Juanna Artmane - Страница 5

Shortly on the reception of the long-awaited news of Ali’s admission to University, Abdul decided to throw a bash. Talking big about the success of his son, Abdul could not miss an opportunity to feed his boastful nature by showing off his financial superiority. The inferior position, which common people held, was partly the fault of those Abdul-like, working for the Regime. Their inequality was aggravated by the historical events of the time.

After the downfall of the Evil Empire, the country was swept with poverty. Rebuilding of economy required years and years of conscientious work. It could have been possible, if the power had belonged to a goodman, acting in the best interests of the state. Shamefully, rich oil-deposits of the country did not let it acquire the appropriate status on the global scale, because a Mr. X successfully managed to build a pipeline in 1999 and since then he was exporting the raw material to the external market – rather than improving the inner one. Huge profits, which were used to strengthen the authoritarian system, came in – due to high demands in the product. The governance undertook exceptional care of every single bolt in the System and oiled every detail in the Machine of Power. They did their utmost, so that it could work smoothly and flawlessly, i. e. to be constantly palm-greased to run affairs on wheels.

Ordinary people remained poor, witnessing speedy enrichment of the System. Commoners had nothing better to do – than to look up to the Abdul-like. Traditionally, governors were to be respected and even feared, but in reality, they were heartily despised. The burning hatred did not prevent citizens, however, from trying to enter the System themselves. With dubious success, they grabbed at the illusory chance to somehow ensure their existence – at least in the eyes of the similar. Well, after all who could blame them? It was only wise to follow the common sense and take the advice: “If you can’t beat them, join them!”. Citizens, who had no chance of being part of the Machine, felt their way in the corrupted society through befriending those in authority.

In the deprived areas of the city, Abdul was the only one, representing the Regime. Therefore, he was seen as someone to win over, and everyone was willing to gratify his whims. The offer of neighbours’ assistance in preparation of the upcoming celebration seemed absolutely natural. The party was to be held in Abdul’s house, as restaurants in general were a rarity back then.

Actually, there was a restaurant and a few cafds in the city of “N”, but they had such a poor menu and so frequently cooked with stale and rancid products, that no one would consider holding any event in those places. Besides, the restaurant was located too close to the river, which served as a drain for municipal sewerage lines. The unbearable stench saluted everyone, coming to the restaurant.

It was not only the stinking smell that put off citizens. People had no means to dine even at the beanery. This was the main reason, why the restaurant did not see the point in acquiring fresh food. The same food was frozen and de-frozen before being served to some rare clients, who dropped in once in a blue moon. So, as you have already understood, it was a catch 22.

If citizens had the means to afford such a luxury as throwing parties, they usually celebrated everything at their private houses.

Abdul’s house was a fair-sized two-storey grey building with a patio for at least fifty people. A steel square gate opened to the yard, where a narrow tiled pathway led to the house. Both sides of the pathway were covered with grey volatile sand, which at any sign of wind rose, blinding anyone, walking towards the house. Few apple trees were planted along the veranda: they awarded the place a status of a small garden. Contrary to the original purpose of bearing fruit and giving harvests, those trees were meant to prevent the sand from entering the place. A thick layer of dust covered everything, decorating the veranda. During summer months, it was a dining room. A heavy oval oak table occupied almost all the territory, leaving a narrow pass-way to the wooden door, opening into the living room.

Back then, living rooms were called aynabends. The word could be literally translated as a glass-room, because the walls of it were built with multiple doublesashed windows.

Abdul’s house was a fine example of this conventional style. Being rectangular in shape and no shorter than 9 meters in length, the walls of the living room were incorporated with a long row of windows.

From the point of view of practicality, these windows were a reckless thing to install, as under the Regime the city had no central heating. This construction could sustain comfortable temperatures during winter months, but in the blistering heat of summer, such rooms turned into boiling kettles. The sanity of people, who came up with the idea of these glass-rooms, could be questioned.

In her turn, Abdul’s wife never questioned the necessity of the windows’ decoration. They were dressed in tulle with brown boteh, which is a traditional almond-shape print, patterned on crimson portieres. A true match to them – Vinous Persian carpets covered the wooden floor, overlapping one another, hardly leaving a single spot bare. To finish this fabulous sight, a Czech crystal chandelier with twenty-four lights was installed by the hospitable mistress of the house.

Unfortunately, such wonderful chandeliers fulfilled only decorative function, as in the 2000^th the city was devoid of regular electricity supply – to indulge in its luxurious light. Joyfully, it was not totally deprived of those happy bright hours. For two or – on some particularly lucky days – even three hours, citizens were blessed with this achievement of civilization.

Therefore, Leila, by regularly dusting the crystal treasure, served this chandelier more than it served the family – by illuminating the room. An ideal counterpart to this ceiling-masterpiece was sophisticated furniture with typical of the eastern culture curved designs. Placed in the left corner of the living room, two display cabinets were filled to capacity. The cottage china was white elephant and never used to treat guests. As if awaiting for them, a bare table with a thick rectangularshaped panel stretched itself on four ridiculously thin legs in the middle of the room. It was long enough to accommodate a family of elephants.

The left side of the living room was adjacent to three poorly furnished bedrooms. The second floor of the house was uninhabited for most part of a year and, therefore, was also of no use. As you can see, there was more than enough space in Abdul’s house to throw a party and less than enough furniture to cause problems in accommodating volunteers to share the joy. Besides, neighbors were willing to lend their meuble, as they were eager to be of any help to Abdul.

They even helped to write and distribute numerous invitations to all the relatives. Next door mates did not need any official asking to participate in the event, as their presence on the day of celebration was inevitable.

In an unstoppable ant-line, neighbors were carrying additional tables and chairs on their backs to Abdul’s yard. Arranging the scene, they left the central part empty – for dancing. Women from the neighborhood came carrying their sets of crockery and cutlery in boxes, tucked under their arms or graciously holding them on their heads. Soon the whole house was swarming with rushing legs, aching backs, cooking hands. Two days were spent on preparation for the event.

The fifth of August finally arrived – as well as the guests at the door. Abdul in his crispy black suit was standing at the entrance, shaking male-guests’ hands and tossing a few words in between. Hannah was to accompany her father and meet female guests, which traditionally meant kissing them on both cheeks and giving welcoming hugs to every invited soul. A true match to her dandy-like Dad, she was dressed in a stunning red gown, slightly revealing her knees and was forced onto high heels by her mum. The scarlet colour, lavishly coating her plump lips, flattered her white skin. It did produce a wow-effect: it made the girl eye-catching and made men involuntarily turn their heads in her direction. As if shielding from these curious glances, Hannah felt timid but self-conscious. Each minute spent there – under the scrutinizing eyes put together with those sole-crashing high heels – felt unbearably long. But the worst was yet to be faced.

A car with familiar numbers turned the corner, raising all possible dust at its reckless speed. This was the car of the man, Hannah was betrothed to; the man whom she hated with all her heart, the man whose wife she was supposed to become – Ibrahim. The car stopped right in front of Abdul’s gate.

Two pairs of massive legs fought out of the rear doors: Nargiz and Aila. The former was Ibrahim’s mother – a morbidly obese woman of forty-eight with greasy black hair. Her short limbs with fatty flesh, bouncing in all directions, made an amusing spectacle for everybody including Hannah, towards whom her future in-law was dragging herself. The black dress, she had squeezed into, was so tight that it seemed to burst apart at the following uneasy step. She was being followed by her daughter. Aila was a cheerful woman with shoulderlength chestnut hair. She was in her twenties and despite excess weight, her gait was elegant and light. Smiling from ear to ear, she threw a swift appraising glance at Hannah and generously pecked her several times.

Ibrahim lingered in the car and after a while pushed himself out of the driver’s seat. Eyes fixed on Hannah, he was striding towards Abdul. A sore sight to witness: his fat belly-apron was hanging and swinging from side to side with every step. The sun was unsightly exposing his grease thinning hair. His swarthy face looked darker under thick black brows. Beads of sweat were trickling down to his aquiline nose. Ugly spots of perspiration were all over his shirt. His slow movements were given an impression of haste. His whole appearance seemed gawky. Under the compassionate looks of the guests, he finally reached the host and thrusted his wet hand to Abdul: “Salam aleykum!”

– Aleykuma salam! – responded Abdul. Ignoring the expecting hand, Abdul hugged Ibrahim, patting on his shoulder approvingly: “How are the things with you?”

– I am all expectation, – Ibrahim grinned with delight, broadly revealing his yellow teeth of a tobaccosmoker. He was hinting at his marriage with Hannah. Then, turning to her, he nodded his head as a token of greeting. The latter did not look at him, intentionally avoiding any eye contact. The mere sight of this man turned her stomach, though he was supposed to become the father of her children. The man, at whose company she repelled, had something extremely repulsive in his gestures and manners. He was more like a predator than a human. «I would rather die than…» – she thought to herself. She stepped back, keeping as far as was politely possible and forced out: “Hello!”. To her relief, he carried his body further and joined other men.

All the guests had almost arrived by 5 p. m. and took their places at tables. Separately from others there was sitting Ali – brimming with the best mood since the day he was born. For him, this celebration was a farewell to this city, these people, this shell-like world! Receiving congratulations, he could not help looking down on them: “Small people with small wishes.”. This thought crossed his mind, whenever the guests approached him. Some of them were genuinely happy for him, others exhibited insincere gladness, but all of them were equally complimenting him on his resounding success.

The first sounds of traditional music came out from the band of musicians, who were blowing into their clarinets, standing in a line on the improvised “dancing floor”. Abdul welcomed the guests by inviting them to join his dance. According to the local tradition, the host should be the first to hit the floor and, approaching each table, to absorb guests in merry-making. After that, all felt free to eat, to drink or to shake a leg on their own will.

Meanwhile, women were serving the main course. They were running back and forth, devoid of a chance to take a breath or a glass of wine, though toasts were coming from different ends of the tables. Praises were told to Abdul for bringing up such a talented son and bottles of vintage were drunk in one go.

The celebration, which seemed a real nightmare to Hannah, lasted till dawn. The loud music coming from the clarions was muffled by deafening gurgling laughs and cluttering dishes. Several lord-drunk men struck the dance-poll, whistling, pulling themselves on sandy ground, raising dust. These men were Abdul’s colleagues. They were in similar positions at work and on the social ladder. They were so much-alike, that one would take them for relatives – rather than colleagues. Some kind of an indescribable expression bound them: they wore their heads slightly backwards, as if they were looking at the sky. This made their chins protrude in an arrogant way. Clinging to one another as a gang, they were dancing and indulging in cheerful pledges, keeping to that alternate pattern till the end of the bash.

Letting the dance floor to the drunken men, women flocked in several small colonies, gossiping and at times exchanging glances with the nearby bunches. Some of them were killing two birds with one stone: by pecking at the delicacies, stuffing their mouths with cakes and other eastern oily sweeties and by stuffing their ears with delightful descriptions of their companions’, who gave out all the slightest details of the well-known relatives. Every so often, they burst into laughter and trashed their thighs with greasy sticky hands. Then, not bothering much about hygiene, young mothers caught their popping in and out off-springs and fed them on some finger-smashed mixture of edible stuff. When the youngsters refused to stop or open their mouths, they were pinched ruthlessly, which only added shrieks to the cacophony around.

Hannah, on par with the rest, was rushing in and out of the kitchen: cleaning, arranging plates on the tables, and simultaneously trying to bypass those getting in her way. But there was one person she could not pass by anyhow – Ibrahim.

Hannah was standing at the sink, washing-up, fixed on the process and the sound of running water. Using the moment, he approached her noiselessly, so that she did not acknowledge this presence in the kitchen. He silently wrapped his hands around her waist from behind. The poignant scent of alcohol together with the acrid smell of sweat turned Hannah's stomach again. His huge beer gut was pressed against her fragile body. Breathing heavily, he turned her around and tried to kiss, but Hannah defended stoically by pushing him away: «You, drunkard, you… brute… lemme go! Or I will shout so loudly, that everyone will… mmmmm!..».

He covered her mouth with the right palm, squeezing her body and leaning on her. He was kissing her neck anxiously: «I am sick of waiting! You want this, don't you? You… you little cunt… You will obey me!».

Even being that drunk, he knew quite well, that he was risking: anyone could appear any moment at the door. After a while, he heard someone calling his name and this was Hannah’s salvation from the paws of the beast. Removing, he eased his tight grip, and let her fall down on the floor.

Pulling herself up and mastering her emotions, she got upright. For a moment the dimly lit kitchen felt like a deep well, where she sank hopelessly mumbling to herself: «I have a choice! Yes, I still have one!». The thought of «a deadly choice» never left her mind. Like a little bee in the bonnet, the idea of a suicide was buzzing in her head.

Any teenager in a seemingly blind-end situation, like Hannah’s, would turn to a suicidal thought. “What difference does it make”, – she would think to herself, – to live with the person you hate – and hate each day of your life – or just finish it?”. The answer was obvious. In the first case, you subject yourself to eternal suffering, whereas in the second – you end sufferings in eternity.

This hatred toward Ibrahim had a solid background. It was not because of his physical repulsiveness – far deeper! The grain of hatred was seeded, when she was six. Then Ibrahim used to live in the neighborhood and was a frequent guest at Abdul’s house. Actually, all Ibrahim’s family were welcomed whenever they wanted to entertain themselves in her parental mansion. Leila used to go extra length to support a good relationship with the future relatives. Being inattentive towards Hannah, she refused to notice, what was going on with her only daughter.

While Abdul was at work, Leila was keeping herself busy by meeting her friends at the expense of Hannah’s solitude. On one of such days, Ibrahim dropped in to see Ali who had left right before the former came. Only Hannah was there. Feeling free and pleased by such a chance, Ibrahim sat on the sofa, observing every move of the poor little girl. She was playing with her dolls, fully absorbed in her imaginary world. Then she looked at him, sitting in the opposite direction and watching her intently. Suddenly he asked: «Would you like me to show you a new game? I bet you don't know the way it is played!».

With her childish curiosity, Hannah got immediately interested in the game she had never played. She was told that it was a “secret game”. All she had to do was to keep silent. He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards himself. Even now – eight years after the event – that heavy disgusting breath was fresh in her mind. He ran his hand over her legs. Then, raising her quickly, he made her sit on his lap in a way that her legs parted, baring her privates. He pressed her against his body and started rubbing violently. She didn't know what to do and begged him to let her go, as she did not like the game at all. He hushed her squeezing her mouth. The pain of rubbing caused nausea and Hannah was about to vomit when he abruptly stopped. He took her and threw onto the carpet. Hannah was in total confusion. Now a man of two meters height stood above her putting his finger to his mouth in a hushing gesture «Shhh!». Such incidents kept repeating from time to time, until Ibrahim’s family moved to a new house in the eastern part of the city.

Although Hannah was too small to give a reasonable explanation to what was happening, she was ready to do anything to avoid this game in the future. But she couldn’t tell anyone about it as she was beaten by her parents regularly into the state of total submission. She was not able to make out, what her fault was. The only thing she wanted was to avoid was being beaten. Should she tell her mum about Ibrahim? Was it her fault to play the offered game? Her little soul was tormented with these questions. Each time Hannah was beaten black and blue, she came to question what her fault was. Why was she punished? When she got brave enough to ask her mum about it, she got an answer, driven from the common wisdom of the locals: “Those, who don’t beat daughter, will beat their knees!”. It was a proverb, used by natives, and it served a paragon to her mother. Pondering over “the common sense”, Hannah made the conclusion that being a girl was a mistake in itself.

Each time Hannah encountered Ibrahim, a feeling of disgust stirred up in her system. The fifth of August was not an exception. Although she did her best to wear a mask of calmness, Hannah could not conceal the distress – so clearly it was declared on her countenance. Hardly anyone would look carefully enough to see the state she was in – especially after a sleepless night.

It was at dawn, when the phantasmagoria finally finished. The guests started leaving one by one, expressing gratitude to have been invited and granted small boxes of packed food. They praised Leila on her lavish hospitality. It was a tradition to give takeaways after parties or funerals. A little bit of everything, left on the tables untouched, should be equally distributed.

After all, there was wisdom in it: one could not eat up everything, before the products went off. Back then, it was an unimaginable luxury to throw away food. Not even a slice of stale bread, not a single edible crumb could be found in the dumps. Although Abdul's family was leading a luxurious life, which was measured by the amount of food in the fridge, even they took due care not to waste anything. If a family could afford red meat and greenies, it was equal to being wealthy. If, besides the mentioned, a family could pay visits to doctors on a regular basis, they were looked upon as almost millionaires. Whereas the middle class’ usual cuisine consisted of potatoes, bread and meat byproducts. When it came to the poor, they might get along with grains and…, well, it hurts to think about the limited diversity of their menu. To throw a bash was available only to people in uniforms with shoulder straps.

Therefore, no one would miss an opportunity to take part in such social events. It was a good chance to be fed and feed your non-invited members of the family. That night, everyone, especially Abdul's neighbors, left the house satisfied and joyous. On the coming day they were not going to bother with the most mundane question, they had to face on day-to-day basis: «What shall I feed my family on?».