Читать книгу Test-&-mend - Juanna Artmane - Страница 7

One thing that marred Leila’s mood at that time was the unpredictability of life. The sense of instability in any sphere of her existence frightened her more than death. At least in the latter there was permanence. Good or bad, it did not really matter so much, but the things had to adhere to a certain plan, which was formed partially by the society and partially by the fate.

The truth was that she knew her son better than Abdul did. Since times immemorial, Ali preferred to learn about his children’s achievements through his wife's narration, where Ali was presented as a poor lamb. The reality turned out to be far from the wife’s tales.

Ali used to talk about the local traditions with obvious contempt. He was sniffy about anyone who did not live up to his inner highbrow standards. Moreover, he had little or hardly any respect to the thought of marrying a girl, inferior to his own intellectual level. All these factors contradicted Leila’s ideal image of her son’s blissful future.

Now two outsize suitcases were put at the entrance door, inviting Ali into the world of new experiences. One of the bags was stuffed with eastern sweeties: oil dripping baklavas; kurabiyes and other homemade delicacies, which had been baked by Leila within the previous two days. Although Ali was more than glad to eat outdoors and hated the local cuisine (as well as everything related to the city), he put on a semblance of gratitude to Leila’s efforts.

The other case was filled with warm clothes: knitted sweaters and woolen socks, which his mum prepared for him, either, with exquisite care. Ali looked at these room-size trunks as a burden, which he had to carry leaving the country. For him it felt as if the local execrable stuff were clinging onto his departing limbs. But for his distressed mother, he would have shaken the things off. Sometimes his remarks inadvertently made his true attitude quite clear. Though most of the time, he thought, he succeeded in hiding it from the person, who brought him up and knew him better than he did himself.

Wearing a black suit with a blue-striped tie, Ali caught his reflection in the mirror. The realization of the fact, that he did not look like those curious European fellows on TV, made him sick. He was aware of his air of a villager, radiating from his persona: his countenance, gestures, glances.

Beside the mirror, there were standing his dad and granddad. They were all dressed in the same way. Only the color of their ties was different. This particular scene gave Ali the pang of his inevitable future – that is the one if he, by any chance, recklessly returned to the “boondocks”. The mere thought of such a denouement made him cringe.

“What a man! You did a good job! My son!” – Husein, Abdul’s father, was talking to his son, referring to Ali.

Being a former counterespionage employee during the decades of the Evil Empire, Husein was a sophisticated man. He could better than anyone predict the course of coming events and, probably, former trade endowed him with the ability to see people inside out. The youth in front of him evoked various calculations in Husein’s mind. To be exact, there were different ramifications, which Ali’s studies abroad might entail. So hopeful and confident the lad seemed to him, that he doubted to see him again in this city of limited possibilities. Yet he wisely kept the thought to himself.

Close friends and relatives gathered up in the patio to see Ali off. Women with glasses of water in their hands were waiting in a line. Each of them was letting out soothing words to Leila.

The local superstition held the following: if you threw water after the leaving person, it would guarantee their success in places, wherever their road was supposed to take them, and even more – a sure come back home. For Ali, who mocked at the superstitions, it was the most irritating thing – to hear the wishes to come back safe and sound. But he clenched his teeth and habitually smiled in the face of all the people around.

Observing his brother, Hannah had ambiguous feelings. She rejoiced at his success and at the same time felt sorry for herself. She did not want to be a girl, she hated being a female, she hated being treated the way she was! A rebel was rioting in her system. The thought was materializing into physical pains. She felt a tight rope binding around her neck and pulling tighter, whenever she wanted to gulp. She wanted to tear that rope apart and shout to her father, to all those people standing around, to the society of the city, that she was not worse than the boy, they were applauding to; and she could prove, if only she was given an opportunity, that a woman was in no way intellectually inferior to a man. She would if she could!

There were no direct flights from the city of “N” to Munich, so Ali was first taken to the train, which would bring him to the capital of the country. Abdul and Husein accompanied him till the station, leaving the women at home.

Meanwhile, the females were trying to console Leila. Each of them was saying something encouraging from their own experience. One of them, called Ulduz, went too far, comparing Leila’s experience to the death of her brother: “I bet you will forget him in six months!”. Then, giggling in a childish way, she added: “When I lost my brother, it was painful, but it lasted roughly three months; and half a year later I forgot thinking of him”. Ulduz was a rather tactless woman of forty and often behaved in strange unexpected ways. But this was explicable by the fact that she was rarely allowed out into the society. Actually, this type of women was seen as a role model of “a good wife”. The thing, that made her a paragon, was her unawareness of the outer world. If she were left in another part of the street, she would not be able to find her way home. Her world confided to the boundaries of the place she resided; and coming out felt like leaving the planet Earth and travelling to the Moon.

The vast majority of women were of this very type. Locals even invented a separate notion for them – “domestic wives”. These domesticated creatures had “masters” – their husbands. It goes without saying, that “domestic wives” were tamed to the whims of their masters. This inhuman process took years of training, though it did not devoid women of the wish to escape from their Master and to worship the latter. They kept praying God “to never leave them without an owner”. A man used to pride himself on having such a wife. Hannah, listening to all those stories, was aghast and ready to die not to fall victim of another massacre. These rebellious thoughts vividly expressed themselves in a tension on her picture-like face. The change was so obvious, that Hannah wished them all gone.

As if in answer to her prays, after a while, the weather changed rapidly: a cloudless day turned into a boisterous wind, promising a heavy rain to downpour. Seeing the change in the mood of the day, neighbors and relatives hurried to retire to their respective homes. Leila – as well as Hannah – were left alone to adjust themselves to a new way of existence.

That evening Hannah was apprehensive of her mother’s gloomy mood. She was accustomed to the scenes when her mother gave way to her feelings, while Abdul was not at home. Now Leila stood at the windowsill of the aynabend and looked at the yard, which was slowly turning into a mush of mud under the fierce power of rioting sky. Much to Hannah’s surprise, her mother was in a calm state. The most unusual behavior for Leila was to remain tranquil. Sometimes she went so violent that she could turn to beating herself, so now it seemed odd that she did not act up. Hannah was apprehensively waiting for something worse to come soon; she fixed her gaze at her mother, trying to predict her actions. Recalling the last scene that Leila made, Hannah recoiled in horror. Leila used to lie down on the floor in the aynabend, beating her head against the floor violently, shouting grievously, weeping bitterly. As the room was all windows, every hit caused glasses shake, doubling the dramatic effect of the pathetic actions. It was a gruesome scene to be exposed to. Hannah loathed, detested, abhorred such emotional explosions – yet, there was nothing she could do about them. She would go to her bedroom, adjacent to the aynabend and through its windows looked at her mother who, like a wild wounded animal, was writhing, roaring on the floor in fits of delirium and attacks of panic. Observing it from another room was much safer for Hannah than in close vicinity. At those moments, the window turned into a psychological frame, separating Hannah from the world of insanity, in which she lived but refused to believe with all her heart: “NO! NO-NO!.. IT ISN’T REAL… IT CAN’T BE HAPPENING… NOPE”.