by Ak Welsapar
Yes, the village was old; the houses were dilapidated wrecks without polished embellishments and brilliant furnishings of artisan timber like the city places had, but the fishermen’s open hearts were here. Hadn’t they made it for generations in these wooden huts? If they had a hardscrabble legacy from their ancestors that didn’t figure in any luxurious lifestyle with unassailable wealth or beautiful mansions, was that the fishermen’s sin? Why couldn’t his son understand this, as if he hadn’t left the village just a few years ago? Why did he take his new wife’s side? If it went on like this, if he turned into her valet, what would be the end of it? Would he retain any mind of his own or end up completely under her thumb? No, he didn’t wish to see his own boys so weak, but he could already see something different in their character. It wasn’t easy for him to see that his words no longer had any effect on Kerem, but he consoled himself by imagining that things would change after he followed him to the city.
As he stood in the crowd staring at the road, the host’s thoughts vacillated between anger and conciliation. His anger justified itself: So what if the girl was from the city, and so what if her friends were too? Why shouldn’t they come to the groom’s own village? Why shouldn’t they cross the threshold of the hut he grew up in? What about good upbringing and respect towards one’s elders? This was no way to treat the parents who’d raised him! Was it right for the child to toss his folks aside as soon as he stood up on his own two feet and began to take care of himself? Look at this, them acting as though their house was the poorest of the poor! True, perhaps they were poorer than the city people, but was anyone in this village poor by choice? Who didn’t want to only drink oil, and only wear silks: to live the good life? Like all other people, the fishermen didn’t see themselves as inferior – their potential, motivation and ability weren’t less than anyone else’s. They didn’t want to fall behind the times and though their hard life hadn’t made them weak, it had only given them a pittance; but what could they do? Cry and moan, drop everything they were doing and spend their life complaining? Perhaps, like pheasant chicks, they should disperse on all four winds and leave their village behind without a second thought? No, it wouldn’t be like that – neither Mered Badaly nor any of the others could give up their beliefs so lightly.
There was no one here who would be able to leave the village easily, and when Araz charged them with that, he misjudged them. Mered Badaly had seen Araz observing them from the corner of his eye for a while, but wasn’t sure how to open up to the man. He knew very well which of them had the right of it, but he didn’t have the guts to join with Araz, stand up to the government, or go out to sea illegally: he’d grown old. If he were Araz’s age, perhaps he also would’ve refused to bow. He was a whitebeard now though, and it wasn’t for him to take to the streets; even if he weren’t afraid and embarrassed, there were still things he could do, and things he couldn’t do. From a distance, he looked at his wife Jemal making preparations, and his heart ached. Though he didn’t recite her name with each step he took, he truly respected her. It was clear that she was unable to find a place between her husband and son, and it was making her anxious. The least the boy could do to comfort his mother would be to bring the wedding here.
He would not say anything on this particular day to offend the child he’d raised; in fact he’d take heed to moderate himself. If his son was not ashamed to shrug off the village of his birth just to please his bride, then that was his own affair, even if his father couldn’t approve of this or support him.
It was spring now, and if the field hadn’t been blooming with poppies, the groom’s father wouldn’t have tolerated having the wedding in this flat, barren place. One had to concede however, that the village’s exterior was prettier than its interior. This place between the hills seemed like an ideal setting for hospitality and for celebrating the young couple’s happiness. The weather was a bit hot, but not all the flowers had wilted, and there was still grass to be seen!
8
At that moment, a column of dust appeared on the horizon, as if it had just been waiting for the host to come to terms with everything. Among all the people assembled, there wasn’t the slightest shadow of a doubt that it was the wedding procession. Even from a distance, the size of the dust cloud appeared large. What else could it be, besides the line of cars making their way to their village? Surely, the authorities wouldn’t gather and come all this way on a day off. Mered Badaly didn’t have time to collect his thoughts.
The young people around him cried out– “There they are! The cars are coming!” as they scrambled up the highest mound they could find.
Young and old sprang into action, as if they hadn’t just sat baking in the sun for several hours already.
“We don’t have enough mats, just look how big that cloud is! Can’t you get another lot of carpets and some more water? Will these tea sets suffice?” fretted the organizers, driving themselves into a state of distress. “As soon as the couple arrives, put the food out in front of them, don’t make them wait for another second!”
“Like we didn’t have to wait...” grumbled Rejeb, who had volunteered to transport things back and forth in his car.
As soon as he said this, a cacophony of voices came at him: “It doesn’t matter if we’ve had to wait; you can’t make the bride and groom wait! Your own father put aside all care for himself the day you got married!”
“Well, we never do remember how that stuff happens,” conceded Rejeb.
“Boy, if you don’t remember, then it must have been no different, otherwise you would have!” exclaimed a wit from a crowd of women making preparations.
The entire group laughed at the woman’s remark. The organizers, concerned with the size of the parade, wasted no time in getting some more crockery and water brought up from the village.
“Couldn’t you bring up more chairs too? Doesn’t matter whose door you knock on – these are city people, and they won’t sit cross-legged on the ground, they need chairs and tables!”
Rejeb and his helpers promptly set off for the village. Man-Weli watched them as they departed. “How about that!” he said, slapping his knee, “How about that!”
“What do you mean ‘how about that’? Say what you really mean!” laughed out Jemal, as she passed by.
“I’ll tell you what I mean,” said Man-Weli, adding his laughter to hers. “Will Mered Badaly ever stop waving that ladle around? His in-law is almost here.”
Hodja sneaked up behind Mered Badaly and playfully grabbed his hands.
“I’ve got you, Mered Badaly, go ahead and let everyone hear what you’ve got to say!”
Man-Weli cautiously backed away from the cauldron, and repeated the fishermen’s old jest: “Can I ask, after five days in the city, has anyone there become settled, like us? No, all of them are still the same old shit-bottomed nomads as they were back in the day!”
Hodja roared and let go of the host’s hands. Mered Badaly, while seasoning the food, met this joke with another:
“Don’t speak in this way about my in laws, Man-Weli! Else they’ll call you wooden-assed, and when you sit down you’ll prove them right!”
Hodja broke in, “If they say that, we can’t refute that: isn’t it true that our bottoms have always been stuck to wood? We have spent our whole lives sitting in boats. Those nomads have the right to say that.”
The clouds of sand began weaving in between the dunes, until finally the cars appeared in a long line before the crowd. An old man standing on a hill nervously muttered to himself: “Bless me, there’s ten or twelve autos, they’re not skimping on pomp. We might not have enough pilaf. I told ya like, I did, but Mered Badaly you said yourself there wouldn’t be more than fifteen or twenty people, and told us not to worry. There are way more than that now!”
“Hey, keep your pants on until you reach the water! How do you know they haven’t already eaten? Everything in due course! Don’t we
have some sturgeon set aside? Then we could also make some kebab or whatever and put on another cauldron of pilaf, if it looks like we won’t have enough,” said the old chef, placidly looking down the line of steaming pots. “First let’em come, then we’ll see! It’s our pride and duty to serve the guests at this wedding!”
A truck in front pulled away from the rest and came to a stop. Two young men jumped out to enquire of the old fellows: “Where can we set up the place for the guest of honour?” The moment they were shown the spot, they arranged the tables and carpets just as the line of cars arrived.
“Assalamaleykum elders!” called out the bride’s father, Borjak Nurbadov, as he shook hands with the old men, starting with his new relative.
The other guests from the city accompanying him began to faithfully repeat his every action, ponderously shaking hands with all present. After the honoured guest was seated at the head of his fine table, the host situated several of his friends beside the new arrivals.
They all enquired of each other’s health over the honking and hubbub of the procession. Meanwhile, the young folk who had poured from the vehicles, bored to tears by introductions already, broke out into dance as soon as their feet hit the ground. “Kusht! Kusht! Kusht depdi!” shouted one young man, using all of the air in his lungs.
“To celebrate this auspicious day, we have brought musicians with us,” announced Borjak Nurbadov pretentiously. “This is no job for children! Your ears must be growing rusty here, aren’t they?”
“That’s for sure,” said tall Hodja, pre-empting the host. “We haven’t seen anything like this in years. Actually, they’ve just about cut us off from the outside world by now.”
Nur Tagan thought that was a little too negative for a wedding day, and without waiting for Mered Badaly, tried to get the conversation back on track.
“Excellent thinking sir. They say the splendour of a wedding lies in music. We’ve also got three or four youngsters ready too, so let’s combine ’em and they’ll do wonderfully well together.”
“’Prosperity always arrives with musicians and singers,’” said Mered Badaly, flattering his guest. “That is to say, you’ve come, and our prosperity has increased!”
The toastmaster came out with champagne brought from the city and deftly arranged some glasses amid the elegant table settings. After the couple had been seated, their glasses were filled, toasts were raised and accolades spoken. The wedding in the sandy expanse began to pick up pace as the crowd mingled and people took their places. The young people though didn’t have the patience to stay sitting down for long, given the opportunity to dance.
After the bride and groom had joined the musicians robed in full costume, the dance circle widened even more until the noise carried across the whole field.
That sweet neck,
Those two pomegranates!
My love’s hair,
I’ll kiss every strand!
Kusht, kusht, kusht depdi!
Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Kusht depdi!
Produce from the city was added to the food that had been cooking since dawn both in cauldrons and in holes dug specially in the ground, amounting to a marvellous bounty. The villagers’ mouths, which had recently become so used to deprivation, watered at the sight of it all: “A feast has come to famine’s door.” A good many fishermen decided that urban life couldn’t be that bad after all. Maybe if they moved to the city soon, they’d enjoy many a thing their parents never had?
But watching the village youth mix with those from the city, the elders couldn’t help but notice how readily they mingled. Mered Badaly spotted a particularly beautiful young lady because of the old-fashioned style of her dress and the remarkable ruby necklace she wore. He assumed she was a guest from the city, yet somehow she looked much more like one of their own. Her modest dancing confirmed this: when the city people danced, their movements were affectedly unabashed. The village youths were somewhere between the two extremes. Modest and beautiful though she was, the mysterious woman made Mered uncomfortable. He decided to observe her and having stood up from his place at the table he approached the wild dance circle.
As he got nearer to the crowd of dancing young people, they became as indistinguishable as the water in a wave, while those in the audience enthusiastically clapped their hands and shouted out encouragement. The whole village in fact seemed ready to burst from happiness and excitement, and even the worn-out old folks left behind at home like Kebe Ene had felt the energy of the gathering.
The younger villagers had already mixed together with the city guests, but the older folks were not to be outdone, and they too, one by one, came forward to dance, while those who didn’t join in cheered from the side.
See – my love comes
On a silent horse!
If I grab that white wrist
I’ll get a kiss!
Oh my soul, my soul!
That dark eye stole my soul!
Kusht, kusht, kusht depdi!
Apple and pomegranate blossom,
Fruits upon fruits,
Those eyes are a spell
Those eyebrows a dance
Kusht, kusht, kusht depdi!
Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey! Kusht depdi!
The festivities reached such a pitch that the toastmaster’s throat became sore, and in addition, his speech began to slur. If he had nothing else to say, he just exclaimed “all right then!” and stroked his locks.
With his hands behind his back, Mered Badaly weaved his way through the crowd, often catching an ephemeral glimpse of the stranger that only incited him to further pursuit. Each time he got near she seemed to vanish and appear elsewhere. She seemed more a mirage than a woman!
Unable to accomplish anything, he resignedly returned to his table. In the chaos of drunken revelry nobody saw him.
He sat down next to Borjak Nurbatov, but his accomplished in-law paid him not the slightest notice, but only watched the dancers, now and then glancing at his watch, or exchanging a quick word with the other city guests. He looked as if he were attending some unpleasant but obligatory official function and wished the time to pass quickly. Mered realized that nobody else at the wedding paid him any heed either; they were too preoccupied with themselves. In such a crowd the host felt like a fish swimming feebly against a current.
Mered tried to be as festive as the rest: when they raised their tumblers and champagne glasses, he raised a glass of water, took a bite of food, and hummed to himself or joked with Nur Tagan sitting beside him.
After a while he got up again. This time he walked away from the crowd towards the desert to relieve himself. Suddenly a teasing female voice sounded behind him. “What are you doing out here? Aren’t you looking for me?”
Mered started in shock; he looked back and there was the woman, smiling at him. How was it possible? How conspicuous was her old-fashioned dress with its loose, archaic cut and antique fabric, and especially that necklace glowing like red embers!
“Who are you? What are you doing here? We built a ladies’ restroom near the stage back there, there’s no reason for you to come out here.”
“I’m just a wedding guest like everyone else,” she quipped, “you were looking for me, and I’ve decided to appear before you here. Did I do wrong?”
“I only came out here to attend to my necessities. I’ll just go back now, if you’ll give me a moment,” he said.
“A moment, you say? I have a lot of time if nothing else, but never any necessities; not for ages anyway.” Mered understood nothing of this. The woman questioned him again: “Why is the wedding taking place here in a barren field, rather than in our village?”
“Our village, is it?” he thought to himself. “How is it ‘ours?’ I’ve never seen this woman here in my life. Who is this and what does she have to do with anything?”
Before he could ask, his gaze fell onto the ru
by necklace around her neck. His heart pounded and he was stopped in his tracks, just as if the beads had hypnotized him. How beautiful it was! Inside him a small voice cried, “Don’t stand here with this stranger, run away as fast as you can!” His legs turned to jelly beneath him though; the jewel had enthralled him. “That wasn’t my idea,” he pleaded as a guilty child would to his mother. “If it’d been up to me, we would’ve had it in the village, but I had to compromise and settle for being nearby. Don’t blame me,” he said contritely, “I’m just here to relieve myself. Come now, it would be better if you went back.”
He turned away and walked behind a bush. Soon he emerged and walked back towards the wedding, but astonishingly, the woman appeared before him again. “You had to compromise, did you?” she asked, staring at him.
“Of course! What else can you do? That’s what you have to do in life, if you want to keep your family safe.”
“When did you become so submissive?” Aypi asked, “is that what it means to be a man?”
