by Ak Welsapar
“If I did, then I did, and so what?” fumed Araz. “If necessary, they can drag me in again. It seems like no one in the village but me has got enough guts to defend their own home. This isn’t about the government, it’s about all of you, yes, you here. When you change, the government’ll change too, it has to!”
Pirim, red as a beet, clenched his fists and, as he often did, broke in from an unexpected angle.
“We’ve got to destroy the seat of oppression! Mankind must be rescued from danger!”
“That’s right,” laughed Rejeb. “But first you’ve got rescue yourself from the bottle.”
“You look out for yourself there, Pirim!” added Gutly. “Mankind hasn’t called on us yet! If we just manage to take care of ourselves, that’ll be an accomplishment.”
“These days, if you open your mouth at all, it’s a mistake. Nothing better than to shut up,” grumbled Pirim.
“Buddy,” explained Gutly, “I’m not telling you to shut up. Quite the opposite: As you know, everyone shares the same fate in this world, but if you’re going to get mixed up in big things, you need some education, wisdom, and courage. Which of those have you got?”
Araz, who had seen enough, got ready to leave. “I’d like to tell you a secret,” he said. “If you learn it before you leave the coast, there’s no harm. Good or bad, people’ve got to know their history. If they lose their roots, they’ll end up unhappy for sure. There’s a lot we’re ignorant about – even the history of our own village. Now, I’ve got some old writings on this topic, and I’ve given them to Gutly. Sometime he’ll read them to you.”
Everyone looked inquisitively at Gutly until he explained. “I carried them to Ashgabat and gave them to some experts. They’ll return’em after they’re trans-literated: They seem to be in Arabic writing.”
Araz took his leave with as little warmth as his greeting. “Gotta go. Sorry if I’ve gone overboard.”
“No, there’s no harm,” answered Mered Badaly sadly. He observed the proud fishermen through narrowed eyes and recited, “’The water pitcher sinks in the water.’ It isn’t our words that’ll sink him.”
It was near high noon now. Like scalded lizards unable to bear any more heat, the shadows climbed into the bushes and trees and rolled themselves up under their leaves. The birds made strange, morose cries, and the ancient sea’s white caps ambled in the moderate breeze, humming their old tune.
13
Aypi’s ghost began her revenge campaign against the village men in earnest, spurred on by regret. At night, she emerged dripping from the sea before flying to the men as they slept, then stifling their breaths. The first to be punished was Toti-Naz’s husband. Aypi followed him, appearing as a cackling devil, blowing sand on him, carrying him on the wind, and tossing him onto a trash heap. What little esteem he had in the eyes of his wife was lost, and in the end he could barely be considered a man. For the time being, he put aside roaming, and instead sat looking out his window into the darkness. The only thing the petrified fellow drank was green tea, and his recovery from alcoholism kept his wife at home.
“Do you have to scare a man to fix him?” complained Aypi.
This dubious success didn’t satisfy Aypi’s thirst for revenge, since she had no enthusiasm for training those whom she’d despaired of completely. Instead she followed them around after sunset, kicking them in the guise of a horse, pecking them as a black raven, buffeting them as the wind and hounding them in form of a dog. She was happiest when it rained: then she would humiliate every man she saw; stalk and disorient them or carry sleepers to the middle of nowhere at night, only to wake them up and revel in their confusion. She harassed them so much that they began to ask their wives which way to go any time they left the house.
The ghost pestered Mered Badaly in particular: “Look at this one,” Aypi said, shimmering in front of him, “supposedly he went to war and came back victorious! But who was it that started the war, if not those like him? See this war hero? He’s forfeiting his own country and yet dares to speak ill of women! He lives on the beach, but eats stolen fish! He’s only providing a hovel for his wife! His ancestors lived in these same thatched huts! If your own home is no good, what’s the use of being a war hero? Was there ever a hero who couldn’t make ends meet at home?
The old fellow’s life became a series of depredations, and he was so unlucky that he had to watch every step he took. Day by day, his desire for relocating to the city increased. In order not to become a living joke, he tried to carry on as before, but inside he was in turmoil. Finally he sent word to his son and made ready to leave as soon as he could.
Aypi, who had brought them all into such a state, was impressed by only one man: Araz. She had once considered him her greatest rival, since there was no way she could improve him. She had gloated since day and by night he was at sea, so it wouldn’t be difficult to kill him, nor had she been averse to disturbing him as he slept. After seeing the other village men though, her anger towards him cooled daily. A pity his doom was already sealed.
As the days passed, Aypi played more spiteful games with the village. The fact that the pain she inflicted was felt by the women as well gave her no pause, desperate as she was for revenge. The unjustly murdered woman had broken the fragile barrier between life and non-existence; now her only thought was how to vex the living.
The exasperated fishermen became uncertain of everything, and didn’t know whom to blame. Naturally, they recalled unpleasant tales of Aypi. In the end, Pirim, leaving the house in his wife’s hands since he was unable to continue living without liquor, went out to get drunk. He stumbled into the sea and drowned, all of which was blamed on Aypi. No doubt she had sung some lullaby to stupefy him as he went under. “Otherwise,” they insisted to each other, “wouldn’t he have woken up when he fell in, even if drunk?” All they could do was send for his unhappy widow and little children to claim the former fisherman’s body.
As the men became more helpless, it placed more burdens on the womenfolk. The fragile balance that had persisted in the village wavered, making everything confused and uncomfortable.
The punitive measures taken against an unhappy Aypi in a bygone age became a misfortune for the entire village. Terrors in the day and night complemented each other, until it was a case of the straw that broke the camel’s back. Without any idea of the cause, the fishermen had no solution but to keep on suffering.
Aypi was displeased with the women also, who, in her eyes, were slaves to their husbands. She tried, however, to protect them. “In the desert, the mountains, or at sea, a woman is a woman and she should hold her fate in her hand. Why shouldn’t she dress herself up and have fun?” she argued across space and time with the hard men who had punished her vanity so harshly. “Why shouldn’t she turn men’s heads and live well? Weren’t we made to be beautiful, and bend men to our wills? Otherwise, what purpose do men serve?” she asked, knowingly. “Was there ever a real man who couldn’t doll his wife up?” If you can’t do it yourself, make way for those who can! If you can’t love, step aside for those who can! When will men stop thinking of women as property? They want women to remain dependent all of their lives, only then they’ll sleep peacefully! Just because they earn a living, they think they’re the centres of the earth. They’re so proud of their strength and intelligence, yet spend their days in fear of losing their wives. Instead, if they just kneeled before our beauty, everything’d be fine! It might not solve every problem, but at least they could sleep well at night. Was there ever a real man who didn’t prostrate himself before woman’s beauty?”
In what respect was a woman stronger than a man? When Aypi had been alive she wasn’t quite sure, and she still didn’t know exactly, but, if she wasn’t mistaken, a woman’s real talent was beguiling men. Of course, woman wasn’t made for man’s pleasure alone, but… well, in her own day she hadn’t been against it. Her lures had been more than equal to the task of hoo
king Dadeli, the best man in the village! Her beauty had driven him mad! Yet, when he’d been caught between duty and her beauty, he’d betrayed the latter. His happiness had been stripped from him; he should have protected his wife, but his misconceptions of duty had been his misfortune.
Men bent the world to their desires, and women’s foolish, pretty heads fell straight into their snare. Men struck out with violence, whereas women with deceit – though neither shied away from deception in time of need.
Now Aypi understood that gullibility had precipitated her tragic end. A woman’s credulity, mixed with male pride, was a sure recipe for misfortune; but these were challenging issues everywhere, not just here. Everyone was trying to have their own way: just like the struggle between land and sea, it was without beginning and end, and with no projected winner.
A woman’s magic lies in her beauty. Why shouldn’t those weak in body use what weapons they had? What else did the all-powerful God and nature intend for women to do in this competition?
14
These days Ay-Bebek tried to live like everyone else, and sometimes she actually did. When Araz went out to sea however, there was no rest for her. Until she saw him safely back in one piece, life was all anxiety.
Today Araz had gone out just before dawn. After the wedding, he had no hope that his peers would change their minds, organize, or resist the relocation order. Rumour had it that on the wedding day Mered Badaly had remarked to his in-law, “we’ll be in the city soon.” Hearing of this, Araz had reviled the villagers to his wife. “Not a one of them would defend their home,” he had assured her, and revealed his own grim conclusion: A people who would not defend their village today, would not defend their country tomorrow, if it came to that.
Ay-Bebek was not fond of her husband’s increasingly dour opinions or his ever-lengthier trips to the sea, but she herself had advised him to go fishing instead of attending the wedding. Now she could say little in front of him, but looked disappointed and aggrieved nonetheless.
Naturally, Ay-Bebek hadn’t lightly agreed to his trip that day, but she’d gotten a headache imagining a scene in front of everyone and was reluctant to urge his attendance at the wedding. Damn it all, if she’d known that Mered Badaly’s illustrious in-law and his colleagues wouldn’t be staying long, then she would have happily sent him there, instead of permitting that trip to the sea. Fearing that he’d do some hot-headed thing at the party, she had even gone so far as to urge him into the water. Now, if she were to nag him and tell him not to go fishing, it would be no good. If he mocked “When there’s a wedding on, I can go out to sea, but during normal times I can’t, is that how it is?”, what could she answer? Tell him that she hadn’t wanted him around anyone important?
“If someone makes one little mistake, it gets linked into an endless chain of trouble,” regretted Ay-Bebek. That gratuitous error, which she’d let slip in the blink of an eye, left her helplessly manacled, so she had silently assisted her husband today as he readied his tackle – what else could she do? She couldn’t oppose him; he’d simply say “Cut it out, I’ve had it.” Oh, if instead of bothering him she could have convinced him… but what had once seemed possible was today out of reach.
“Damn it all,” she cursed, “why does everything have to be so complicated? Will we ever be able to live in peaceful poverty? Everything we do turns out wrong. Things go from bad to worse, and misfortune seems to stalk us night and day with loaded weapons. How has it come to this? Where are the walls to protect us, and the sense of security that will unfold over us? Will it arrive just in time, when we’re starving, or dying of thirst? When we’re ill?”
“Is there any country on the face of the earth with secure, happy people? If you listen to the radio, things in other countries are very different, but everyone seems miserable there too. Everyone, from the cradle in their homeland all the way to the grave has to struggle and strive in this damned life. If you spin the radio dials or open up the papers though, everything’s just fine: crops are planted and watered, bountiful harvests are harvested, and roads are laid. Life is just like a purebred horse galloping along, making you wonder if anyone can catch up with it.
Look around though, and there’s a crude hut, or another shortage, and over there – a bunch of cowering people. How could Araz not be furious and bitter? Everything’s just like it shouldn’t be. Just as you grab it by the collar, the collar comes away in your hands.
Now we’re going to the city and we have a slim hope that we’ll live like humans, and that hope, however small, gives us strength. After we’ve arrived, there’s no clear picture of how things will be, just speculation. When you look at city people, our little hope flickers out. Whoever has a big job lives well, but simple folk don’t get along much better than us here.
Everyone’s living in dire times, and there’s no guarantee that things will be better in the city – after all, nothing is more difficult than the lot of a migrant: how much time is needed until you can adjust to new rules, find work and stand up on your own two feet?
On top of that, to be separated from the sea and taken away from the place your parents were born! To pass life far from this unblemished coast! There’s a sea there too and they say it’s the same as ours, but so what? Is it just about being next to salt water? No, it’s how and where you live, that matters. Even if our houses aren’t fine and it’s not an easy life, this is still our own place, our own homes, and the place we were born. But there, everything’ll be different and if we yearn for the sea, what can we do?”
She felt she understood her husband’s distress. Perhaps Araz was the only one who truly anticipated the trials of the future, so he was listless night and day without the support of like minds. Nor was it a matter of fish, when he had said “I’m a fisherman, my fathers were fisherman, and I’ll be one until I die.” His lands were being taken from him, as she well knew. If only she could have helped! There was no one among the rest of them who would stand beside him; they’d surrendered to their fate, so by comparison Araz appeared unwavering, relentless, and even contemptuous. What else could explain Araz? He’d grown up with the fire, but inherited the ashes. The villagers disappointed him, so he distanced himself from them. Dear Lord, what would be the end of it?
15
As Aypi stalked through the village, it became more and more deserted. This was a surprise, but it didn’t placate her. She flew back and forth looking for victims like a poacher. Her purpose was to make men stare their own weakness in the face and temper them with the understanding. Instead of being tempered, however, they hid at home, it seemed, and their wives did nothing to chase them away. This infuriated Aypi even more.
Some evenings Aypi would see youngsters going to meet their sweethearts. These she never laid a hand on or terrified, rather she felt close kinship with them. Though she had married in her time and lived as the wife of Dadeli, she had never known love’s pleasure in her life and still regretted it. Lovers to her were as sacred as holy pilgrims.
One night as she stared into the dark, however, and saw Gutly rushing somewhere, she altered her resolution and decided to follow him.
Who knows why she looked twice at this dandy of a young man? Perhaps the youth’s beauty challenged even her despair and cynicism. In any case, though she wanted to teach him a lesson, there was something more to it.
She followed him to the outskirts of town, unable to imagine who he was hoping to see out here, but expecting that no prey could long resist the skilled hunter’s charms.
Gutly finally stopped at a stunted little mulberry tree at the edge of town. The door of a nearby house soon opened and a girl’s tall form emerged. She hesitated a moment, glancing around warily like a gazelle at the water hole before walking to the tree in the moon’s pale light. Aypi immediately knew her, it was the singer Bagti, Aman-Weli’s young, beautiful daughter, whom Aypi had seen perform at the wedding.
As she arrived under th
e tree Gutly embraced her. The encounter was brief but passionate, and even the lifeless ghost blushed and was unable to look away. Finally, the lovers parted hands.
“I’ve got to leave, Mom will be looking for me” said Bagti in a husky whisper.
Gutly began to return home. Without having any particular goal, Aypi followed the love-struck and oblivious youth once again, watching as he wandered along the coast in the moonlight, while she reminisced about her own era’s vanished sensibilities. At last, she decided what sort of game she would play. She appeared before Gutly just as he turned to leave the abandoned coast.
The astounded young man stepped for a moment before he recognized the person before him.
“Bagti dear!” he said, “How did you get here? I thought you’d stayed at your house!”
“How do you suppose I got here? I ran!” said Aypi, mimicking Bagti’s sweet tones. “I wanted to see you so badly my heart ached, I nearly died!”
“And you didn’t think I wanted to see you too? But you’re only seventeen, you shouldn’t leave the house at night. If your mother or father woke up and realized you were gone, you know what a fuss it would cause?”
“Oh they won’t wake up,” said Aypi, forgetting for a moment who she was pretending to be, “they’re all long dead and gone I’m afraid.”
“What?” Gutly demanded. “What happened? They were fine just a while ago, what could’ve happened to them since then?”
“Sorry, I meant they’re sleeping like corpses,” said Aypi, remembering herself.
“Okay then,” said Gutly with relief. “I nearly had a heart attack, I couldn’t imagine what happened after I’d just been over there.”
