by fallensea
It was my last thought before a hand grabbed me and pulled me backwards, towards a white car, towards a fate that was neither warm nor peaceful.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Screams
It happened so quickly, like a flick of a match. I was with my friends, and then I was with strangers, men who pulled at my limbs as if I were a lamb to be slaughtered. Three of them tried to shepherd me into the car, dragging me against my will, but I screamed and I kicked, causing a scene. I could not save myself, the men were too strong, but there were police nearby. Someone on the busy street would get them. This wasn’t the mountains. This was Bishkek. People would defend me.
“Let me go!” I cried in my resistance. “I don’t want to go with you!”
Munara beat the men with her phone. “You’re breaking the law!” she yelled on my behalf, but her efforts had little effect.
A burly bystander came to my rescue. He jumped on one of the men and forced him to the ground. They struggled, distracting the others who held me. I used it as an opportunity to break free, but before I had a chance to run, I was grabbed again. The men moved quickly, leaving their friend behind. I kicked and I flailed, but they pushed me into the car, and they sped away, through the city lights, towards the mountains.
Wriggling against the blur of male bodies, I refused to sit still. I was scared, and I cried desperate tears. “Mom!” I called out in my struggle. “I want my mom!” I tried to bust out the window with my foot, but a man pinned down my legs.
“Stop fighting,” Suiun said with a slight humor, as if my fear was for his amusement. “Be happy that you will be married. I chose you. Every girl wants to be chosen.”
“Leave me alone! I won’t stay!” I felt sick in my fear. “Mom!”
Suiun was unfazed. “I’ll make you happy. I’ll be a good husband. I’ll treat you right. There will be no beatings. You will be loved, so stop crying. Be happy.”
I calmed, but not because of his promises. He had no reassurances to offer me. I couldn’t kick my way out of the car, so I devised to talk my way into an escape. “Why are you doing this?” I asked, settling down but unable to keep my tears away.
“I need a wife. I like Farida, but I like you better. Your eyes tell me you are a good girl. I am kind, and I want to be with someone who is also kind.”
“But it’s illegal,” I said, unsure if Suiun was capable of reason. He seemed like he could be a decent man, but a decent man would not kidnap his bride.
“It is in our blood. It is our birthright,” he refuted, embedded in tradition. “Kyrgyz men have been stealing their brides for as long as time can remember. The law is wrong.”
“And what about our faith? The Prophet Muhammad says a woman has a right to choose the man she marries, and that it should be a marriage of peace and mercy.”
“The Prophet Muhammad was not Kyrgyz. We are,” Suiun said blasphemously.
“I won’t stay,” I proclaimed. “I will leave.”
“No, you won’t. I will make you happy. You will stay.”
“You will make me suffer. I won’t marry you. I will refuse. You’ll never get the bridal scarf on my head.”
The driver of the car laughed. “If you rape her, she’ll have to marry you.”
His keenness incited a fear within me that ran deeper than any fear I’d experienced before. Realizing I could not talk my way to freedom, I struggled once more, clawing at the strange faces around me. “Let me go!” I cried. “I want my mom! I want my father! Please, let me go!”
“Settle down,” Suiun pleaded. “Ignore my friend. I won’t touch you.”
I continued to scream out my resistance, up until we reached a farmhouse in a village just outside Bishkek. A herd of women with wrinkled, leathery skin waited for me. When the car door was opened, the women dragged me out onto the ground and immediately forced a white scarf on my head—the bridal scarf. If I allowed the scarf to remain, I consented to marry Suiun, so I ripped it off and threw it to the ground as more women emerged from the house throwing candies at me. It was chaotic and frightening, as if I were caught in the middle of a stampede. I didn’t know where to turn. There was no one I could trust. All I could do was cry and lay in the dirt.
As far as Suiun and his family were concerned, there would be a wedding tomorrow. A yurt was set up in the yard, a circular white tent where there would be feasting and where an imam would lead the marriage ceremony. I was picked up off the ground and carried into the house, still kicking and crying. The smell of fried dough and onion filled the house, the wedding feast already prepared. I usually enjoyed the smell of fried dough, but under the circumstances, I found it putrid.
Suiun placed me in a room empty of furniture except for a few cushions on the floor and tapestries on the walls. The men left, leaving the women in the family to bully me into submission. They were harsh as they grabbed my head and shoved it down, attempted to get the bridal scarf on.
“Calm down,” a woman said. “You will be happy.”
“You should be grateful you were chosen.”
I was a rabbit surrounded by dogs. Cornered against a tapestry, they fought to keep the scarf on my head, scolding me when I pried it off and told them no, when I begged them to stop. Growing more aggressive, they held my arms down like chains and forced the scarf on my head, layering it tight around my neck so that it would be difficult to remove.
“There, it is on! Don’t take it off. It is on, so you must stay.”
They threw more candies at me. “Let us pray!”
I was tempted to give in, to make the nightmare end, but I knew that if I did, there would be worse nightmares ahead of me. I feigned acceptance, and the women backed away, but I took the scarf off once more. I wanted to call my mom, I pleaded with them to let me do so, but they had stolen my phone and would not give it back.
The struggle lasted hours, well into the night. I was exhausted and sore. My face was raw from my tears. I did not believe there was any hope, but I continued to refuse, and my resistance was rewarded. The matriarch of the family ripped through the crowd, coming to my rescue. She was followed by a man who could be Suiun’s twin, if not for the extra years he wore.
“This is against the law!” the woman said, swatting at the dogs. “Get off her! You know better. Shame on you all!”
The dogs shouted curses at the woman, but they scattered, and I was left alone. I fell into the corner of the room, sobbing, afraid it was a mind game.
The woman crouched beside me. “I am Jamilya,” she said. “I am sorry for what my son has done to you. This is his brother Kenesh.” She signaled to the man behind her, who handed her my phone. “We are both sorry. We were away. We did not know.” She put the phone in my hand. “Call your family.”
Shaking, I did as I was told. My mom was frantic when I told her what happened. “You said you weren’t interested in boys!” she admonished.
“I don’t know him,” I defended. “Please, Mom, I just want to go home. I don’t want to be here anymore.”
“I have no car, Busana. Demand that they bring you home. They took you, so they must bring you back. Tell them that if they are not here within the hour, I will call the police.”
Kenesh volunteered to take me home, but I sensed it was not out of compassion or charity. He had a distaste for me, as if I were a flawed product to be returned to the manufacturer. I silently followed him outside, as mistrustful of him as he was of me. Suiun waited for us on the porch.
“Leave her for the night,” Suiun implored nervously, intimidated by his brother. “She may change her mind. If not, we’ll return her in the morning.”
I knew Suiun’s plan. If I stayed the night, I stayed forever. My reputation would be ruined. I would be deemed unclean. No other man would want to marry me.
Thankfully, Kenesh refused, bypassing his brother on his way to the car. “She leaves. Now.”
“But she is only pretending to resist. All good girls resist. If they don’t resist, they have no vi
rtue. She wants to stay. I want her to stay. She is beautiful and she is smart and she is kind. I will treat her well.”
Kenesh huffed. “I don’t give a damn how you treat her. You can’t marry her. Don’t make the same mistake I did. She is poor. You need to marry someone wealthy. Our family depends on it. If you don’t marry someone wealthy, we will lose all our horses, and then we will lose the farm.”
“We are not broke,” Suiun protested.
“Is that what Father tells you?”
“He does not mention money.”
Kenesh sneered. “Then how do you know?”
Suiun took a tentative step forward. “She is worth more than horses. Father has agreed to this. He has given his permission. He returns from Naryn tomorrow for the wedding.”
“There will be no wedding,” Kenesh upheld, and he opened the door to the backseat for me.
Suiun blocked my path. “Don’t go.”
“Leave her alone,” Jamilya ordered, leaving the house. “I am your mother, and I say so. We are taking her back.”
“But I’ll treat her well. I will protect her. She’ll be happy. In time, we will love each other. She is too young to understand.”
“If you wanted to treat her well, you never would have taken her.”
“Manas took his wives. Kyrgyz men grab their wives. That is how it is done.”
Jamilya wasn’t hearing it. “I raised you better than that, Suiun. I never thought I’d see the day your brother Kenesh has more morals than you. He asked for his wife’s hand in marriage. That is what men must do—ask.” She took my hand and led me past Suiun to the car. “There is no point arguing. I have talked to her father. We are returning her. It is done. There will be no wedding.”
***
I awoke the next afternoon in my bedroom, but my tears remained and fell silently onto my panda bear pillow. I did not feel safe, not even here in my tiny sanctuary of a room. The posters of Meerim on the wall, the swollen piles of clothes on the floor—they could not comfort me. I wrapped myself tightly in my blankets, but it did little good. I was still afraid.
In the hallway, my mom talked anxiously on the phone with my father, avoiding my father’s cousins, who sat in the dining room. They had traveled through the night to come, summoned by my father after he spoke to Jamilya. He wanted them to protect me, in case Suiun and his friends returned for me. It was not unheard of. If a man failed to secure a bride, he would try again, either with the same girl or someone new.
My father’s cousins did not want to protect me. They wanted to send me back. They stood by tradition. I had brought them shame by leaving the farmhouse, by refusing Suiun. I had to go back, for the honor of the family.
“Consider what others will think.”
“She will never find a man now that she is tarnished.”
“She was in his house. She belongs to him.”
My mom would never allow it, but that didn’t stop them from trying to persuade her. I was humiliated, and I was ashamed. I felt as if it was my fault, as if I’d done something wrong. I would not go back to Suiun, but I equally could not show my face to my father’s cousins. I could not bear their judgement. I had always been a good girl, but I was good no more, not to them.
So I stayed in my room, and I fell into a nervous sleep. In my dreams, I was a maiden locked away in a tower, staring at the ground below, forced to make a choice between life or freedom. I chose to jump. As I fell, I smiled, pleased with my own bravery.
I woke before I hit the ground, covered in sweat. My mom sat on the edge of my bed, sobbing. “What is it?” I asked. “It’s over, isn’t it? Have Father’s cousins left?”
“No,” she said, unable to look at me. “They have left our apartment, but they remain in Bishkek.” She was so sad. I had never seen my mom so sad.
“Why do they remain?”
She set a tender hand on my leg, steadying herself, remembering her composure. “Your father has listened to his cousins. He demands that you go back. He says he will cut us off financially if you don’t.”
My father’s betrayal hit me cold. “Why? There is no scandal. I did not stay overnight. I was back before morning. While I was in the house, I was never alone. There were many people.”
“It is enough that you were in the house.”
I panicked. The walls of my room closed in on me. “Don’t make me go,” I begged. “I want to finish my degree. I don’t want to leave the university. Married women do not go to university. Please don’t let Father take that away from me. I’m not ready to be a wife. I’m not ready to be a mother. I am too young. I am only nineteen.”
I would have pleaded all day, but I did not have to. My mom agreed. “You are too young. You can’t go back. We do not need your father. I will find a job. We will make it work. We will be okay.” She crawled into the bed with me and wrapped me in her arms so close that I could hear the fear in her heartbeat. “How can they do this so close to Nooruz? It is a sin.”
I was distraught, but I was relieved. My mom was as proud as my father. If she said I could stay, there was no way my father could force me to go back. She would protect me. We would be alone, and we would struggle, but I could stay.
We would be alone.
We would struggle.
I suddenly understood her fear. My mom had tried for years to land another job after the base for the U.S. Air Force closed down, but she had been unsuccessful. Translation work was sparse. We would not make it. We would be homeless and broke. We faced destitution without the financial support from my father.
I clenched my eyes closed, barely able to speak, but I pushed out my decision. “We will be okay,” I told her, feeling my heart break. “We will be okay, because I will go back.”
She squeezed me. “No. Busana, no—”
“Family is everything,” I insisted painfully, unable to open my eyes. “I am afraid we will never see Father again. I do not want to disappoint him. I want to be a good girl. I want to please our family. I want to be obedient.”
And with another flick of a match, I was stolen once more.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Expectations
I wasn’t supposed to be here. Brides who had been kidnapped were not usually present when the groom’s family came to discuss the kalym—the bride price of cash and livestock presented to my parents as payment for me. Most brides would still be held hostage while the elders bargained her fate. It was a luxury to be home, and it was a sadness. Today would be my last in the apartment. As of tomorrow, I would belong to Suiun, and I would live in the mountains with him.
My father was home. He was more haggard than the last time I had seen him, his back hunched and sore, a contrast to my mom, who stood tall while we waited in the kitchen, a protest against my father’s betrayal. The groom’s family was outside in the cold. They’d arrived an hour earlier, but they could not be allowed in so quickly. It was custom to make them wait, a punishment for stealing me, and so we waited too.
As we did, my mom prepared a meal of stew and rice and sweets while my father searched for his best vodka. When the time came to allow the groom’s family into the apartment, there would be bargaining, there would be feasting, and there would be blessings, but I would not be in the dining room to witness all that was claimed to be in my honor, and neither would Suiun. It was a matter for our parents and our elders.
I helped my mom set the food on the dining room table. No one spoke. Since my father’s return, it had been tense within the apartment. If something was said, it was said with contempt. My mom did not forgive my father for his weaknesses, and my father did not forgive my mom for her negligence. He blamed her for my kidnapping. He blamed her, and I blamed myself. I should have turned away when I saw Suiun standing beneath Farida’s window. I never should have spoken to him.
“Busana, go to your room and pack,” my mom instructed when the food was prepared and extra chairs brought around the table.
It was time.
I went to m
y room, but I did not pack. I sat on the floor with my ear to the door, listening to ancient platitudes as the men from Suiun’s family piled into the hallway. “We confess to the kidnapping,” they said formally, not because they actually cared, but because it was custom. “We are guilty. Please forgive us. We have brought you a goat and two sheep.”
They moved into the dining room before I could hear my father’s response, but he would be insulted. There had been horses in the pastures surrounding the farmhouse. With such wealth, a goat and two sheep was a miserable kalym, unless Kenesh had been truthful when he said his family was ruined.
Like a soundless breeze, I snuck out of my room and down the hallway to hear more, pressing my body close against the tapestries, but I stopped when I heard my mom cry out.
“She is too young! Let us keep her until her studies are over. Then we will give her to you. She has consented. That is enough.”
It was dangerous to have hope, but it soared within me. Perhaps she could persuade them to wait. Then I could still spend time with my friends. I could live in the city. I could celebrate Nooruz.
“She is young, but Suiun is not as young,” a man said. “It is time he had a wife. It is time he had children.”
Depleted, I shrank back into my bedroom, unable to bear the disappointment. I picked up a pair of scissors, and I went to my mirror. It would be a small justice to cut off my hair so that I was ugly and torn. It was what Suiun deserved—to have his friends mock him for his ugly choice of bride. But I could not. I would be forced to marry Suiun no matter my appearance. My hair was not long and red for his sake. It was long and red for my own. If I cut it, I would disappear.
There was a loud, unnerving shuffle in the hallway as the men left. “Thank you for giving her to us,” they said. “We wish happiness for them and their children.”
