Chapter 5
Idar
“What a disgrace, Allah!” Mom laments, dropping her face into her hands.
“Calm down, Mom,” I tell her indifferently.
Mom abruptly removes her hands from her face.
“Calm down?” Her voice breaks. “Calm down? We’ve spent centuries cherishing our reputation. And look what’s happening! It’s not even been 24 hours since the wedding, and the town is already talking about Idar Yunusov’s bride spending her wedding night in a motel!”
– This is an ordinary hotel for tourists.
“What the hell difference does it make!” Mom’s eyes well up with tears.
I slide down the chair and rub my temples. The pain is intense. I was on my feet all day yesterday. I needed to establish contact with one person, then another. It’s been a productive day; I’ve made a lot of connections, and my hands are practically free.
And then Oleska started a scene with me, smashing dishes and cursing. I barely calmed her down. I shouldn’t have brought her here in the first place. I should have left her in town.
But no, I fell for the assurances that she would be as quiet as a mouse.
Olesya knows the rules. And no one is keeping her near me by force. This choice is hers alone. So why the hell did she spend half the night nagging me?
And the next morning I learned the wonderful news that my young wife was not where I had ordered her to be. She had gone to a shabby hotel and remained there.
My father looks at me from under his brows. I don’t need to say anything to him; I already know he’s displeased with me.
I’ve never done anything in my life that he’d praise me for. I tried so hard, but nothing ever touched my father’s heart.
“Aslan, please tell me something?” Mom asks desperately.
The father gets up, approaches the mother, puts his hands on her shoulders, and rubs them.
– Rimma, what Idar is right about is that we need to calm down.
My eyebrow rises. Does he do this in front of his mother?
“Mom, you told me yourself that you’re washing your hands of it and won’t be at our wedding. So why are you so worried about what people say now?”
– Are you kidding me?
— No. But you weren’t there yesterday. Nowhere at all. Do you think people won’t talk about it? It’s hypocritical.
“Think about who you’re telling this to,” my father snaps, and I clench my teeth to keep from telling him everything that’s been simmering inside me.
“Idar, son,” Mom comes up to me, “you know why I wasn’t at the wedding. I don’t like anything about these celebrations!”
“I’ve heard this many times before,” I answer dryly.
“The city is buzzing! Everyone’s talking about your wife. Just yesterday, no one even knew her. Not a single family knew her, and today they’re gossiping about what made Nadiya leave her husband’s house.”
“Mom, let’s be honest? Just throw a stick to the city, they’ll gnaw it like a bone, and even come up with things that don’t even exist. It’s all just gossip and rumors—nothing more. They’ll discuss us today, tomorrow we’ll return to the city, and they’ll start discussing someone else.”
Mom clenches her fists and turns red with anger.
“Do you even know what Elvira told me? Your Olesya came to see Nadiya and spilled the beans! It turns out your wife doesn’t know you have another woman.”
I look at my father.
— Why wasn’t she warned?
“How should I know? I haven’t even spoken to Nadia.”
“Son, we have to stop this,” Mom leans toward me, then, changing her mind, turns to Dad: “Aslan, I beg you, go to the mullah, let him separate them, and we will live as we lived before!”
“No,” Father snaps, too sternly, causing Mother to flinch and back away from him. “Idar, you need to get Nadiya back today. And you better leave here right away.”
“What a disgrace, Allah! What a disgrace!” Mom cries and, unable to bear the tension, leaves the office.
I get up and also head for the exit.
– Idar.
I stop and turn around slowly.
– Olesya needs to be removed.
– No, it’s just a fucking matter of principle.
No one asked me if I wanted to marry a girl I’d never seen in my life. But I accepted my father’s decision as a dutiful eldest son should, and I didn’t ask a single question.
I didn’t even know who she was. What she looked like.
Although… I still don’t know. Do I want to know?
No.
“Now you’re married. Enough shame for the family. And from this day forward, Olesya is your mistress. And an official one at that.”
“Then I’ll make sure no one knows about it,” I answer easily.
What I really want to do is tell my dad to fuck off and just leave here. And let them deal with the wife they forced on me.
“You can’t hide an awl in a sack, don’t even try. And now Grandpa is expecting an heir from you.”
I smile.
“Everyone expects something from me. But not a single living soul has ever asked me what I really want.”
“Otherwise, we won’t know without asking,” Father approaches his desk, picks up his phone, and heads for the exit. “He needs to leave with Nadiya today. We’ll send Olesya by train.”
Oleska will eat me alive later.
But they cannot be transported together.
“Be reasonable, Idar,” my father says at last, and I follow him out.
I reach the hotel in ten minutes, ask the administrator for a spare key, and they give it to me without any problems.
The dreary room, which hadn’t been renovated in twenty years, was terribly primitive. I had no idea such hotels still existed.
Nadiya is not here.
There’s a backpack against the wall. I squat down and pull it toward me, looking inside. There are clothes and a makeup bag. Nothing interesting.
There’s a pair of pink pajamas on the bed, folded into a neat pile. I lie down on the creaky mattress and look around.
I don’t know anything about her, and maybe we should talk to understand at least something about her. Or just forget about it. What difference does it make? She’ll live her life, and I’ll live mine.
When the door opens and Nadiya enters the room, I look her over from head to toe.
Yesterday she was different. A meek doll who kicked up only once, which, I must say, brightened my day.
Nadiya is different now. There’s a sparkle in her eyes, a flush on her cheeks. She’s dressed strangely, as if for a funeral. But what’s even more surprising is the dirt on her dress and hands.
When I touch her, nothing responds inside, only interest boils.
Something tells me that she is not as simple and silent as I was told.
Nadiya meets my gaze without fear or hesitation. She has something to say to me, and she says it.
And why does it seem to me that I saw her… Once upon a time… a very long time ago.“You have to understand,” he says it so calmly that I want to punch him. “It’s time for me to get married.
” “It looks like I won’t have anything to do with this marriage?” I grin heartbreakingly, feeling like I’m suffocating from my own pain.
“Get over it. You’re not a Muslim, and I can’t marry you,” he finishes me off.
“
Unsuitable”—that’s what he called me when he announced his marriage to another woman.
Too loud, too open, too flamboyant, not suitable for a respectable Muslim wife.
But perfect for a mistress.
He went off to get married, and I went to my new, lonely life.
