Chapter 2
Nadiya
I am a wife.
And I don’t experience any joyful feelings about it.
The mullah performed the nikah ceremony on us. I was given a bracelet as a mahr.
This is too pretentious, flashy jewelry, which makes me want to find out its value, sell it and help my brother with his operation.
The accident left Nazar in a wheelchair, and now we depend on Tamerlan even more than when I was fifteen and we were under his care.
My brother needs surgery. He needs to fly to Israel. They wouldn’t take him here. And Israel is expensive. I don’t have that kind of money. Tamerlan promised to help, but… he never did. For two years, nothing but promises. Now he says my husband’s family will support Nazar.
“You’ll stay here for a couple of days. Idar has a house next to his parents’.”
Sharp mountain peaks flash by outside the car window, my uncle’s voice is enveloped in a veil—it’s as if I perceive it differently, surrendering to the influence of these places.
– Then you will return to the city, and then you can discuss your request with Idar.
I turn sharply to my uncle.
– Just don’t tell me that you haven’t agreed on this matter with the Yunusov family.
— I somehow let it slip…
“Did you let it slip?!” I shout. The driver gives me a worried look. “You should have had their full support on this matter!”
“In any case, you need to resolve this issue with Idar,” he says sternly.
I cover my face with my palms.
I want to hit my uncle. Accuse him of the fact that if it weren’t for him, Nazar and I would have had the money and would have performed his surgery long ago.
And I would have forgiven and let Tamerlan take our mortgaged house and lost assets, I would have paid the mortgage, worked, lived quietly and calmly, but… The accident changed everything.
And now this marriage is a promise of help. But even here, as it turns out, I’m alone again.
Once again, my uncle behaved towards me like a slippery snake.
We reach the banquet hall in silence. I don’t want to see Tamerlane or speak to him.
A separate table has been prepared for the newlyweds in the banquet hall. The host has already begun the evening, and I sit down at the table. Idar is not there. No one approaches me, but they look at me with some interest.
I look down at the table.
No matter how hungry I am, I won’t touch these dishes. It may be paranoia, but I’d rather pass out from hunger.
The wedding continues. Dancing, dancing. Someone is making toasts. Most of those gathered are women. Apparently, the men are with Idar in another room.
During another musical break, I go to the toilet and stop in front of the mirror.
I look, of course… as if I had come to a funeral, not a wedding.
And the longer I look at myself, the more I want to cry.
“Well, stop feeling sorry for yourself, Nadiya,” I say sternly to my reflection and turn around to go back into the hall or get the hell out of here, but my full skirt hits the glass of juice that’s sitting on the edge of the sink.
The yellow drink is spreading all over my dress.
I have nothing with me. No bag, no napkin, no phone.
And what’s the point of a phone? I have no one to call for help.
I continue to stand there, like a child abandoned by everyone, who doesn’t understand what to do next.
Two women walk into the restroom, laughing. Easy, relaxed. And happy.
Seeing me, the guests stop.
They are Russian. This is evident from their fair complexions and hair, and from their unaccented speech.
“This is a disaster,” one of them says, looking at my emergency, and then turns her gaze to her friend. “Ira, we need to help.”
“We must,” the second one nods.
The women come up to me, take wet wipes out of their bags, and start wiping my dress.
“You’re Nadiya, right?” asks the second blonde.
– Yes.
— I’m Ira. And this is Sasha.
I envy them. Their ease, their carefree nature.
“Why are you so sad?” Sasha asks. “We’ve been staring at you the whole wedding. I understand tradition and all that, but… Are you okay, Nadiya?”
They look up at me.
“I saw my husband for the first time today,” my voice breaks. “How can everything be okay with me?”
Ira and Sasha exchange glances. They don’t understand. They will never understand the meaning of these arranged marriages.
And to be honest, me too…
Ira takes my hand and squeezes my fingers.
“My husband, Eldar, said Idar was a good man. His family isn’t easy, and he himself… he’s young, but not bad. So maybe everything will be okay with you?”
“Maybe,” I answer emotionlessly. “Only in this life?”
Ira and Sasha stay with me. We chat a bit, straighten out my dress, and return to the hall.
I freeze at the entrance.
Because Idar is sitting in the groom’s place.
I slowly walk toward the table, subconsciously sensing my husband’s displeasure. The most disgusting thing about all of this is that I have to endure it for Nazar’s sake.
“Where have you been?” Idar’s voice is cold.
— In the toilet.
— We missed our dance.
“Just don’t tell me how upset you were about this,” I say and bite my tongue.
Nadiya, get a hold of yourself. You have to…
Idar turns to me and our eyes meet.
“They told me you’re submissive,” something changes in his gaze. “But it’s even more fun this way.”
The host invites us to dance, and we go to the center of the hall.
Idar touches me chastely. I place my hands weightlessly on his shoulders. We dance for a minute, no more. We are silent—what are we supposed to talk about?
“A car will come for you,” he says unexpectedly and walks away from me.
I look at his tense back and hands, which are now clenched into fists. Is it that unpleasant to touch me?
Am I being sent away from the party? I’m all for it—I’d love to get out of here as quickly as possible, but why do I feel humiliated?
Without saying goodbye to anyone, I go out into the street.
We drive along the serpentine road back to the city. The driver drops me off near a large house.
— I was told your things are already there.
I only have one backpack as my belongings.
I enter the house grounds and try to look around, but it’s already completely dark and I can’t see anything.
A woman comes out onto the threshold of the house.
“Good evening,” she is the first to greet me.
Who is this? Could it really be Idar’s mother?
She was not at the celebration today.
“Good,” I climb the steps and follow the woman into the house.
In the hallway she freezes and looks me up and down.
— Are you Idar’s mother?
“No,” the woman replies sharply. “I’m her sister. My name is Elvira. Rimma… isn’t feeling well.”
Yes, sure.
I understand everything.
Would I be happy with a son’s bride without a clan or tribe? One whom no one has ever seen? One whom no one knows?
Unlikely.
“They asked me to show you the house. But it’s small, I think you can handle it yourself.”
It’s friendly, nothing to say.
I walk down the hallway and into the living room. It feels uninhabited. Like no one’s here.
Elvira remains behind me, but I hear the front door slam and we turn around in unison.
A girl is walking through the house. Straight towards me.
She comes close, even too close. Her face is pale, her eyes are red.
“Who are you?” I ask, frowning.
“Who am I?” he grins spitefully. “Are you asking me who I am?”
“Olesya,” Elvira puts her hand on her shoulder, “you shouldn’t be here. You know he’ll get angry.”
The girl throws off the woman’s hand and reaches out to me.
— Who am I? I’m Idar’s wife! The man you just married.
