Chapter 4
Nadiya
The night manager at the provincial hotel will probably remember this night for a long time. When I walked in—wearing a traditional bridal gown, with mascara smeared across my face—he was ready to press the panic button.
— Good evening. I need a number. Any number.
The man blinked a few times, as if I might be a ghost, and then smiled tensely.
— And you… the Yunusovs’ fiancée?
— How did you find out?
“So he’s the only one having a wedding today.” The city was buzzing.
“I see. Number, please,” I decided there was no need to answer.
The man spent a long time leafing through my passport. There was a marriage stamp on it.
I understand that the town is small and, most likely, as soon as I leave the counter, the man will call someone and let them know that I am here.
In the morning the whole city will know that instead of my wedding night I went to a hotel, and the newlywed husband was left without his young wife.
It’s a pity that no one will discuss the fact that this very groom did not particularly suffer about this.
I think he’ll go to his Olesya tonight. He’ll spend a long time calming her down, explaining that this is how it has to be and that it’s an arranged marriage. She’ll start crying and accusing him of all sorts of sins. And then they’ll start making up passionately in bed.
He will remember me in the morning when the gossip reaches him.
As I walk down the hallway, I notice the vending machines and buy a sandwich, coffee, and water.
In my room, I eat my dinner right on the bed, dropping crumbs on the white dress that was supposed to lead me to a happy family life, but instead led me to a cheap room in a roadside hotel.
With bitter coffee and a fresh chicken sandwich.
Taking off the dress yourself is quite difficult due to the complex loops. The idea is that the way the dress is removed from the bride determines how passionate the groom is. If the lacing is cut, it means the groom is hot.
There is no one except me to take off the dress, I can’t even cut it – I don’t have anything sharp or cutting.
So I sit on the bed and untie the knots with numb fingers.
I spend about half an hour on this, and then I go to the shower. The hot drops relax my body, and I allow myself to cry to my heart’s content.
My legs can’t hold me up anymore, my tired eyes are closing. I change into my pajamas and lie down on the bed.
There are messages from Nazarka on the phone screen, I answer him that everything is fine with me.
“Just don’t lie to me!” I get in response and smile through my tears.
I have nothing more precious in my life than my brother.
It’s worth enduring for him. At least until he gets back on his feet, and then… then I’ll repay this debt, but not in marriage.
I fall asleep too quickly, and in the morning I can’t even remember how I fell asleep, apparently because I was so tired I fell asleep instantly.
It’s eight in the morning. My head is foggy, my throat is dry.
I get up, wash my face with ice water, put on a black floor-length dress, tie a black scarf, and look at myself in the mirror.
A truly amazing transformation.
Yesterday a happy bride.
Today is a grieving woman.
There are messages and missed calls from my uncle on my phone. Wow, that’s fast.
But I don’t want to talk to him at all. For some reason, I think he knew about the other woman in my future marriage.
My taxi pulls up right to the hotel entrance. The man doesn’t look at me, doesn’t really stare.
Drops off at the destination.
– Let me wait for you?
– No need.
– Perhaps no one will come back for you.
– Then I’ll go on foot.
“Along the cemetery?” the driver hunches his shoulders.
– Yes.
– And you’re not scared?
— The living are scarier.
I get out of the taxi and walk along a familiar path, past the slabs over the graves of people long dead.
Mom and Dad have one monument between them, just like they have one death.
I approach the grave and clench my fists in anger.
Tamerlan said the grave was being looked after, but I see that’s far from true. The grave is overgrown with grass, and the slab is covered in dust.
I lift the hem of my long dress, tie it around my waist, roll up my sleeves, and clear away the grass with my bare hands, sparing no effort. I tear off a piece of my scarf, wet it under the pump, and wipe the grave.
I sit down on the bench next to my parents in silence.
I talk to them in my mind every day, so it’s just a tribute.
When I’m about to go back, I’m lucky – the taxi brings someone else, and they agree to take me into the city.
Walking along the hotel corridor, I look at myself.
My hands are dirty, and so is my dress.
Never mind, at least the grave is clean now.
I insert the key into the lock and try to turn it, but the lock won’t budge. Exhaling, I lower the handle, already knowing who’s waiting for me inside.
Idar is lying on my bed.
He doesn’t even bat an eyelid when he sees me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask dryly and sit down on a chair against the wall.
My husband slowly gets to his feet and comes over to me, takes me by the chin, and examines me as if I were a horse he is going to buy.
Idar is handsome. He has that traditional, rugged Caucasian masculine beauty. His features are stern, his gaze piercing. His strong body promises deceptive care, and his lips surely whisper of eternal love.
Today he’s wearing a black sweater and black jeans. My outfit matches mine. It’s as if we’re on our second day of marriage, remembering our past and mourning the future.
“I should be asking what you’re doing here,” Idar says calmly, but I understand that this calm is imaginary.
“I prefer not to occupy someone else’s living space,” I say, jerking my chin, breaking contact, and rising to my feet to move away from him.
Idar grabs my forearm and squeezes my fingers tightly. There’s no escape.
“What do you mean?” he squints.
“Your woman screamed yesterday about how that house was hers. About how you were her husband. About how she was your wife. They made it clear to me that I was nobody.”
Yunusov lets me out.
“Forget about Olesya. I’ll talk to her, and you won’t cross paths again.”
I smile.
“I wonder who will fall into oblivion? Me or her?” I shake my head. “God, why did you even marry me if you have someone else?”
Idar doesn’t seem to care at all about my questions. He looks down at my outfit, takes my hand, and examines my fingers.
“Again. Nadiya, where have you been?” Yunusov moves closer and speaks more quietly: “And just try to lie to me. The whole town is talking about how my wife left me on our wedding night.”
I pull my hand away and raise my face to Idar, practically touching our noses:
— Perhaps the city should know that you brought another woman to our marriage bed?
