Sworn Virgin (11 page)

‘Finally,' he says, pleased with the way things are going. ‘I didn't know who else to ask about
you.'

This is a guy who doesn't give up, she thinks. He behaves like a one-man assault unit, but there's something about his manner that she likes. Ben's father is the dean of the medical school and his mother is a famous opera singer.

‘Are you going to say something sooner or later?' he asks, with a smile. ‘Or do I have to do all the work here?'

She's quiet, weighing her thoughts. ‘Forget it, Ben,' she says, as kindly as she knows how. She's said his name. She goes red. ‘It's a really bad time for
me.'

He stares at her, his confidence draining
away.

‘I know I seem strange, but I'm not really. I know I look awkward, but I'm not really. Well, yes I am, a little, but that's not the problem right now. Right now I have to work out when I'm going to be able to cry. Then things will get easier. I can't cry right now, I really can't.'

He looks at her, even more confused. In the few films Hana has seen, the men look at their women exactly this way. The village doctor had looked at her that way at the
kulla
. Come on, explain it to him, she says to herself. Don't make him go away without even helping him understand. At least
that.

She tells him that her uncle, Gjergj Doda, is dying of cancer and that he is the only person left in her family, except for a cousin her age called Lila who is married and doesn't live in the village anymore. Ben twirls the empty coffee cup around in his
hand.

‘I'm sorry,' he
says.

They order again. This time Hana has a coffee and he asks for a little cake. He then asks if he can help in any way. She smiles without looking up and asks him if he can arrange things so that Uncle Gjergj doesn't die. He goes quiet.

‘I have to go,' Hana says. ‘Or I really will miss my train.'

‘I wanted to be with
you.'

‘I wanted to be with you too,' she lets
slip.

If he were less good-looking it would make things easier for her. And as for his voice
…

Forget it, no way. Nothing.

‘So stay,' Ben says. ‘Stay until tomorrow.'

‘I can't.'

She gets up and he follows her, after throwing the coins on the table to pay for their order. She doesn't even try to go through the useless routine of offering to pay. She knows he wouldn't allow it. She may as well save them both the whole song and dance.

Outside the café, the door closes behind them; the sun hanging like a sword over their heads, Hana holds out her hand and he takes it, tightening his grasp.

‘My world is collapsing,' she says calmly, almost detached. ‘And I don't know if I can hold it together. I don't even know why I'm telling you this. I need to go
…'

Ben wants to walk her as far as the station, and does not take no for an answer.

They walk fast, heads down, in the vain attempt to shield themselves from the sun. She counts one and a half steps to every step of his. Hardly anyone else is walking outside. There are more bicycles made in China than anything else on Viale Stalin. Ben's legs are hidden in jeans; anyone who owns a pair of jeans in Tirana is rich and powerful. In front of the Variety Theater he asks her why her pants are white with salt. Hana tells him about her beach trip and how she didn't have a bathing costume.

‘So you went swimming in your clothes?'

‘I couldn't go in naked.'

‘I did it once last year, it was cool.'

Hana laughs.

‘When you don't have a change of clothes it's not so cool. My skin is stretched tight; there's no water at the dorm.'

‘There isn't any at my place either. My mother's mad because she hasn't been able to use the washing machine for three days.'

She's heard from some of her classmates that he lives in Tirana's Eighth Quarter, a high-end residential area right next to where the Politburo members
live.

They've reached the Science Faculty. Ben stops. People hauling suitcases and carry-on bags are rushing towards the entrance of the railway station.

‘Can't you just stay today?' he begs her. ‘We'll spend the day together. We've never had a chance to spend any time together alone, and we hardly know one another.'

Hana turns to
him.

‘I do know you. It's weird
–
and funny
–
but you seem familiar. There's something about you that somehow, somewhere, maybe in a dream, I've already come to know.'

Ben stuffs his hands in his pockets, takes them out, puts them back in again.

‘You're an emotional roller coaster, you know? It's really hard to follow you. You confuse me, and make me feel insecure.'

‘I know you,' she insists, taking no notice.

‘I feel the same, but I can't just come out with things like that or I'd look like a liar or a jerk. Then you come out with them, you get there first, and you sound so convincing and natural that
…'

They look away, trapped by their awkwardness, by the fact that they're young and have never been
free.

‘So stay, Hana. Before it's too late. Don't leave. I can't just lose you like this, for the whole summer.'

‘I can't. Not today.'

‘Can I come to your village then, maybe next week? Or when you say I
can?'

‘Are you crazy? Do you want to ruin
me?'

‘Why would it ruin
you?'

‘Because I'm from the mountains, Ben.' Hana has raised her voice. ‘In the mountains men don't come and visit girls they're not engaged to. It's just not done.'

Ben thinks for a minute, visibly disconcerted.

‘We could meet in secret then.'

Hana shakes her
head.

‘Things are different up there, the world doesn't work like you people in Tirana think it should.'

‘I'm not “people in Tirana,”' he says, growing irritated. ‘I'm Arben Leska, and that's
all.'

‘Don't get angry.'

‘I'm not angry.'

‘Yes you are, and so am
I.'

‘Where have you been hiding?' he challenges her, knowing it is useless. ‘You vanished without trace when we'd just
met.'

‘What was I supposed to say?' Hana says, without any reproach. ‘Was I supposed to ask a complete stranger for permission to go to my aunt's funeral? Was I supposed to say, “Wait for me until August, I might come back to school if Uncle Gjergj doesn't get worse. It's only a month and a half, can you wait that long?”'

She starts walking again, but he doesn't follow her. This is terrible, she thinks. You walk, then you stop, then you shout and then you'd like to hug him, and then you play hard to get, and then you lose him. You'll lose him. There won't be anything left in your life. He comes up to her. Hana waits.

‘What I meant was that you vanished just when I decided I wanted to get to know you better. It's not easy to approach you, you know.'

‘Well, now you've approached me and I'm not eating you alive.' Hana tries for a smile. ‘We'll see each other at the end of August. You can wait until then, right?'

He takes a deep breath before spitting out that maybe at the end of August he'll be going to Paris. Her smile gets bigger. She hasn't understood.

‘Maybe I'm going to Paris,' Ben repeats. ‘I've won a scholarship. You heard the dean was compiling a list, right? There were four scholarships for French and I won one of them. They only told us a few days
ago.'

She decides to cross the street. Easy does it. Easy. Don't be a fool. She shifts her bag to the other shoulder. Ben stands in front of her. She looks
up.

‘Good for you! I'm happy for you,' she mutters.

She's desperate for a way out that's quick and painless. For example, Ben turning around and leaving without a word. There's nothing to say. Everything in her life is going away, she says to herself. Everything is running away. Don't play the victim. Stop complaining.
Stop.

‘Have a good time, then.' She tries to soften the unpleasant tone of her voice. ‘And good luck in Paris … Paris!'

‘That's why I was in a hurry
–
and I didn't know how to find
you.'

‘I get it. Now I
see.'

‘How can I keep in touch, Hana? Is there anywhere I can call you in Rrnajë?'

‘Sure! I have a phone in every room of my mansion.'

‘Please, I don't want to lose you. We can keep in touch. I'll be coming to Albania in the summer, and even in the winter, maybe. We still have this month and a half to be together.'

‘The train won't wait for me. I can't miss
it.'

She runs. In seven or eight hours she'll be home, safe and sound. It's good to leave. There's something heroic about running away: you lose yourself, you fade away, you turn into a cloud, or maybe a man. You need courage to run
away.

On the train she finds a seat with no upholstery and takes her place.

By the time she gets to Rrnajë she's exhausted. People in the village have brought food to Uncle Gjergj. Enver is bleating for his mistress and won't let Hana touch him. The sheep is as indifferent to her as
ever.

One of these days Hana is going to have to go to the cooperative livestock pens and see how their cow is doing. Her name is Cow; they never gave her a proper name. When she lived at the Dodas', she was in great shape. Recently, she's looked terrible.

In their first decades in power, the communists had allowed families to keep one or two animals of their own. Then, with the new agricultural policies, the state had taken them away and things went from bad to worse. Now property is shared, and it is all managed by the agricultural cooperative, which means that, instead of working, the former owners sabotage state property. As soon as Cow started living in the state-owned stalls she stopped recognizing the Dodas, but they used to visit her anyway.

Hana washes, throwing water from a copper bucket over herself. She cooks dinner
–
the usual beans and potatoes with old brown bread
–
and they eat it in silence. Gjergj looks at her furtively and when their eyes meet he looks
down.

‘I thought you wouldn't come back,' he says, lighting his
pipe.

‘Where would I go, Uncle Gjergj?'

He is sitting up straight today; he looks almost healthy.

‘I see it's done you good, me leaving you alone,' she teases. ‘You look better now than when I left you. Maybe I shouldn't have come back.'

‘What nonsense! What was it like down in Tirana?'

‘Hot.'

‘Did you enroll at school?'

‘Sure.'

‘Good job, dear Hana. You are the perfect son. Pity you were born a girl. If you were a boy, the
kulla
would have someone to take care of everything
now.'

‘Why? Aren't I taking care of everything as it
is?'

‘I'm talking about when I'm gone. I've been thinking about it a lot. If I don't marry you off now while I'm still alive, you'll end up without a husband and you know only a man can take care of everything. Maybe I've found the right person for you to marry. The day after tomorrow he'll be here.'

‘Who will be here?'

‘You heard me. Your future husband. I want to see you settled, I've decided. I can't leave you alone.'

Hana is silent.

‘This is my duty,' he continues. ‘You need someone to take care of
you.'

She still doesn't say a
word.

‘I won't give you to the first man who comes along. I'll find you a good husband, with a diploma and a good family. Don't be scared: you'll finish school, come back here and be a high-school teacher. That will be my deal with the family. Until now I haven't taken anyone into consideration seriously because you wanted to go on studying. But things are different
now.'

Hana gets up and goes out. She hears Uncle Gjergj's scratchy voice, too weak to stop her. She walks around the
kulla
. It's a beautiful night with a full moon. The garden is bathed in silvery light. Uncle Gjergj's pants are still hanging on the line where she left them three days
ago.

It's all so cursedly beautiful: the perfume of the woods, the light breeze she feels ruffling her hair, the color of the night. She loves this place. They say nostalgia is only for the old; maybe she's already old. Maybe she was born old. She feels love for the night, which in her life never seems to end, but there is no bitterness. It's a fantastic feeling. It's the stuff of poets. Writers. And she is neither. Calm down and keep your feet on the ground, she says to herself. Don't get ahead of yourself, Hana; don't say things that sound crazy. You are normal, aren't you? She takes a deep breath and acts normal. You've just been threatened with marriage. Act scared.

No way. She doesn't feel any fear, or even anger. She goes on loving the moment, her breath, her calloused palms, her farmhand looks. She loves the courage she felt when she got up and left Uncle Gjergj inside and impotent. She managed to keep him under control.

When she goes back inside she tells Uncle Gjergj she will not accept any husband. He lies down. The pipe resting on the ashtray smokes itself.

‘No husband. Do you see? I will not accept. If a future husband arrives the day after tomorrow, I'll run away. I don't want to be married and submit to the orders of a man, wash his feet, even. I will not be a slave.'