Sworn Virgin (18 page)

‘Tell me about those years, Hana, if you feel like it? Tell me what it has been like, what it is like
now.'

‘There's nothing to tell.'

‘Ten years of your life and there's nothing to tell?'

‘No.'

‘I don't believe
you.'

‘I don't give a damn.'

‘About what?'

‘About you not believing
me.'

‘Come on, I beg
you.'

Hana laughs, her tears gushing again while she desperately tries to shame her heart into indifference.

‘You can't talk about your own death. Find me a dead body that has succeeded and I'll take my hat off to
it.'

Blerta thinks about this for a while and then tries to get her friend laughing again. ‘You're the same old drama queen, I
see.'

‘I wish! I'm just pathetic, that's
all.'

They both laugh.

They stretch out on the
shilte
, each absorbed in their own thoughts.

There's nothing to tell. Blerta will go off, and Hana will go back to being Mark again. There are some advantages to being a man. You do very little. The women do all the real work. Especially when there's snow, men lie around doing sweet nothing. They give orders, they drink, they clean their rifles. Or they use them. There have been a lot of shooting deaths since freedom came to Albania.

The law in the north dictates that men have to take care of the family land, money, rifles, and honor. Now people want their land back, but when the communists expropriated it they did away with all the land deeds. The result is that nobody knows who legitimately owns what. In order to make things clearer, men in these parts often use their rifles. Hundreds of deaths and hundreds of women dressed in mourning. So many children left fatherless.

‘So what are your plans?' Blerta asks, stretching out her legs. ‘Are you planning to go on being a
man?'

I forgot to smoke, Hana thinks to herself. That's incredible. The tobacco isn't even on the table.

She gets up, finds the tin box with the two-headed eagle on it, sits down, and takes out the tobacco.

‘I don't know,' she answers, without looking up. ‘It's not like one day you become a man, then another you decide to become a tiger or a giraffe.'

‘I know the rules. I studied the Kanun too
–
I know you're stuck. That's why I'm asking
you.'

‘What's done is done,' Hana says. She smiles as she rolls her cigarette. ‘What's done can't be undone.'

‘You should get away from here.'

‘Don't start that. You sound like my cousin Lila. Do you remember her? She's living in the US
now.'

‘Really?' Blerta exclaims, sadness creeping into her expression. As soon as anyone mentions America she falls into a deep well of unhappiness: her American boyfriend, the unfulfilled dream of a
baby.

Hana tells Blerta about Lila and the atmosphere eases again. Blerta laughs and so does Hana. In an alcohol-induced state of grace, they tell each other jokes and trade gossip about their old college acquaintances. Blerta talks about where so-and-so ended up, who married whom, which foreign city
–
Berlin, Perth, Delhi, Quito, Amsterdam, Alaska
–
they had emigrated to. Albanians left their country to conquer the world without warships, with no colonial language to force onto distant populations, no credit cards, no return
fare.

‘It's just the two of us,' Blerta concludes. ‘And sooner or later we'll leave too. Maybe.'

They fall asleep on the floor.

They don't see each other for another four days. This time Hana wrings the neck of one of her hens for dinner in Blerta's honor, and grills it out in the open, in her courtyard. She boils some potatoes
too.

Her friend arrives looking exhausted but happy. She has brought a bottle of Merlot from Scutari. Hana tells her there are no good knives in her
kulla
so she's not sure how to deal with the chicken. Blerta pulls at it with her hands, the meat coming off the bone easily. It is perfectly cooked.

‘Is it because of the American that today you're in a good mood?' Hana asks
her.

‘He called last night. He's coming to Tirana. Can you believe it? Next week. How did you guess?'

Hana laughs. She takes the potatoes out of the clean cloth she wrapped them in to keep warm. They put all the food on the table and Blerta uncorks the bottle of Merlot.

‘I can't believe he's really coming. I hardly dare believe anything.'

‘Nobody comes to this shit-hole of a country for some stupid love affair. This time he must have thought about things a little more deeply.'

‘Don't say anything. Once bitten, twice
shy!'

They sit with their glasses filled.

‘So here's to your health … to the man of the house!' Blerta toasts.

Hana pokes her nose into the glass and sniffs the scent of the wine. She looks at her friend.

‘What's sex like?' she asks, point blank.

Blerta, who has her glass held up at eye level, lowers it so that she can look at
Hana.

‘You've lived with a man. Tell me, what's it like?'

Blerta tries to focus on the question, but she can't find a good answer and tells Hana the question is too
big.

‘Just tell me what it's like,' Hana insists. ‘I mean, on a range from nothing special to the traditional disappointment of Albanian women, and then to the newfound sexual freedom in the cities, how important is sex in everyday life? For someone like you, Blerta, for example. How important is
it?'

Blerta takes a sip of her
wine.

‘Sex is great. In my experience it's great,' she says, perfectly naturally.

‘So it's worth trying,
huh?'

‘Yes, Hana, it's worth trying.'

‘Great!' Hana sighs.

On the pinboard hanging in the kitchen, muddled in with shopping lists and to-do lists, there is a small piece of paper with a reminder written on it: ‘Call Patrick O'Connor!' It has been there for months, the color fading over
time.

Hana wrote it, that's for sure, but the idea seemed crazy so she never called. She only allows herself to do sensible things, and calling O'Connor is not sensible. But she still thinks about it. She's thought about it quite a lot. Especially since Lila started casually introducing her first to a colleague, then to a friend of Shtjefën's, then again to a distant relative of Pal's who lives in Ohio. After these clumsy attempts at matchmaking, Hana threatened to cut Lila out of her life if she didn't back off and stop playing the go-between. She didn't come all the way to the US to end up married to some Good Samaritan. Lila was upset, but she got the message and stopped.

In the early days, thinking about O'Connor had upset her, but these days it doesn't. She wants to meet someone who understands what she has been through, and until now she hasn't met a man she feels at ease with. Anyway, she enjoys thinking about him. She remembers his hands. She remembers his smell when they sat together on the Zurich–Washington flight. In a fleeting moment of total sincerity she even admits that maybe she dares to think about him precisely because he's unreachable. Never mind. It's just a series of maybes. That's the point. Maybe she hasn't forgotten him because there's no one else to remember. Maybe the solitude of this past year has been so good for her that it has cleared the way for her to think about the unattainable.

This December day, however, everything seems possible. She's succeeded in getting a job as a salesperson in a big, prestigious bookstore. If that's possible, all the rest is possible, reasonable even
–
including making a phone call to Patrick O'Connor. She'll be working in the bookstore for three months, on a maternity leave substitution. Then it's up in the
air.

Jonida has come over to Hana's place to give her a face scrub. Before getting started she puts Coldplay on at full volume and tells her aunt they're her favorite group and that if she doesn't think they're the best she'll have to learn to like
them.

While Jonida puts an exfoliating gel on Hana's face, Hana thinks back over the events of the last few weeks. The most important, of course, was getting her new job. And it wasn't even that difficult. She saw the ad on the door of the bookstore and called Jonida straight away to tell her about it. As if it were a matter of national interest, Jonida dictated her strategy: Hana was to go in right away and ask for the manager before they hired someone else. Hana protested that they might already have found someone.

‘They would have taken the notice off the door, duh!' Jonida teased. ‘Or are you scared of trying? Don't tell me you're pissing yourself
…'

Hana had put down the phone and gone into the bookstore. Two hours later she was hired. The wages weren't great but she had a thirty percent discount on all the books. She thanked the manager with tears in her
eyes.

Lila gave her an earful about leaving the security of the parking lot. But then she relented and conveyed her best wishes along with the gift of a new linen pants
suit.

Hana is due to start work immediately after the winter break, on January 2. Jonida is staying over for the weekend, deeply committed in her improvised role as Hana's beautician.

‘How about changing the music?' Hana asks timidly.

Her niece looks daggers at her. ‘Oh come on! You're not saying you're not into Coldplay?'

‘Not really.'

‘You totally don't understand a thing.'

‘Ok, ok, but don't you have anything softer?'

‘Well, just by chance I have some U2 here. You'll like them 'cause they're, like,
old.'

Jonida wipes away the gel and spreads a thick layer of hydrating face mask over Hana's face. She goes and changes the track and warns Hana they will also need a makeup and cosmetics session. Hana protests.

‘I'm not asking your permission,' Jonida ripostes. ‘You've been here for, like, more than a year, and your whole life a man has never been near you. Now you have this great job, and contact with the public, you'll totally meet new people. So
…'

Hana stretches. She's put on a few pounds, making her rounder and more feminine. Her hair has grown down to her shoulders; it's well cut and she looks gamine.

‘I don't have a man, but I do have a working computer,' Hana argues. ‘And I have some male friends I sometimes go out and have a drink with after work.'

‘Yeah, right. Like Jack at the parking lot!' Jonida laughs.

‘Of course.'

‘But he's such a douche, and he has so many problems.'

Hana takes her niece's comments badly. ‘I don't care if Jack's a douche or if he has problems. He's a dad, with two little kids and an alcoholic ex-wife. So what? He's a good person. He's straightforward and grounded.'

‘Sorry,' Jonida apologizes. ‘I didn't mean to offend anyone.'

‘You're so cynical, you young people. Can you get this stuff off my face?'

U2 ricochet around the room with a song called ‘Sunday Bloody Sunday.' Jonida takes a cotton-wool pad and wipes the excess cream from Hana's face. She suddenly turns serious. She wants to say something but gives up, scratches her chin and puts the dirty pad down on the kitchen table.

‘My words came out all wrong,' she says, going over to the washbasin. She apologizes again. ‘It's because I'm worried about you. After a whole year you know nothing about all that stuff. I mean
…'

Hana opens the fridge and takes out a carton of juice.

‘You don't seem to understand that I'm in no hurry.'

‘Jeez, Hana, you're so boring! You're always saying the same thing.'

‘And you'll hear me saying it again and again, until you guys learn not to stress me
out.'

‘What do you mean “you guys”?'

‘I mean you and your mother
–
she's also trying to push me. You know she even tried to find me a boyfriend?'

Jonida gets
edgy.

‘I'm not my mom, if you haven't noticed.'

Hana goes up to Jonida and hugs her. Jonida holds back a little.

‘Don't get angry, please, I beg you,' Hana whispers in her ear. ‘You're smart and really mature for your age, but you can't understand everything. I can't run before I can walk.'

They break their embrace.

‘Why do we always have to talk about me around here? Don't we have anything better to
do?'

‘Honestly? You still look a bit scared. And time is going by, Hana.'

Jonida is wearing a pair of military-style fatigues with big outside pockets, and a zippered cardigan. Her hair cascading around her face makes her look at least two years older than she is. Hana takes a quick look at the time: it's seven o'clock.

‘Let's go out! What do you say?' Hana proposes. ‘Let's forget all this stuff. We're just going around in circles. I'll take you to Georgetown.'

‘You really go for those rich-guy hangouts, huh?' Jonida jokes as she goes to freshen
up.

‘I sure do!' Hana exclaims. ‘And I'm ready to take you there. We'll take Route 355 all the
way.'

Jonida complains that Route 355 is the slow route. The highway would be much faster.

Hana decides to take Route 355 anyway. She's done the last section three or four times on her own now, so that one day she'll be confident enough to take someone else. The Capital Beltway still makes her nervous.

Jonida hums a tune in the car. In ten days it will be Christmas. In eighteen days, Hana is starting her new job in the bookstore. Her niece taps her on the shoulder and smiles her most irresistible smile; she leans over and rests her head on Hana's shoulder. Going into ninth grade has made her grow up quickly. Soon she won't be looking for cuddles, Hana thinks, and then it'll be like a desert, a new ice age, death. But Jonida has not left for college yet, she thinks, so stop being so masochistic.

‘You're thinking I'm growing up fast, right?' Jonida guesses. ‘You have the same look as Mom when she starts saying she won't be able to live without me when I go to college.'

Hana laughs. So all mothers are the same, she thinks. She feels maternal towards Jonida, but she tries not to make it too obvious so that Lila doesn't feel like Hana's trying to muscle in on her exclusive relationship with her daughter.

She finds a parking spot on P Street. While they are walking into the center of Georgetown, Jonida starts chattering about school, her friends, her geometry teacher who's totally cool and gets the students interested in the subject, her high grades in American history.

When they sit down at a table near the window in a snug little Vietnamese restaurant, Hana is filled with a sense of overpowering happiness.

The next day she takes Jonida back home. Lila and Shtjefën offer her a cup of coffee and they start discussing what to cook for Christmas Day. Lila is on a diet and has started going back to the dentist to work on her teeth and improve her smile. Every now and then she goes to the hairdresser and straightens her long, curly hair. Shtjefën explains that his wife is trying to keep him interested, otherwise his virile good looks might end up attracting some other woman. Lila smiles.

‘What do you expect? Apart from Jonida I only have you. And every day she's getting further away, however much love we give
her.'

She sighs and looks at
Hana.

‘Are we doing something wrong with this girl?' she asks Hana in a whisper. Jonida has vanished into her room. ‘How was she yesterday? She goes over to your place as soon as she gets the chance. It feels like she's trying to get away from
us.'

‘Oh come on, baby,' Shtjefën chips in. ‘You go to Hana's all the time too, like tomorrow, for instance. Does that mean you're trying to get away from Jonida and
me?'

When she gets back to her apartment, Hana puts on a pair of baggy red sweatpants and checks the to-do list on her board. At the top of the list there's an exhortation to read the computer manual and practice doing some Google searches.

She sips a cup of tea as she reads the manual attentively. She feels as though she's understanding everything, and she's proud of herself. But rather than starting to surf the Web straight away, she sits there, completely immobile, suddenly unsure where the evening is taking her. For sure, she has made some huge steps. She's completely self-sufficient in all her daily activities and needs no help at all. She pays her bills online. She can speak fairly fluently, and she can read Emily Dickinson, Sylvia Plath, Gloria Naylor, and Toni Morrison, as well as an army of male poets and writers. She has pages and pages of notes on English idioms and phrases spread all over the house; her fridge is like a school whiteboard.

‘But between my legs, things are still pretty dry,' she says out loud. She stares at the empty teacup. It's her favorite, the color of a green lawn. She calls it Melissa. She likes the name Melissa.

She thinks the time has finally come for her to lie down close to a man and smell his body, even though she keeps telling Lila and Jonida she's in no hurry. In her diary she has written: ‘Hana desires a man.' Then she added an exclamation mark. But she can't confide in anyone about these things. Not Jonida, and certainly not
Jack.

She saw a program on TV where women were saying they solved the problem by using a vibrator. But she has no idea where she could buy one. She tells herself she's pathetic thinking about all this filth, and tries to focus on the computer. But all her attempts to get started go nowhere. Sex is on her brain today and she can't stop thinking about
it.

The next evening Lila comes to Hana's house with some
byrek
pastry she has made at home and wrapped in a damp cloth. She walks into the kitchen without even saying hello and asks Hana if the oven is already
on.

Hana leans on the door frame and doesn't move. Lila turns around.

‘What are you doing there? Hurry up! The pastry has risen and it can't wait. Shtjefën's coming at nine.'

Lila dusts the kitchen table with flour. Hana, still standing, asks her if she has ever made love to herself and if she happens to have a vibrator. Lila opens and shuts the kitchen drawers, apparently looking for a rolling
pin.

‘Answer my question.'

‘A vibrator.'

‘That's what I said.'

‘We have sex in the normal way with the tools God gave us. What kind of question is that anyway?'

‘Why are you going
red?'

‘Where do you keep your rolling
pin?'

Hana takes it out of the bottom drawer and hands it to
Lila.

‘Don't get so anxious. I asked if you had a vibrator, not a Kalashnikov.'

‘Ok, ok. Yes, we have one. We got hold of one as a kind of joke. Jeez, I can't believe we're even having this conversation.'

Hana lets Lila roll out the pastry, taking her time, while she warms up the meat sauce and dices the mozzarella.

‘I want to buy myself a vibrator,' she announces as she greases the baking
pan.

‘For crying out loud, can we change the subject here? Isn't there a radio or something in this house?' Lila layers pastry, meat sauce and cheese, drizzling olive oil over each layer and seasoning the
byrek
with pepper and oregano.

‘I don't see why you're so bothered,' Hana insists.