Test-&-mend. Juanna Artmane

adjacent houses, encouraged people to observe their neighbors’ lives unintentionally. Almost all of the buildings were constructed with low communicating fences, so it took no effort to witness, what was going on behind the closed doors and windows. It was like living behind glass walls. Such a notion as “privacy” was a lacuna in the vocabulary of the locals. Everyone knew everything about one another in the area.

      As if this openness was not enough, people kept their doors unlocked at all times. It was common for neighbors to drop in for a cup of coffee, whenever they felt bored. This was accepted especially among women, who dragged a homely existence, and in order to brighten their dull days, they paid visits to each other. One more entertainment they were addicted to was gossiping. The topicality of their whining was due to being sorely tried by their husbands.

      Chapter 2:

      The long-expected message

      During three months, since Ali sat for the exam, the whole family were on tenterhooks, waiting for the result. Discussions of how to arrange everything in the best way, once they got the positive answer, burst out over and over again – on every possible occasion. The question of the main concern was, whether they should allow Ali to study abroad, as he had applied to MachineLearning Faculty at Munich Engineering University. Each member worried in his or her own way.

      For Abdul, the prospects were “pretty clear”. He was determined to support his son, whatever the latter chose as his future trade. More than once did he challenge his son’s desire to become “the thing”, as he put it. He was not able to memorize the name of the profession and he used to refer to it as “the thing”. He agreed to Ali’s staying away from the Family for three years, but on condition of his return, once he received the degree.

      Although his father continued preaching him daily and Ali nodded in consent to everything, the latter was all intention to lam, given the opportunity. After all, Ali could not be blamed for his yearning to take to his heels. He would read or watch news bulletins, from which it was evident that his Motherland could not protect its citizens. Since 2001, an uninterrupted sequence of cases of “sudden death of few politicians” or “unexpected suicides of some outspoken journalists” or even strange kidnaps – all played up his reluctance to build his own future in this city.

      During those few lucky hours, when electricity was provided; and the family managed to get together, they would apprehensively listen to “hot news” on TV.

      “See, papa! This is Nona Buhatova!” – Ali jumped up from his seat, pointing at the screen. “She is dead now!”.

      “Well, they say, she overdosed,” – returned Abdul, waving his hand nonchalantly.

      “Of course, she overdosed! She was seen at General Prosecutor’s office just a few weeks ago! Rumor has it, she knew something about Abu Abumov’s death,” – Ali argued furiously.

      “Curiosity killed the cat,” – habitually commented his Dad.

      Occasionally, when Ali was alone with Hannah, he used to confide his thoughts to her: “Only a fool could willingly stay in this dump. You know, if God gives me the chance to escape from here, I’ll never ever return!”. While he was talking down the country, he was rushing back and forth around the room. Every inch of his body seemed to be burning with the ardent desire to run away from the grey gloomy gruesome grip of the city “N”. – “Little poor mama! I feel sorry for her! Oh, just imagine… just imagine those pictures we have seen… Munich! What a city! What a place! With its beautiful streets and lakes! And Me! Being a student at that university! Oh, I would sacrifice everything. I would give my right arm to get there.”.

      With her mother’s shrewd heart, Leila could feel her son’s inner eagerness to break away from what the family had been carefully preparing for him over years. Her heart was like a compass, catching every vibe of deviation in her children – especially in Ali, the apple of her eye – her only son. How could she let him go after all the endless sleepless nights, when she was nursing him, carrying him in her lap, giving him the best she could? “How brutal it is to let him go! He is a throbbing lifeline of my essence! And they want to snatch my heart and throw it away to God knows to what conditions! Where will he sleep? What will he eat?” – these questions were crashing her soul and boiling her blood. Anger, hatred, self-pity mingled in her mind.

      Being just a feeble woman in the dominant male society, she was devoid of the standing to intervene with her husband’s decisions. Much to her resentment, her words were listened to, but never taken into consideration. Yet deep down, she kept persuading herself that her fears would not come true. Ali would not go anywhere, but stay where he belonged to – with the family.

      It was not until the twenty-eighth of July, when Ali’s university exam results came out. Until then, the family had been totally unaware of the exact day, on which the notification letter was due to arrive. Absence of clarity made the last three months particularly strained.

      On the evening, when the letter reached its addressee, the family were sitting on the veranda, facing an ample garden. They were dining and dwelling on the same topic. Abdul was in an inexplicably jubilant mood. A warm pleasant wind, blowing from the garden mixed up with the smell of a fatty baked lamb, put Abdul in that wonderful disposition, in which one could seldom – if ever – find him. Folded in pleasantries of life, Abdul was philosophizing about the importance of education for a male. With a goblet of refined red wine on the table and a piece of lamb in his greasy palm, he was actively gesticulating, waving meat from side to side:

      “My son, for a human it is vitally important… I’d say, education is as important as honor. Look at me…” – he proceeded with praise to his own achievements.

      Sitting at the foot of the table, Hannah was looking up at her dwelling Dad in the opposite end. What struck her most in his speech was his denomination of a man. Whenever Abdul talked, he used the word “human”. “What is it – a human?” – Hannah thought to herself.

      The kerosene lamp, placed in the middle of the table, was dimly illuminating Abdul’s face. It was glistening with pleasure, reflected on his oil skin. The poorly lit table seemed an abyss, separating Hannah from her father. She was not close enough to him to say, how much she was in favor of the ideas, directed to her brother. Although Hannah knew that she was not included into Abdul’s philosophical calculations, she still sympathized with everything said on that evening at table.

      This situation was not unusual for her. On the contrary, it was very much familiar. Hannah was accustomed to the type of setting, when she, being “an uninvited visitor’, was exposed to the witty conversation. In fact, not only these situations put her in the position of an “unwelcomed” guest. Actually, she was repeatedly treated as one. The very idea of “not belonging to this family” was firmly fixed in her mind by her mother, whose intention was far from evil. Leila was doing her best to prepare Hannah for the family of her would-be-husband; in that way she was trying to mold Hannah’s yet unshaped, dependent mind into the psychological state of appreciating the fact, that her genuine family was the family of the man, she was betrothed to.

      Now it gave Hannah the feeling that, despite her sharing the table with native people, she was an outsider for them. Actually, this feeling had become a part of Hannah’s identity, which was skillfully molded by her beloved mother over years.

      And there she was, her mom, sitting beside Abdul. In a melancholy mood, she was staring at the ripped flesh of the dark meat, served in a porcelain plate right in front of her. With her eyes fixed on one spot, she was like an ancient sculpture – elegant and graceful, speechless and lifeless. In the dark, the whiteness of her skin was shining like marble, making a striking contrast to the blackness of her gown. Her raven hair was neatly adjusted in a bun, revealing her delicate beauty in an artistic way. At that very moment, she was placid and tranquil, while deep down she was really running with hatred and loath towards her husband, who was sitting above the table and mercilessly putting the silly ideas of education of a human into their son’s brain.

      “Bakhtulov!” – came the husky male voice from the iron gate, which was the main entrance to the house. Everyone turned to the gate. Due to the lack of light, it was difficult to see, to whom the voice belonged. A beam of faint