Honeymoon in Purdah by Alison Wearing

Author:Alison Wearing
Language: eng
Format: mobi
ISBN: 9780307374714
Publisher: Knopf Canada
Published: 2000-04-12T04:00:00+00:00

The group is smiling now, children giggling and approaching me with offerings of food: nuts and fruit and candy and cakes. Turtle Man introduces his family one by one: father, mother, grandmother, older son, younger son, older daughter, younger daughter, brother, brother’s wife, niece, nephew. After everyone has bowed or shaken my hand, Turtle Man explains to the group that we met in the post office, went to the mosque, then a restaurant, then to a Zoroastrian prayer site where I almost died (he imitates me fainting, and this sets the whole group laughing), and that is why we are late. Her husband—

Just hearing the word sets my stomach aflame. I cup my hand to my mouth and gasp. He must be sick with worry by now. We had arranged to meet back at the inn in the afternoon, but I’d become so disoriented. He will be beside himself. “I must go, please, my husband will be very worried—”

“No problem,” Turtle Man says with proud assurance. Using a mixture of Farsi and mime, he conveys: eat—telephone—inn—husband.

“You called my inn from the restaurant?”

He nods.

“Did you talk to my husband?”

He nods.

“But he doesn’t speak Farsi. He won’t understand.”

Turtle Man closes his eyes and smiles, demurely. “No Farsi—English.” He clears his throat, points his index finger into the air and repeats his message: “Mr. Canada,” he recites. “We take your wife. We make her cold.”

It is true: suddenly I feel cold all over. Even closer to death than I did several hours ago. I remove my hand from Lida’s and stand up. I explain in Farsi, English, mime and hysteria that we must go immediately, we absolutely must, that it has been a wonderful day, very cold, thank you, but my husband will be very angry, and I must return this minute.

Turtle Man says something to his father, who rubs his chin and nods. The two men leave without a word. A few minutes later, I hear a car starting.

“Your husband,” Lida explains. “They bring your husband.”

“They are going to drive all the way back to the city and bring Ian here?”

Lida nods and pats my hand.

“But how long will that take?”

She shrugs and consults her mother-in-law.

“Maybe four hours.”

I try to imagine the scene that Ian will soon endure. Pacing (no doubt) around the inn, having tried all day (no doubt) to contact some sort of official somewhere to try to track me down. Then being approached by two men he has never met, one of whom says, “Mr. Canada. We have your wife. Come.”

But I am beyond a tantrum. Haven’t the energy for an argument. I scarcely have it in me to be upset. Instead, I find the situation so thoroughly absurd, that I begin to laugh. And once I begin, I cannot stop. I laugh until everyone around me has joined in, Lida the loudest of all, with great belly laughs of relief.

“You very happy are,” Lida tells me. “You love very much your husband.”

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