The Tale of Aypi Page 6

  “For ages now all we’ve done is submit. I don’t suppose a young woman like you would understand that”, he replied, not realizing to whom he was speaking.

  “For ages?” she echoed, “Keep it up and there’ll be nothing left of you! It’ll destroy the fishermen and the sea as well – as it already has!”

  “Look at this!” Mered complained indignantly, “I’m standing here learning manners from some girl, just like I’m a naughty child? You don’t even know what you’re doing.”

  “Whatever I feel like, that’s what I’m doing!” Aypi responded warmly. “You don’t understand what I’m capable of!”

  His wounded pride spurred on the senseless argument: “Dear, if you don’t want to be seen as a fool, stop being so high and mighty!”

  “Oh really? You just wait and see what I’ll do!” then she laughed strangely.

  As she laughed, she vanished from sight again. He rubbed his eyes and glanced around to try and see if it was dream or reality, but nothing happened to clear up his doubts. Perhaps he was seeing mirages in the hot air. He returned to the wedding, sat down at the table in his old place and let out a sigh. He was barely able to absorb the party going on around him. Whoever it was, he’d never seen her in this village before, yet suddenly there she was! If a man lives long enough, he’ll see every sort of thing!

  He turned to his companion Nur Tagan and whispered in his ear: “Do you know where we are right now?”

  Nur Tagan gave him a confused look, not knowing what to say. “If I’m not mistaken,” he answered cautiously, “we’re sitting out in the desert, but…”

  “Yes, go on?” Mered said eagerly. “What else?”

  “Well,” continued Nur Tagan, “if you’re checking on me, we’re at the wedding of your youngest son.”

  “No!” he yelled in his companion’s ear, “I mean, what kind of times we’re in?”

  “Oh, in that case it’s the end of spring, and the beginning of summer! Can’t you feel the sun drilling into our heads and boiling our brains?”

  Mered shook his head. “Listen!” he declared, answering his own question, “we’re at the exact midpoint between the past and the future! You and I are nearer to the past, so we don’t even understand the present. It’s like a veiled woman to us! Time has passed us by. Soon these eyes will see only visions from the past.”

  9

  As the afternoon got on, Borjak Nurbadov begged for his host’s forgiveness and, gathering up the honoured guests accompanying him, returned to the city. After that, the toastmaster became even more complacent and finally felt himself the true master of ceremonies.

  Mered Badaly smiled at this – a game played by vodka. Could Turkmen hold any celebration without vodka these days? Among people like the fishermen in this village, you’d be hard pressed to find a single person who could keep himself from wine and spirits. As people would say, “If your neighbour’s blind, start squinting!” and those present all observed this rule diligently: If the chiefs in the offices couldn’t pass a day without it, what remained for the poor youngsters to do except to take an example from their superiors? After seeing the city guests off though, Mered Badaly thought it might be time to wind down the celebration. He went up to his son and whispered in his ear.

  “Wouldn’t it be a good idea to cut off the drinks? They’re getting pretty stewed. Our Pirim’s already wasted.”

  “Let it be and don’t worry about it. They’re our guests and they’re living it up! These guys can outdrink a bull. There are boys here that drink just as much vodka as a bull drinks water, and by God you’d better believe it!”

  “This sort of thing can’t go on in front of the whole village,” said Mered Badaly, shaking his head, “there are women and children around, see for yourself.”

  “God Dad, you’re so depressing! What, do you think my friends will steal the girls here or something? It’s not so easy to please them, the girl has to be like...” here he looked around for a suitable example, “like my bride Gul-Bibi!”

  Gul-Bibi planted a flirtatious kiss on her bridegroom’s cheek:”You sweet-talker!”

  Mered Badaly, abashed by the display, stepped back. The young people from the city had seen the bride kiss her groom though, and began to chant “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

  After that tease, what else could the bride and groom do but embrace for a real kiss? Those villagers who had seen this city custom before, smiled. Those who hadn’t, when they witnessed the bride and groom’s lips meet so gracefully, opened their mouths in amazement. The bashful young girls in the crowd muttered “oh my!” and hid their blushing faces. Children ran over to see the fascinating spectacle, and the nearest, most enthusiastic observers cheered and clapped their hands.

  A guest stood up at the head of one table and yelled ‘Kusht Depdi!’ again. A jubilant throng followed him to the periphery and began anew the whirling, circular dance with its booming music. The boys and girls from the city ran to their cars and took out fluffy, drooping telpeks hats, and scarlet dons. After they’d put them on, the whole scene looked like a film.

  In our home there’s sugar,

  Let it be honey, God willing

  For Kerem’s first born,

  A boy, God willing

  The little rhyme amused Mered Badaly. Bally came up beside them and turned to Nur Tagan and the others.”Fellows, look at these guys, they just don’t stop!” he laughed.

  Kusht, kusht, kusht depdi!

  Hey, hey, hey, hey, kusht depdi!

  The amplifiers, hooked by the long wires to an idling truck at the edge of crowd, did their work, and added even more intensity to the celebration.

  “Yes, God willing!” agreed Bally halfhand. “Look at these clothes they’re wearing, it fits them to a T!”

  One of the village girls, Bagti, who’d practised a good deal, went up to take the microphone from the singer’s hand, and adding her voice to the boy standing beside her, sang an old-style verse:

  A camel comes to the stable,

  That feather-plumed head!

  Oh girl, I’ve fallen for you

  My life’s at your feet!

  The singer who had come from the city snatched the microphone. Attracted by the beauty of the bashful village girl, he began to flirt with her:

  “Oh, well done! What a good singer this girl is! Girls, come over here, all of you! Let’s sing together; what’s so special about the city girls?! There’s no difference really!” He began to move together with Bagti in the Kusht Depdi, and as he passed by, put his lips against her ear: “You’re good at other things besides dancing, aren’t you?”

  The girl recoiled as if she had been stung and moved away. Her cheeks, already flushed with exertion, grew even redder. Gutly alone saw this and rushed up to the singer and whispered something to him. The man responded by switching his own fuzzy wool hat with Gutly’s. Everyone laughed – except Gutly, and a small scuffle ensued which nobody noticed except for the vigilant host. “What the hell,” he muttered to himself, “is going on with those two?”

  Soon Gutly had his hat back and the singer returned to singing with renewed enthusiasm. The presenter, brushing back his long hair with his hand, continued serving vodka and champagne to everyone he could. The singer’s verses went on:

  A fiery blush rises!

  She’ll burn in love’s fire,

  Dear Kerem’s thigh-o’s

  Will meet against hers!

  Kusht, kusht, kusht depdi!

  The old men looked down in shame when they heard this. The singer made an announcement on behalf of the toastmaster:

  “Friends! There’s no fish in this water we’re handing out, but you can dive in and do the crawl stroke! Whoever wants to toast the health of the couple, come up to the head of the table! While our fine toastmaster is dancing from his dose of ‘fishless water,’ come get a taste for yoursel
f!”

  The toastmaster danced around the Kusht Depdi circle in reverse, carrying a fancy platter covered with full glasses, dishing out drinks to anyone interested.

  “Humph,” grumbled Mered Badaly. “These fellows don’t know when to stop!”

  Gutly appeared behind them.

  “Let it be, Meret, if the bride’s father doesn’t mind then what’s it to you, let ’em disgrace themselves!” he said with a slur.

  “The bride’s father is already back home by now”, Mered Badaly responded coldly. “I am responsible for what happens here now.”

  “Now, don’t worry,” said Nur Tagan, who wanted to reassure Mered Badaly. “It would be inhospitable to be too strict. Everyone’s got their limit. I can see that boy putting a lot of that ‘fishless water’ into his jaw, but let’s remember the privileges of a guest. Nothing’s gotten out of hand yet, so don’t worry. It’s true Pirim’s completely smashed; it’s a dark day for Toti-Naz.”

  The rejoicing kept going for hours. The youths from the city and the village were going all out, taking inspiration from each other, and dancing ever more wildly. If there had been another village within walking distance, the wedding would have woken them all up, but since this was the only one around, no strangers appeared. As time went on, those devoted to drinking looked as though just standing on their feet was an effort. The toastmaster, though, was unstoppable.

  “Fishless water!” he yelled, wandering tirelessly among the guests.

  “This ‘fishless water’ can go to hell, and us too” muttered Mered Badaly querulously, unable to restrain his uneasiness. “During the war it was enough to spin our heads, and run us straight into bullets, what’ll it do to us in times of peace?” he asked, turning to Nur Tagan. “Before each offensive, it would be poured out, the ‘dope ration,’ they’d call it. If you drank the stuff, you wouldn’t even know if you were alive or dead, or been shot through. How many boys died like that? There was a boy from Merv, just a kid really. ‘Mered, you drink this. I’m ready to die, but I want to see where I’m going when I die. If I drink it, I won’t see anything, and I’ll just stumble after everyone else. I’d rather be killed by a bullet,’ he’d say, 'than killed by vodka.’ But each time, he’d be too timid in front of everyone, so he’d just hold his breath and swallow his dose like it was poison. Finally one day it did the trick for that poor wretch: While we were all taking cover, he rushed forward all by himself, heedless of the heavy fire, shouting ‘urra!’ He couldn’t hold himself still or keep low, and no one could keep him back. After that I never saw him again, alive or dead.”

  Nur Tagan nodded his head. “For someone who isn’t used to it, it’s poison. It’ll freeze their brain.”

  “When they handed it out, that was the point! Otherwise, who would run out into a hail of fire?” asked tall Hodja, who’d also fought. “These pups’ll freeze their heads soon too, don’t just talk, end the dance, let’s not wait until they do it for you. Thank God that they haven’t started shouting about the bride’s virginity yet.”

  “Good grief,” muttered Nur Tagan. The old man could tell that Hodja had angered his friend. God keep you from offending someone during a wedding. Though the dancers and their vulgar songs were in bad taste, as long as they didn’t go any farther, they were above reproach, since every one of them was the bride or groom’s close friend or relative. How could one risk hurting their feelings?

  Hodja, reading old Nur Tagan’s mind, tried to swallow his words.

  “Damnit to hell Mered, if it makes them happy, then that’s gotta be good enough for us. Soon the village girls will be into this stuff and maybe we can keep them from it, or maybe we can’t. There’s no denying it, we’ll all be living among these folks. Then will you let all their stupid jigs and ditties offend you? Friends, is there anything left for us but to accept things the way they are?”

  “I don’t guess that there is,” lamented Mered Badaly.

  The boys who had been dancing Kusht Depdi began a new dance, which consisted of lying down and writhing grotesquely. The old-timers and children drew near to view the nimble revolutions of the dancer as he spun around, never quite on his back or off of it.

  “What kind of dance is this? It’s not Kusht Depdi,” said Rejeb, coming over from the pilaf cauldrons.

  “They call this ‘break dancing,’ uncle!” laughed one of the youngsters. “You wouldn’t know it, it’s cooler than Kusht Depdi; it’s international. Kusht Depdi is only for Turkmen, so nobody knows it anywhere except Turkmenistan. In the city, break dancing’s much more popular than Kusht Depdi.”

  “Do tell, young sir!” chortled Nur Tagan. “If it’s for Turkmen, so it is! What do you mean ‘no one does it’; why’d you toss aside what’s your own like that? It’s a long road; sooner or later there’ll be a time for what’s really yours. You too’ll give up on this borrowed stuff in the end!”

  The young fellow quickly backed away from the old-timers, then rushed over to join the crowd of dancers.

  Tall Hodja pointed after him and laughed.

  “Ha, what a piglet! Look at that! I say it makes no sense; in this sandy old place the Kusht Depdi step has always been good enough! Break-shmeak, it makes no sense, though it doesn’t seem to go on so long as the Kusht Depdi.”

  Come to the marriage bed,

  The law of the wedding day,

  Oh, to feel the lover’s arms,

  The girl’s searing embrace!

  Hey hey, that’s the way

  That’s the Turkmen Kusht step!

  Kusht, kusht, kusht depdi!

  The toastmaster had been skipping around the dancing circle, grabbing vodka wherever he could find it, and distributing the next round of drinks. Now he took the microphone from the singer:

  “Hey, go down a little farther, I’ll bet her lap’s searing too!”

  Hearing this unseemly nonsense, Nur Tagan yelled into Mered Badaly’s ear:

  “Friend, it’s time to send these ones on their way with some dignity left; if we wait much longer they won’t go when we say ‘go,’ and they’ll find worse amusements.”

  The toastmaster took the microphone from his hand and asked “Where’s that pretty young singer? Come up to the microphone honey! We’ll teach you the secrets of singing! Learn some modern songs! Don’t waste your talent here! You’ve got your whole life ahead of you!” He turned to the singer from the city: “What was her name?”

  The whole crowd at the wedding heard the answer of the young man:

  “Bagti!”

  The long-haired presenter shouted with a higher pitch:

  “Come Bagti! Come, my Bagti!”

  Gutly couldn’t tolerate anymore. He left the table, despite the pleading of his parents, and tried to get to the microphone so he could protect Bagti’s reputation. The other villagers blocked him.

  “Sit down! They’re our guests!”

  What could be done? The wedding was over, and mischief was beginning. Nur Tagan glanced at Mered Badaly.

  Blushing after witnessing the day’s terrestrial events, the sun was beginning to lower itself into the sea. The host sighed, “Well they’ve come and we’ve welcomed them, now let’s see if we can get rid of them! Worst of all would be to stand and gape here while the women and children witness this spectacle.”

  Thus the village elders decided to see their guests off. Soon the city dwellers began loading themselves into cars in two’s and three’s.

  “Who on earth,” asked Nur Tagan to Meret, “is the man in sunglasses sitting over there?”

  The host moved his old eyes across the rows of tables covered with empty dishes. “Which one do you mean?”

  “That one there”, Nur Tagan pointed at one of the few remaining guests. “Sitting alone in the midst of things. And you wouldn’t believe it, but he didn’t sing or eat anything the whole time; just gawked like a raven.” />
  As if he had either a supernatural sense or a gadget in his ears that informed him that he was spoken of, the dark figure got up from his place and approached the two men.

  Opening up his mouth for the first time, he declared “This has been a rather agreeable wedding! There were no undesirable notions and, above all, it was free from anti-social elements.” He took a long, suspicious look at the distant village, and continued: “Let me personally congratulate you on hosting a wedding based on healthy ideas! Good-bye!”

  The two old men were left perplexed and speechless.

  “My god!” exclaimed Nur Tagn, returning to his senses, “I believe that these people can even control our breathing! I noticed that the dancers’ clothes were fake, and it looks like some of the guests were fake too!”

  One of the dancers passing by overheard Nur Tagan. “Of course it’s not real clothing! The real Turkmen cloaks are expensive, and moths eat the woollen hats, so fake ones are good enough for us! Entertainment is more important to people than reality, old man!”

  After the guests had left and the hosts were cleaning things up, Mered Badaly picked up a half full glass of vodka and poured it onto the cracked earth. “Enough of fishless water,” he said to himself. “Hell, one thing’s certain: Even if you don’t usually drink it, have a taste now and it’d still push you forward for the charge.”

  “Even if you don’t taste it, you’ll still remember the past,” laughed Rejeb sadly, rocking a little.

  Mered Badaly shook his head.

  “No son, I’ll not drink it. ‘When old men play, they call up storms.’ No, I don’t think so. Certainly these men’ve tasted the ‘dope ration’ quite a bit. Everyone has their own ways, and if we sip this poison, it’ll come back to haunt us.”

  “It’s not about the vodka,” sighed Bally. “It’s about orders. Without orders, we’re nothing!”

  10

  In the “dark of noon” as the Turkmen put it, when the terrible heat saps everyone and draws them back home or into the shadows, a police car stopped next to Araz’s home. Two men emerged from it and slowly, almost painfully, knocked on the door.