The Tale of Aypi Read online

  Really, in this place from which everyone was about to scatter, who was there who could preach to another? Most probably Toti-Naz was aware of this and did as she liked. Even her close relatives avoided saying anything to her face, muttering only “I’ve got no load on that donkey, what does it matter to me if it stumbles?” You could still find one or two who would burn with indignation in private, but that was about it.

  The pipe-smoking elder’s thoughts continued in this digressive train following the morning’s strange events. “That’s the way of life— when trouble comes, the strong weaken, and the weak succumb! And some women are susceptible enough!” Abashed by his thoughts, he glanced around furtively. “We saw war and famine,” he thought to himself, “but we’ve never seen immorality the like of this age’s. Yes, we always had one or two waywards, but they would slink by with their tails between their legs, around everyone else. Now it’s the opposite. If it keeps on like this, soon the good’ll have to feel ashamed before the bad, if they don’t already. Maybe Aypi was the spark for it all. In the old days they said the troubles all began after she told our secrets to those others.”

  Absorbed in his thoughts, he knocked on Nur Tagan’s door. After getting his friend to come out of the house, they stood together in the shadow of a wall. He filled and relit his old German pipe, which was a prize from the War. Over the years, the oils in his hands had polished the pipe smooth. After a couple of bitter puffs, he spoke his troubled mind:

  “Tell me old friend, are women a bit weak, or am I mistaken?”

  “Weak, of course,” answered Nur Tagan promptly. “Man is man, woman is woman. Why would they be the same? Go ahead and put some woman on a boat and send her out into the storm. Will she cope? She won’t. Everyone has their own place in life.”

  “Well,” said Mered Badaly doubtfully, “no one’d want to trade them for their place. But why can’t women endure what a man can, and why, when trouble comes, are females the first to bend?”

  This time Nur Tagan thought for a while. This was a question he was, as ever, unable to answer.

  “Hmm,” he murmured, looking away.

  Mered Badaly made his case: “Listen, this is what I’m saying: Wherever life’s best, women always head that direction. Am I wrong? Think about it… if another village has an easier life, the girls want to marry into that village, and they usually manage it in the end. Another city, another province – whatever the case, if it’s better they’re looking that way. Good God, if this country sputters out and ends up left behind, the girls’ll start heading to foreign countries! Isn’t that a disgrace?”

  Nur Tagan shook his head, “I don’t know, I don’t know, old pal,” he answered, uncertainly. “A woman’s weakness isn’t so different from a man’s: Heaven forbid either of them be weak!”

  “You know, in the war,” began Mered Badaly, “in the cities and villages we liberated, be it Russia, Ukraine or wherever, we found unsettling things. Our girls and women there would consort with the invaders. They befriended them and even collaborated with them. Whatever you may say, in my opinion, women buckle quickly during tough times.”

  “No,” said Nur Tagan, staring at his friend with his sky-blue eyes, “I can’t agree there. While the war was on in Belarus, we heard something: The fascists accused one village of helping the partisans, and marched the entire population through the snow, it must’ve been 60 kilometres! Most of the wretches didn’t have proper clothing head to foot, no shoes or hats – you know what war is like – and when they got there, they say the only survivors left were women – the men had all died on the way from cold and hunger. What do you say to that?”

  “I know what you mean,” began Mered Badaly, “I’m-”

  Nur Tagan, contrary to habit, interrupted.

  “You’re saying that women are immoral. But immoral women are another story.”

  “I’m not talking about the immoral ones,” said Mered Badaly, provoked. “I’m talking about women in general. They can’t stand hardship; they’ll immediately throw themselves into the arms of the rich. I’m saying it’s a result of their fundamental capriciousness! Otherwise why couldn’t they endure what a man does? Why should they run off to the softest berth? The fact of the matter is, a nation’s bulwark isn’t women at all, but men. I realized this during the war, though before I would have thought the other way round.”

  Aypi was furious. “If man is the bulwark of the nation,” she yelled down to them “then woman is the bulwark of life!”

  Nur Tagan started a little at the sound, then muttered cryptically: “Speak the truth and be punished… what else can I say to you? What they say on radio and TV, or my own opinion?”

  “Your own! I can get the radio’s opinion from the radio, and TV’s from the TV,” said Mered Badaly, pressing him impatiently, as though this timeless question was going to be solved by his childhood friend in a poor fishing village on the Caspian shore.

  Nur Tagan’s blue eyes carried the sadness of centuries, as he argued with himself in plaintiff, helpless tones.

  “In my opinion, equality has been lost in our age. The scale has tipped in the other direction. The breath of men used to shake the world, and they ruled over women, but now – it’s the opposite. In this day and age, women do as they please. Do you ever see old men decide anything, as they did in Aypi’s time? Now the government’s in charge of it all. Honour is in their hands, and they put it to their own use. God forbid there’s a disreputable woman; no good ever came of one! Right or wrong, the government’ll take women’s side. Who knows what the end will be? But one thing’s for certain: the government has shackled man’s authority for their own self-serving political ends.”

  Mered Badaly took a deep breath. “You’re saying that the government has made men subservient? As simple as that?”

  “You said it, not me,” responded Nur Tagan, his eyes laughing a little. “What I’m saying is: anyone who flees their own people because they think life there is bad, is the weakest of the weak.”

  Aypi couldn’t stand any more of this, and came upon them both. “Listen! Women don’t flee from a bad life; they flee from those unable to make a good one! They don’t flee from poverty! They flee from those causing it!” she yelled.

  Imagining some voice in their ears, the two old-timers made to stand up and leave. “What can you say,” said Nur Tagan “about the ethics of someone who decides that their own village is poor, and decides to move to another? Wouldn’t a solid person stand up for his home, and make sure it didn’t decline? There are people who run away, but who’d call ‘em moral?”

  This gave Mered Badaly pause as he recalled his sons in the city. Aypi, however, was enraged, and decided to wreak havoc on them all. There was no rehabilitating them; they were the same as ever, with the same old rotten thoughts! There was nothing different in their outlooks; it was all as it was in her day.

  “Pathetic!” she yelled like a whip, “What gall! Men are all fools, and the root of injustice!”

  The hovering ghost’s bitter voice scourged at Mered Badaly as he went home. The unseen influence made him cringe a little, but he continued unaware.

  “I’ll make you all stare it in the face!” she yelled from above them. “Every one, top to bottom! Self-satisfied, pathetic wretches! You dare to judge women? You, the source of wisdom?! The judges of right and wrong? You, who see an unattached woman and stalk after her without a thought of your household, wife or children? Predators! You won’t settle everything, no! Remember, if men are the bulwark of nations, women are the bulwark of life!”

  12

  With the wedding over, everyone returned to their never-ending daily cares. A heart-wrenching calm settled heavily upon the village. Araz too returned to his typical occupation.

  Today he had gone out to sea at the very nip of dawn, and in the mid-morning when the sun began to heat up, he’d come back. Now he sat on the porch wai
ting for Ay-Bebek, while eating breakfast and drinking tea.

  “Back, huh?” said his wife, coming out of the inner room.

  “Yep. Go and send Baljan out, the weather’s warm already, fish won’t last long in this temperature. Yes, send him out, and then…”

  “…And then, what?” His wife smiled coquettishly.

  “Then the two of us will do some chores!” and he grabbed her around the waist with hands that still smelled of fish.

  “Is that all you think about?” she complained, wriggling like something in a net to escape from this living snare.

  “I think about a lot of things – you’re forgetting the sea. If you weren’t here on land, I’d be staying out there for weeks on end.”

  His words pleased Ay-Bebek on this fine morning, so she lilted back at him: “Fine, if you couldn’t make it here without me, everything else’s forgiven. Who cares about the sea?” she asked, her eyes laughing. “Maybe I’ll make you forget all about the sea, and the fish too!”

  “Keep talking, and maybe you’ll miss all the morning’s fun!”

  Ay-Bebek set the fresh sturgeon fillets into the basket, which she then put into the hands of her son as he returned from the backyard. The boy, as usual, went skipping off down the street calling, “Sturgeon! Whitefish! Sevruga! Fresh redfish!”

  “Yes, have him go and tell everyone, up to every door, but not yelling! Can’t he understand?”

  “I suppose it’s always the same with children… when he sees that you’ve come home, his happiness makes him forget.”

  “Baljan!” Ay-Bebek called after the boy, who was already racing down the street, “one more thing!”

  “Tell him not to come back until he’s sold all of them!” yelled Araz from inside. “Even if he’s got to hand them out for free, just as long as he takes his time!”

  As soon as she came back in the door, he caught her in his arms and took her to the inner chamber. Remembering that the baby was still sleeping, she put a finger to her husband’s lips.

  In the late morning, Araz got dressed and went outside. Ay-Bebek raised an eyebrow. “Are you going out to sea again? It’s midday.”

  “Nope, I’ve got to check on the boat. Start making fish pilaf in the afternoon.”

  “What’s the point?” she sniffled. “You’re always obsessing about the sea.”

  “Didn’t I say I’d be back? I did, so stop your whining!”

  In the summer, the only concern for most creatures during this time of day is staying alive, but people, as usual, manage to find some pastime for themselves even in the hottest weather. It had been this way in the olden days, when idle fishermen would repair their canoes and mend nets. Those old concerns were long gone now and most people just gathered for a gossip. Right now, as usual, they had gathered for a chat in the secluded place in the shadow of an ancient fishing boat wreck, away from their wives and children.

  “Good day, voluntary relocators!” Araz said unenthusiastically as he passed by.

  They knew from his tone and words that his greeting was anything but voluntary; still, they dutifully returned pleasantries. Nur Tagan was particularly amiable.

  “How’re you doing? Folks at home well?”

  “Hale and hearty,” Araz replied vaguely. “And if they weren’t,” he thought to himself, “are you the doctor to cure them?”

  Nur Tagan, happy just to break the ice, continued. “Come here and join us for a moment, or have you really gotta rush? At midday there’s nothing better than a shadow to sit in!”

  “You keep hold of that shadow,” said Araz. “I’ve just come for a quiet dip. Might as well try to enjoy the sea while we’re still here. Not certain how many more days we’ll be able to.” They knew quite well what he was really up to, but he kept his secrets even so.

  “’It’s always a holiday with company!’ they say, so don’t be a stranger, son!” added Mered Badaly, who’d noted Araz’s furtive steps.

  Araz stood aloof for a moment. Then with his right hand he shaded his eyes from the piercing rays of the sun, and stepped towards the crowd. Everyone gathered themselves up as he, the one who had avoided them for so long, prepared to engage. They shuffled to make a place for him, but Araz remained standing in the sun.

  “What do you need from me?” he asked abruptly. “Stop the doublespeak, and speak your part!”

  They’d known he was angry with them, but they hadn’t expected a confrontation, so this tack made them uncomfortable. No one spoke for a moment. Araz waited patiently and then repeated his question.

  “What do you want? Everyone’s already chosen their path: you’re giving up on all this, and I’m the one who’s doing the difficult work. You know this can’t end well. Everyone’s living by their own convictions, but don’t think that the person going the other way is the soft-head.”

  Mered Badaly and Nur Tagan, disturbed, glanced at each other, as if to say, “We should’ve let this one pass by.”

  Bally tried to pacify Araz. “No one around here considers you more soft-headed than themselves, boy. In fact, we can see that you’re more on top of things than we are.”

  Araz laughed sceptically. “I’m not a little boy you can befuddle with false praise, so stuff it. Instead, uncle Bally, tell me plainly: Why are you pulling a ‘brave and cowardly perish alike?’”

  Mered Badaly was unable to restrain himself. “If there’s no hope of victory, why go to war? If we fall in with you, you’d lead us straight into the dragon’s mouth, wouldn’t you?”

  Araz didn’t like to speak against an elder, but he continued. “So, we’re dealing with dragons now, are we? If that’s true, why’ve you been telling everyone fairy tales all this time? What were those pretty words about? Money?”

  “Look here, step into the shadow and sit down. Stop this nonsense!” said Bally, coming between the two. “If you stand there too long your head’ll fry and you won’t be able to go trawling! There’s no fish on dry land.”

  The vein on Araz’s temple stood out. All the pent-up anger and all the saved-up offence finally burst out.

  “Don’t worry about me, look after yourselves! Is it a disgrace to defend your home and lose trying? I’m not the one who believes victory is impossible, that’s you. What farcical talk is this!? Wasn’t poor Aypi herself sacrificed for this land? Who were the ones who killed her? Wasn’t it us? And now, if after a century or two we’ve gotten so chicken that we’re going to give it up willingly, isn’t it a shame that we’ve killed someone for it? We’re the ones making a disgrace of ourselves now, and of our ancestors too! Did Aypi go any more astray than we are doing now? One little woman, she just responded foolishly to some strangers’ trick questions – as if she gave away some great secret! Her eye was probably stuck on that jewel too. But what’s our eye stuck on, and why are we giving our home away to strangers? And why shouldn’t we fight?”

  Mered Badaly went into the melee against this unbending man. “We don’t live in a fairy tale, boy” he spat, “so don’t talk about things you don’t understand! Has some enemy come here that we could fight and struggle against? If that was the case, these men wouldn’t stand by! We’re not intimidated by force; most of us are moving voluntarily!”

  “I’m not your boy!” Araz railed with even more anger than before. “Your boys ran away, they’re already city-boys; go and teach manners to them instead. Why’d they trade this community’s future for good times? Now you’re all running off to the city to follow after your children and grandchildren, is that it? Don’t you know? All your hopes are bound to a willow tree! You’ll never get ’em back! How can boys and girls, your grandchildren, believe in people who don’t believe in themselves? You think they’re waiting for you with open arms, but don’t fool yourselves. The whole lot of you are only brave if someone commands you to be; otherwise, you aren’t! Yes, they told us resistance is forbidden, but is it also
forbidden to think?”

  “Don’t stand here raging against these old men, go rage against the ones making us move!” called out Pirim, who was barely able to understand the subject.

  “Ah, one of the true volunteers!” Araz responded scornfully. “Pirim, you go teach manners to your own wife! Take a bottle of vodka with you in case you end up locked out, so you won’t be without a companion.

  Some of the younger fellows chuckled at this, but most of the listeners fell silent, since this time Pirim was taking their side. He, as though sensing their support, came up chin to chin with Araz:

  “Why’re you tormenting folk? Who do you think you’re talking to?”

  Araz bared his teeth. “Pirim, go take a seat in the shadow, or you might regret it.”

  The man wouldn’t take the advice given to him. “Are you going to make me?” he asked, and suddenly swung his arm at Araz. As soon as a sledgehammer-like fist hit him on the chin though, he fell back into his old place. Rocking, he tried to stand again, but Gutly soothed him:

  “Hold on there, Pirim. Stay here and take good advice sitting down!”

  Araz, now thoroughly disgusted by them all, didn’t wish to stay any longer, but just then Mered Badaly sputtered, “If we don’t go, they’ll throw us all in prison, say we’re anarchists, dig up all kinds of things on us, and we’ll have accomplished nothing! You spent a night in prison and what for? Is there any way to turn them back once they start something?”