Sworn Virgin (19 page)

Lila opens the oven door, pulling away as the rush of hot air hits her. She puts the baking tray in and closes the door. Hana sits down. Lila stays standing, suddenly awkward.

‘You're always complaining I don't talk, and now you're making things difficult for
me.'

‘We're Albanians, Hana. We don't talk about these intimate things.'

‘Well if you don't talk about them then you shouldn't do them either.'

‘Well I don't. It's Shtjefën who likes trying things out. He says we need to be a little westernized or what's the point of being here? Not just to work our asses off. What would you do with those things anyway? You don't even have a
man.'

‘Exactly. I don't even have a man.' Hana's mood darkens. ‘How come you don't understand?'

She goes and gets the wine she has already uncorked so it could breathe. She takes out two glasses and pours one for herself. She takes a sip. Lila wipes the kitchen table clean and pours herself a glass, but doesn't drink.

‘I'm thirty-five years old now,' Hana explains in a whisper. ‘Can you imagine being with a man for the first time and asking him to go easy because I'm a virgin? At my age? I'd be a joke. I don't even dare think about it. I can't imagine moving on from being just friends to being intimate. And that's why I never even
try.'

There's a moment of pure embarrassment.

‘I can't seem to make love to myself,' Hana goes on. ‘I'm getting desperate. I feel like I'm sick or something. I thought things would be easier.'

Lila's tender gaze is directed somewhere behind
Hana.

‘Of course you can't make love on your own. You've never reached orgasm, Hana. Usually a woman learns to get pleasure from masturbation after she has had full sex. You need a man to find out what you really feel, to see whether you feel pleasure. You can't lose your virginity on your own, if that's your crazy idea when you ask me for a vibrator.'

Hana drops her head on the table. ‘I'm in deep shit.'

‘You knew that,' her cousin reminds her, without any reproach.

‘I feel like shit
too.'

Lila gets up and slowly tidies the kitchen. When she senses Hana has calmed down a little, she sits next to
her.

‘The first man you make love to, or have sex with, will have to be a very special man. Or else, you can find a guy just to help you get over your problem with your virginity. In any case he'll need to be gentle and sensitive.'

Hana looks up at her cousin.

‘Eureka! What a discovery!' Hana exclaims, forcing a smile. ‘And where am I going to find one of those? On Mars?'

‘What's your problem all of a sudden?' Lila asks. ‘You've taken it easy up to now. You wasted more time on your damn books than on yourself. You got pissed at me because I was hurrying you, and now you're panicking and being totally negative.'

Hana stands
up.

‘Don't worry about it. I'll get over
it.'

She starts taking the knives and forks out of the dresser drawer and Lila gets up to help her. They work well as a team; they complement each other and neither gets in the other's way in the narrow kitchen.

‘Things'll be fine. As soon as I start my new job I'll be fine.'

‘A new job is not going to work miracles, my dear cousin.'

Hana doesn't argue with her and for a while they sit in silence. Lila switches on the TV and zaps through several channels without finding anything she wants to watch. Hana only has the basic package on her cable: twenty-one dollars a month for thirty channels without HBO or quality movie channels. Lila ends up on a channel showing a documentary about some 9/11 survivors.

Hana checks the
byrek
in the oven, following the images on the screen out of the corner of her
eye.

In the village square, that day back in Rrnajë, they had kept firing their rifles all night to celebrate Frrok's daughter's engagement. The men had dragged the chairs from the café tavern out onto the square and grabbed a few bottles of raki as they went. The women wore their party dresses. They had looked beautiful, with the colored headscarves of their folk costumes sewn with coins in a fringe over their foreheads chinking in joyous cacophony. Hana had felt her stomach clench painfully.

Men and women were never together at parties and funerals. Hana had to stick with the men. That was the rule of the Kanun. Watching the women dance with the children that afternoon, the younger men had murmured their appreciation, discreetly, without going overboard or being vulgar. Then the evening turned cold, and the men dragged the chairs back inside together with the raki bottles.

The old television set had failed to work for a while. The silent images beamed across the screen with frequent interruptions. The color faded into black and white then came back again.

When the airplane hit the skyscraper, Tonìn Palushi had said that the big wide world out there was in as much trouble as they were. ‘Just look at what pops into some people's heads, flying through a skyscraper to get from one side to the other.'

The pilots must be drunk, some men commented. That must be why they got confused. With all that sky above their heads to fly in, did they have to land right there in the building?

They had gone on drinking. Lul, who worked at the tavern, slammed his hand down on the television set a couple of times to try and get the sound back, but to no effect. The men cursed. Lul started frying cheese and the sizzling oil was the only sound to accompany the images.

Hana had wondered what Lila was doing at that precise moment in America, and whether the towers were in the city where she lived. Tonìn Palushi had added that the two pilots must be friends. They had to be. The other men nodded their agreement. Lul served the fried cheese, bread, and more raki. If the Americans did these things they must have good reasons, Bessian from the Shala clan concluded.

‘Here's to the health of Frrok and his daughter. The Americans know what they're doing. It's not for us to worry about them.'

Hana remembers that, if she had been able, she would have crashed into the women's room in the
kulla
that afternoon just as the airplanes had crashed into the towers. She would have rushed in without asking permission and with all the men staring after her in shock. She would have defied all the rules, rebelled against their power. And, together with the women, she would have burst into tears.

Hana takes the
byrek
out of the oven and rests the baking tray on a cork mat. Lila hesitates, looks at Hana, and then launches into her speech.

‘I have an idea, and I'll tell you what it is, though you may find it really dumb.'

The heat of the oven caresses Hana's left cheek.

‘You can get rid of your virginity by going to see a gynecologist. I can take you to mine.'

Hana smiles and strokes her cheek.

‘You don't need to tell her your life story. You can just explain that you want to make sure everything is ok for your first time. She'll understand fine without needing to hear all the details. It's easy for her to do it. It's a simple, technical procedure and it could make things easier for
you.'

They're unable to discuss it further because Shtjefën arrives.

Eight days later Hana decides to go to the gynecologist on her own. The doctor treats Hana with respect and professionalism. She doesn't know what Lila told the doctor
–
she doesn't really want to know. When she's done she pays in cash and steps out of the doctor's office feeling relieved, with the doctor's ‘Good luck' resounding in her
ears.

At home Lila is waiting anxiously.

‘Thank you,' Hana says. ‘I should have thought of it sooner. I feel much better.'

‘Good,' Lila says, back to her usual practical tone. ‘Now you just need to find a
man.'

Work at the bookstore is relentless. Hana wants coffee and something sweet. She didn't have breakfast this morning and she feels a little dizzy. Lucky it's nearly the end of her shift and she'll soon be able to go home and get some sleep. Forget evening reading.

She looks up to call the next customer in line and finds Patrick O'Connor, holding three books and a political journal. He hands them to Hana with a distracted ‘Good evening,' but when their eyes meet he focuses on her, and then looks totally confused.

‘Good evening.' Hana smiles, trying to sound as normal as possible. ‘Do you have a loyalty card, Mr O'Connor?'

Now he recognizes her. Still more confused, the shy smile he tries out on her rapidly fades. He pulls out his loyalty card and passes it to Hana, who slides it through the electronic reader.

‘I'm Mark Doda. You're not wrong there. It's not a mistake.'

He mumbles something inaudible.

‘I did tell you on the phone that you would find me different,' she says, trying to hand him a lifeline.

The man fiddles with his wallet, and Hana feels emotion paralyzing her. But she goes on smiling.

‘I didn't think you'd be
this
different,' O'Connor manages to say. ‘You were … er … pretty vague on the phone.'

‘It wasn't easy to tell you the whole story on the phone. I couldn't face it. I apologize.'

O'Connor adjusts the lapels of his jacket for no reason.

‘Look, I'm sorry. I didn't want to embarrass
you.'

‘Anyway, I recognized you right away,' he quips, trying to rescue them from this awkward moment.

Hana looks past him. The line of customers waiting to pay is getting longer; the cash registers are all working. She hands over the bag holding his books. O'Connor's eyes are deep blue, his forehead is high. He must be in his fifties. Light-skinned and physically
fit.

‘I don't usually come to this neighborhood,' he goes on, taking control. Hana is already regretting that she called him. ‘I had a doctor's appointment nearby and had some time to spare, so here I
am.'

‘I don't know why I called you, but what's done is done, right?' she says, squirming with embarrassment as she realizes her cheeks are burning bright red. She looks again at the customers in
line.

‘Before we go on, what am I supposed to call you?' O'Connor asks. ‘And if I'm not being indiscreet, what time do you get out of here?'

‘Hana. Call me Hana. My last name is the same. My real name has always been Hana Doda.' She enunciates it clearly, and he nods that he understands. ‘It's my given name. In northern Albanian it means “moon.”'

‘Ok, Miss Moon,' O'Connor says, smiling, finally more at ease. ‘I'd like to wait for you, or see you at some other time, if that is to your liking.'

‘Look, you don't have to do this, you know.'

‘I know I don't have to. But if you'll allow me, at this point I'm curious. Dead curious.'

Hana finishes her shift in twenty minutes and he says he'll wait at the bookstore café. He leaves, with a nod of his head and a smile. He walks with a stride, his shoulders straight, like someone accustomed to hiding their fears. Or maybe he has none, because life has always treated him well. And she has made a giant mistake when she didn't hang up as soon as she heard him in person on the other end of the line rather than the voice mail she had got the other times she tried. You've made this mess, now deal with it, she says to herself, calling the next customer in line to come and
pay.

Half an hour later, when she sits in front of him, he smiles at her. He's had time to think about this unexpected meeting, she thinks. He's also had time to finish an espresso and flip through the newspaper. He crosses his arms and leans back on his chair. Hana experiments with a smile, shrugging her shoulders, and tries to hold his gaze. He's in no hurry to start the conversation.

Before coming over and sitting down, Hana has spent a little time in the ladies' room. She powdered her cheeks lightly. No bags under her eyes; last night she slept well. Lucky she decided to wear the jeans that fit her properly. Being androgynous has its advantages, she tells herself. She won't be good-looking whatever she does and, anyway, she's not here to please him
–
she lies
–
she's here to put herself to the test. She's still lying. She would like to make a dazzling impression. She would like to look enigmatic and translucent and deep and unusual and rare. She's just tiny, plain and cheaply dressed, with a guy who is clearly sophisticated sitting opposite
her.

‘Listen,' she says, beginning the conversation herself since there seemed to be no alternative. ‘Go easy on me, and stop staring at me like that.'

He goes on stripping off her skin with his eyes, layer after layer. Only now he's doing it more delicately, trying not to look over-curious.

‘I'm sorry,' he says. ‘It's just I don't really know how I'm supposed to behave.'

‘It's not easy for me either.'

‘Right then, shall we make things a bit easier for ourselves?'

‘Ok,' she decides. ‘Me first, since I'm the one who dragged you into this situation. I'm a woman. I've always been one. I'm not a transvestite, or a transsexual, and I'm not gay. I've never been any of these things. It's just that I swore to become a man, in a social sense, sixteen years ago. I had to do it because my circumstances forced me to. The Kanun, the collected laws and traditions of northern Albania, allows a woman to become a man and give up her female role forever if she wants to, or if the head of the family orders her to. So I'm what they call a “sworn virgin.” You've researched the Balkans and Albania
–
you must have heard about them. That's it. That's my story, more or less. Now can I order a coffee?'

O'Connor leaps to his feet but Hana beats him to it and makes him sit down again. She stands in line for her coffee and tries to breathe normally. Out of the corner of her eye she sees him settle down and stare out of the window.

Hana returns with her steaming double espresso and sets the cup carefully on the table. She looks up and meets O'Connor's stare.

‘When we met I felt there was something strange about you,' he starts. ‘Your face was ambiguous, your voice was ambiguous, and your suit looked odd on you. But I couldn't go out on a limb and ask anything too personal, could
I?'

She sips her coffee, head
down.

‘Anyway, at the time I knew nothing about the Kanun and northern Albania in general. It was the first time I'd set foot in the country, remember? Then I did a bit of research, I read a few things about it. I waited for you to call. I wanted to know how you had settled here in the US, but you never got in touch. I went back to Albania a few months ago. A couple of journalists in Tirana helped me try to find you, but
…'

Hana smiles. She has finished her coffee and has nothing left to hide behind.

O'Connor is good-looking and relaxed, just as she remembers him. An oddball who's interested in strange countries like the Balkan states. This thought is a blow to her self-esteem. She called the wrong guy, she tells herself, panic rising.

‘I'm really ashamed I called you,' she says, sincerely. ‘I don't want to put you to any trouble. I'm a nobody to
you.'

He lifts his
hand.

‘Tell me more, come on, and call me by my name. If I didn't want you to get in touch I wouldn't have given you my card. Let's just get the preliminaries and apologies over and done with, shall we? It's just ballast, right?'

‘I've been thinking of calling you for months, but I was too scared,' Hana admits.

He smiles.

‘We're just having a conversation here: your English is great and I'm all ears. What else do you need to help you relax?'

The bookstore café is beginning to empty and the bartenders at the coffee machine are no longer calling out orders.

‘What if we get out of here?' O'Connor proposes. ‘We could meet for dinner somewhere. You tell me where we can meet
and—'

‘I've made a mess,' Hana says. ‘I wanted to see if someone who isn't Albanian can understand my story, but now
I'm—'

‘Regretting it,' O'Connor says, completing her sentence and laughing.

‘Yes, regretting
it.'

‘Well, you did the right thing to call me,' he says, still trying to reassure her. ‘But if you don't feel up to it … I won't insist. It's weird for me too. Things like this don't happen every
day.'

They leave the café and the bookstore. Hana tells him that she came by bus that morning because her car is at the garage for an oil change. O'Connor offers her a lift, which she accepts so as not to be
rude.

‘My apartment is very modest and I don't feel comfortable letting you see it,' she hurries to
add.

O'Connor assures her he has no intention of making her feel uncomfortable, and laughs again, shaking his head incredulously.

They climb into his Chrysler 300M and drive in silence until they get to Halpine, where Hana tells him to take a right.

‘Right,' she says, trying to sound confident. ‘I'll take a shower, put on the most elegant clothes I own and we'll go out to dinner. Is eight o'clock all right for
you?'

The restaurant they have chosen is unpretentious and cozy. Sitting opposite him, she grins sheepishly and asks him to choose for her. O'Connor orders two prime ribs, jacket potatoes with sour cream, and green salad.

She stares out of the window. It's a beautiful May evening and there is blossom on the trees. She doesn't deserve this, she thinks. She doesn't know how to reconcile O'Connor, the grief she feels within her and can't expiate, and this incredible
view.

‘I don't know where to begin,' she opens.

For the first time, the thought flicks through her mind that maybe with Jack it would have been easier. She would have told him the story little by little, as if he were a kid in elementary school, and Jack would have said, ‘No way!' He would have said he couldn't believe such a weird story. He would have said, ‘Cool!' He would have said, ‘You don't say?' But she never had the guts to tell Jack anything, maybe because he already has enough problems of his own, and he's black and their worlds seem so far apart. Hana always felt her past would be too difficult for him to grasp. But she still feels guilty every time she thinks about Jack, and every time she runs into
him.

Patrick O'Connor smiles, a little impatiently. Hana starts telling him about Gjergj, Katrina, her parents. She tells him again what a sworn virgin is, and goes through the various reasons why a woman might decide to become a man and give up any chance of life with a partner. As she finishes she flashes a smile at O'Connor, and tries to look as if what she has said is the most natural thing in the world.

The waiter, too chatty and obsequious for her taste, cracks a few stupid jokes as he brings their food to the table.

Now it's O'Connor's turn to be lost in thought. He cuts his meat slowly, mumbling ‘Enjoy your meal' without looking at her. They eat in silence. She leaves half her ribs on her plate, and hardly touches her jacket potato. He finishes everything with evident pleasure.

‘The fact that you're a woman who became a man … ' O'Connor starts, setting his knife and fork straight on his plate. Hana puts her napkin down, then picks it up again and puts it on her lap. ‘It's striking … Of course I'm curious, there's no doubt about that … and you know it too, right? Or you wouldn't have called me. A “sworn virgin.” It's fascinating,
yes.'

She tries to smile naturally, but doesn't feel she's succeeding. God, Americans are so direct, she thinks. She likes this quality but at the same time finds it hard to deal
with.

‘Well, here I am, a living example, maybe the only one who has ever left the country. The others are all in Albania.'

She concentrates her attention on Patrick's hands. They're tanned. She asks him if he does any sport. He tells her about a little sailboat he shares with a friend and keeps in Chesapeake
Bay.

She thinks that if she can make it to the end of this dinner without committing any major faux pas it'll be a miracle. O'Connor starts telling her a little more about himself. He lives alone. He makes a living as a freelance journalist for three print newspapers. He owns an apartment on Massachusetts Avenue. His ex-wife lives in Geneva and they are on good terms. No kids. No sentimental attachments since quite a while back. Has a hard time maintaining relationships owing to his job, which takes him around the world. A classic example of emotional failure, if that helps Hana feel more at
ease.

She smiles shyly. She can see that his emotions are also playing tricks on him, and she's relieved. They start on the wine, which they had completely forgotten about.

‘I thought you were gay, back when we were on the plane,' O'Connor confesses. ‘Thanks for placing your trust in
me.'

Hana sips her wine cautiously.

‘Seriously, thanks. I must get hold of the Kanun and read
it.'

Silence.

‘You can read my story if you want,' Hana
says.

O'Connor loosens his
tie.

‘In the years I lived as a man I kept a diary. I've rewritten it here in my terrible English and my niece has corrected it
–
well, partly corrected it
–
so people can understand
it.'