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“Marat?”
“Yes?”
“Do you miss your brother?”
“Yes.”
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Not everyone gathered for lunch anymore. Hardly anyone did.
The farmhand’s wife would wrap up and load a woven basket full of food to take out to the fields. The men worked through the day there. Her nearly ten-month-old baby was hanging off her arm, the basket in the other. Even the leather shop had temporarily shut down so that Amir could help the others with the most important part of the season. The ground was finally unfrozen and much work would need to be done.
Normally, the farmer’s wife would be out there too, but she’d grown weaker, and her hands shook ever so slightly. She retired to cooking and caring for the livestock instead of the hard day’s labor in the fields. Val helped her as much as she knew how. They’d chat, and Val heard the whole of the gossip across the rural farming communities.
One day they were baking bread. As this task had to be done early and rather fast, it took both of their arms to knead the dough.
“So, my dear,” the farmer’s wife began, “I’d noticed… that is we noticed…”
Her tone perked up Val’s ears. The woman had been bracing herself for this conversation.
“That you’d grown quite fond of Amir.”
“I have.”
“And what does Marat think of this?” The woman continued; the teasing tone she previously had was absent in these words.
“Marat does not think about this, Mother. He is not my lover, nor my father.” Val said, hoping the words would put this issue down once and for all. Had the farmer’s wife been worried that this would have caused conflict? Is that why she’d been so careful and uncertain?
“It is best if he would.” The farmer’s wife said, her tone growing darker. “It is not good what you are doing with Amir.”
Val stopped kneading, turning to look at the woman.
“We had not, I mean, we hadn’t…”
“No, my dear. That is not what I mean to say.” The older woman also stopped kneading, dusting her hands off on her apron. “Come, sit.”
She led Val to the table.
“You know, surely, that he is a young man, vulnerable to the gaze of a pretty girl.” She said, “One full of mystery at that, from lands beyond what he has known - and stories that he would only experience as tales. “
“I do not mean to play games with him if that is what you mean,” Val reassured her, but the farmer’s wife shook her head.
“It is not the games of young people that I worry about, my dear. Amir is like a son to me, and more than that, I’d known his parents all my life until they left this world - rest in peace, the gentle people. I’d sworn to them that I would be the guide and mother he no longer had. My husband took him in, and he has been with us for a long, long time. And as both our sons have passed, our daughter married off; he is our one and only now.” She continued, “We mean for him to inherit the farm and orchards one day.”
“I do not care for his inheritance, Mother,” Val said. The farmer’s wife shook her head again.
“Surely, you understand that you are not fit for him, my dear.” She said, her voice filled with regret.. Val could only look at her.
Did she know? How could she know Val’s past? She couldn’t, Marat would have never spoken of it - and she’d not told a soul.
“Mother…”
“You cannot bear children, a woman such as you, she shall not wed.” the woman put her warm hands on Val’s, “Now, do not be scared. We will not let a soul know outside the farmstead. And you are welcome here as long as you would care to stay - it would be my wish and great honor to have you here with us. I’ve grown to love you as a daughter. But I cannot give my blessing for this if you intend to lead Amir astray.”
Val’s heart skipped a beat, cold running through it. She felt her hands tremble.
“What?” She managed to squeeze out, her voice cracking from her suddenly dry throat. The woman clearly took this for fear of being asked to leave.
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“Now, don’t you fret; it was my fault that we’d placed you in such a situation. It was not right of us to have you help him in the shop. Day in and out spending so much time together - he just needed help, and where our dear used to help him before she had the baby - he just needed help. We thought, you must be careful and you are still weak. You could do the work for a time, and when you’d regained your strength, you could move to the orchards and the cattle. Feed the chickens, help me cook. But we’d kept you there too long, and now look what a mess.”
“Mother…”
But the woman continued, her words longwinded but delivered in a hurry.
“I’d thought at first that you and your young man had come as one and all that time that you’d been housed together. I know you had denied it, but I thought it best - fewer questions would be asked, fewer ears would perk up to listen to the gossip. No one would know where you had been before you’d come here with us. No one would try to guess how many children you had reared in your young life and what had happened to them.” the farmer’s wife seemed like she was trying to convince Val. “I’d thought, surely, it was your interest in Amir that’d driven Marat away. Why he spent so much time gone? And I think so still; there is a look he has when he looks at you - I’d know it.”
“Excuse me, Mother,” Val said, feeling a sob rise in her throat, “I do not mean to offend, but I have to go.” the woman held her hand in hers tighter.
“Aimak, he went to talk to Amir this morning. We do not wish to have you speak alone or meet alone in the orchards anymore.” She hurried as the girl tried to free herself, “Our home is open to you both as long as you can live by our rules, my dear.”
Val felt her whole body shake, desperate to leave. Desperate to be alone. The farmer’s wife had let go of her hands, and Val hurried out the door.
Val had ran to the barn. It was the only place she could think to go.
The door was not jammed shut, and she burst inside - throwing herself on the cot and sobbing violently into the pillow. She cried harder than she ever had, or so it seemed. There were no thoughts inside her head except Amir’s face and him saying that he loved her. She shook and had to take deep breaths between the tears so as not to faint.
It felt like it had been hours. She’d been so exhausted, her eyes swollen and her cheeks on fire from the salty tears. Val buried her face in the pillow and pulled the blankets over herself. Dry, hopeless sobs would spring to her lips still, but she had no tears left to cry. Not that day.
She did not know how long she’d been there. But no one came looking. She lay with her eyes closed, trying to push the thoughts aside. She had nothing left to give.
Pushed with considerable force, the door creaked. She did not turn. Marat had entered. Surprised by her presence, he stopped at the door.
“Girl.” He started in a rough, accusatory tone, but she turned toward him, and the sight of her changed his face, “Valeria?”
She sobbed again, trying to speak but couldn’t; it had risen in her throat, and she felt she would cry anew. He stepped forward, softly shutting the door.
He silently lit the small candle, its light igniting shadows around the room, and sat on the cot's edge.
The bravery came from a completely unknown place, and she sat up –throwing her arms around his neck. Her face was against the collar of his shirt, and all the tears, sobs, snot, it all came back as if a wave washed over her. At first, he did not move. Then, awkwardly, he put first one arm and then the other around her back, one hand over her head, patting it lightly.
They sat like that as she cried. If she overstepped, she did not care. Her pain pushed out all other emotions. She felt nothing but how it pulsed in her veins. Anything to make it go away. Anything.
And so, she spilled her guts.
She spoke fast and forgot to breathe. He sat, his face uncomfortable but otherwise emotionless, and listened.
When she was done, she waited for him to say something, anything, to comfort and reassure her. But he didn’t. He just sat there. She looked to him in despair, but he gave her nothing at all.
Finally, he turned.
“You’d been here a while, I take it?”
She could only nod.
“Why did you come here?”
Val didn’t know, so she shook her head, shrugging her shoulders slightly.
“Do you want to stay the night here?”
Again, she nodded.
Marat stood and took the candle to the small fire pit. He built a cone of dry firewood around the cold coals and stuffed in some straw. The fire was going soon, Val watched the smoke rise in an exact column to somewhere in the ceiling and disappear as if in a draft between the individually tied sections of the roof. He’d thought of everything.
Not saying another word, he left the barn and shut the door behind him. She figured that it was the last that she would see of him that night, but within the hour, he returned, a small paper-wrapped parcel in his hands.
He dropped it on her lap. She pulled at the corners and revealed that it had been bread, dried meats, a potato, and a cube of butter.
“Thank you, Marat.” She said quietly. He only nodded, sitting down on the floor against a supporting wooden pole. She did not feel hungry; she felt sick looking at her food.
“I’m going to bet that you hadn’t eaten all day, girl.” He said, looking at her lap. “And if you do not, you risk passing out. I am not sure what I can do about that, so you’d better eat.”
She held the piece of bread in her hand, looking at it with distrust, but took a small bite. Chewing it more than it had warranted, she acknowledged that it had alleviated her stomach pain somewhat.
“It’s a bit funny, isn’t it?” He said, his eyes resting on the flames. “We are but two peas in a pod.”
“What?”
He looked away from the fire and directly at her, a sad smile flashing across his face, “You and I. What is a hunter who cannot hunt?” he tapped his leg, the wood making a thudding sound. “And what is a Golden who cannot give birth?”
To her own surprise, she laughed. She laughed entirely too hard. And then they were both laughing. She set the barely touched food on the little wooden table by the cot and laid back down.
“Marat, can I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you miss your brother?”
He didn’t answer her. Instead, he stood and picked up his coat from where it rested on the ground.
“I have to go,” he said, his tone completely changed. It was as if they had not just spoken with such friendliness and ease. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like, girl.”
“You… aren’t staying?” She asked, dreading being left alone.
“No, I have to go. Now.” and with that, he went out the door. This time it fell closed on its own.
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