Misery Loves Company

Whoever heard of a twenty-five year old getting married? It was practically geriatric. But in Kulum, a village alongside the Nile river, Yara was that twenty-five year old. She had always hoped she could escape the barbaric tradition by being a caregiver for her Aunt Sena. Well, Aunt Sena went and betrayed her by dying.

Yara’s grandfather, the mayor of Kulum, decided Yara would be married off to the cousin of the mayor in the neighboring village. That way she would not be such a burden on the family and he would be furthering his own political interests.

There she was in a tiny room above the wedding precession. Sweat dripping down her while she stuck her face as close to a small fan, moving side to side, as possible. Her long black hair had been pulled tight into two braids. She looked like a ghost with white face powder competing with her tan skin, two big red circles on her cheeks and bright red rouge on her lips. Her traditional pink dress was weighed down by jewels and she could barely lift her arms from all the weight of the gold choking her wrists.

As she would move left with the fan, she thought of the end of her life as she knew it. Gone were the days were she would frolic in the field and draw the water creatures jumping out of the slow running river. Auntie Sena, a recluse, would mostly smoke her cigars and have at least two cats accompanying her on her rocking chair. So, Yara was free to do as she pleased. Clearly, not any more.

When she moved right with the fan, she wondered what her husband-to-be looked like. No one had bothered to even tell her his name.

“Oh, Yara.” Her grandmother came in to the sequestered room. “My dear girl. You will finally be of use to this family. Aren’t you happy?”

Yara didn’t have a chance to talk as her grandmother prattled on.

“I saw him. He is a bit younger than you, twenty-four, but no one need know that. No need to be embarrassed about your advanced age.”

She took powder from the vanity and started applying some more on her granddaughter’s face.

In between coughs, Yara managed to speak. “Would you happen to know what he is like? My…husband-to-be.”

Her grandmother paused as flecks of powder flew all around them, illuminated by the setting sun. “I do not know, but his family…well. They are from nomadic ancestors. They’ve only come into money recently so the poor dears are a bit rough and uncouth. But who else would marry you, dear? We’re lucky they didn’t ask for a higher dowry. Fifteen cows and ten goats for you. Though your grandfather would have paid much more. We were prepared to, given your condition.”

The condition was Yara’s age.

Yara had her share of lovers since she was eighteen. She knew men were attracted to her, but marriage was an entirely different ordeal. It was a business transaction. It was her worth measured in livestock.

“He will be tough. Make you clean the house everyday and cook. They don’t have servants like we do, mind you. They believe their women should take care of it all. And you’ll be getting that awful chin tattoo. To protect the family they say. They’re very superstitious, Yara. It is almost scary. I’ve heard they bury any daughters they have until they get a son.”

Yara’s grandmother sighed. “Well, I’m off. Don’t wait too long before coming down. And for godssake, Yara, don’t embarrass us.”

She held her granddaughter’s face in her hands. “You poor thing. Best to keep your mouth shut and just take it. I mean for tonight.”

With that her grandmother left.

Yara’s face turned pale under the powder. She didn’t know much about nomadic culture but she had no reason to disbelieve her grandmother. Housework? She never so much as swept her room.

“Oh, Yara!” Her Aunt Fukayna came in the room and hugged her tightly. “You’re likely to be decimated by the man. I tried to beg for you to stay an old maid but your grandfather wouldn’t have it.”

She burst into tears. “He’ll rule your life. Do you know they make their women work the cotton fields? Your pretty little hands will be no more. Well, see you at the reception.” As quickly as she came, Aunt Fukayna left Yara behind to spiral.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Yara looked out the window. She was several feet up from the sandy floor below. Suddenly she was short of breath and wanted to vomit. Before another relative could come in and “brighten her day” she decided to see her doomed future for herself. She crept down cement stairs and walked towards two large Persian rugs hung from a railing, used as a backdrop for the night’s entertainment. The wedding guests’s hooting and hollering could be heard through the open air tent. Yara peaked through the rugs making sure to make the smallest slit so no one would notice her.

A belly dancer with two missing teeth and money pinned to her blue bedazzled outfit was twirling to the beat of the seven-piece orchestra. Two cooked goats were laid out in the middle of a table, stuffed with rice, raisins and pine nuts. The air smelled of imported cigars. It seemed that both villages’s occupants were there, cheering the belly dancer on, chatting the night away and getting as drunk as possible on rice wine.

Yara moved her sights to zone in on her grandfather. She found him on the stage with a couch made for two, where Yara would be expected to sit with her fiance for the entirety of the wedding party. There, he was shaking hands with what could only be described as a behemoth of a man. He was twice the height of her grandfather, who was himself quite tall. The man had long black hair, a heavy beard and mustache and looked like he ate people’s young. He would snap a woman like her in half. All of a sudden the man turned to the crowd and bellowed.

“Stop!”

Everyone froze. The music halted. Even the drunkards ceased their swaying and sobered up.

“Where’s my drink?”

A woman, shaking, ran up to the stage and gave him a goblet of wine. He snatched it from her and drank, liquid running down his beard. Everyone looked on with bated breath. Her grandfather (the grumpiest, most unshakable man she’d ever known) looked on in anticipation.

The giant waved his hand and everyone took it as a sign to carry on.

That was it. Yara didn’t need to see much more. She would not survive her husband-to-be. So, she ran.

Her gold colored sandals kept slipping on the desert floor. She yanked them off, along with her gold bracelets and necklace and hid them behind a palm tree nearby. Now barefoot, she darted. Each step she took was a fight for her freedom.

In the now pitch darkness, Yara hid behind each hut she came across before sprinting off again when the coast was clear. Practically all the village was at her wedding, so there were less people to worry about spotting her.

Finally, she found a cart pulled by a horse. A heavy blanket covered cotton plants. The lights were on in the hut nearby, so people were likely inside. Yara quickly crawled underneath the cloth cover and snuggled herself between the cotton plants. To cover up her heavy breathing, she clasped her hands over her mouth. This little cart would be her salvation. She was sure of it.

“Hello?”

A voice startled her and she looked to her left. In between cotton stalks, two green eyes looked straight at her. Likely a transient.

“Shoo. Be gone!” She whispered.

“What? No.”

“Leave! This is my cart.”

The voice got louder. “I was here first. You go.”

Yara was desperate. There was not time for propriety or fear. She needed this. She pushed the man’s shoulder.

“Ow!”

“Get out!”

“No!”

“Is someone out there?” A farmer came out of the hut and had apparently been watching two figures wiggling around underneath the cloth. He lifted it.

Yara was caught with cotton fluff stuck to her face and clothes. Next to her was an equally cotton-covered man.

“My crop! Get out of here!”

Yara took off. Briefly looking back, she could see the stranger being chased by the farmer and his hoe.

After a couple of minutes of running, she hid in tall stalks of grass near the Nile. Yara was lost (figuratively, not literally). She picked cotton off of her hair and started to think. All she could picture was her grandfather’s red face, her grandmother’s ire and her husband-to-be’s evil demeanor.

“Hey, peasant! Hold on.” The stranger spitting cotton out of his mouth was keeling over, panting.

Yara saw the stranger with disheveled hay-colored hair. He was wearing what looked like a once tailored three piece suit with black dress shoes.

“You, girl. I will pay you to hide me.”

“Who are you calling peasant and girl?” Yara looked down and saw her dusty feet and figured she looked more of a mess than she thought.

“Why would I hide you anyway? Shoo, be gone!” She said.

He went down on his knees and looked up at her. “Please, I am being forced to marry some hideous old troll and there’s no other way to stop it but for me to run away.”

It couldn’t be. Could it?

“Who are you?”She asked.

Without hesitation, he told her. “I am Amun. I can give you riches beyond your wildest dreams. My cousin is the mayor of Tukh…”

“Oh. My. God.” Yara stormed off. “I’m Yara, your betrothed, you idiot.”

“Oh.” He followed her.

“Yes, oh. We can’t run away together. That’s a sure way to get us married even faster. Go away.”

“But I don’t know this village. I need assistance.”

Yara looked up at the starry night, each star winking at her. The fates were surely playing a trick on her. Then she saw something else shine in the dark: his gold cufflinks.

She had a plan.

“Come on then.” Yara led the way to the dock. They would have to walk fast so they could beat the sun. Amun did not leave space in the air for silence. He complained the entire way there.

“I’m hungry.” “I’m thirsty.” “My feet are tired.” “Are you sure you know where you are going?”

Yara ignored his nagging and reminded herself to be patient.

When they got to the dock, she turned to Amun. “Give me your cufflinks.”

He snatched his arms close to his chest. “Why?”

She didn’t have time to explain so she wrestled them from him. His hands were as soft as a baby’s bum. He likely hadn’t done a day’s work in his life. Nomad indeed!

With cufflinks in hand and Amun lagging behind, Yara walked up to an old man dangling his feet from the dock on the deep end of the Nile.

“Sir, I...”

“We…” Amun interjected.

Yara rolled her eyes. “We need to get a boat now.”

She handed him the cufflinks and no further words needed to be exchanged. The old man found them a rickety looking old thing with wood splinters around the edges and oars that looked about as old as the Pharoahs. It would have to do.

Yara and Amun got into the boat, and with a push from the feeble old man, they were off. They paddled (mostly Yara did anyways) as fast as they could to get as far away from the village as they could. Where they landed wouldn’t matter. Yara heard of the pirates of old following the stars to navigate. So she picked a star from the bunch and used it as her guide. Although they were both shivering from the chilly night, both were sweating from the arduous paddling.

“I need to rest.” Claimed Amun.

She wanted to choke him but instead smiled. “As you wish.”

They paddled to a patch of land. With the boat secured, they found a place on the cold dirt to sleep. She waited for him to close his eyes. Yara noticed he was a lean man and looked nothing like his ogre of a cousin. Just a pampered prince. Meeting him may have been a blessing in disguise. Destiny egging her on, confirming her need to escape. How horrible it would be to be shackled to such a brat.

When he started snoring, she tip-toed to the boat. Yara got in as stealthily as she could and pushed the boat away from the land and back into the water. After rowing for a couple of minutes, she was finally alone. She could breathe. She didn’t know what was next but she knew deep inside she was free.

A wet drop fell on her eyelash. There was a drought in the whole of Egypt, it couldn’t be rain. Mid-thought a torrential down pour ensued. All the makeup washed off her face and she was drenched. She tried to control the boat as much as she could. She couldn’t rest on land. Not now. Not when the sun was trying to creep through the dark curtain of night.

She paddled on as the boat kept going in circles and was filling with water. As she continued to fight, an oar fell out of the boat. And then she was being tugged by her hair. Amidst the rain, Amun pulled himself up only to turn the boat and throw Yara over. She screamed. Both of them ended up inside the overturned boat while in the water.

“You idiot!” She screamed at him.

“You snake! How could you leave me?” He said in an incredulous manner.

“Well now both of us are stuck. Are you happy?”

They could hear the rain beating on the outside of the boat.

Amun looked upset but determined. “We are not too far off from land. We can drag the boat and go back out when the rain stops.”

Having no other choice, Yara tried to swim while holding the boat up. The pair of them kept going under and the boat would not budge.

“Ahh!” Amun screamed.

Thunder shook the earth.

Yara wasn’t about to die after all this effort. So she swam under the boat and towards land, leaving the boat and Amun behind.

“Yara!”

The violent wind kept moving her away from her destination, but she tried with all her might to keep going. Her frock was weighing her down but she had neither the time nor the foresight to take it off. After a long struggle she hung on to a couple of reeds at the edge of land and pulled herself up. Then she collapsed onto the ground. She was out of breath and the rain wouldn’t let up. She had to get to shelter before catching a cold. The last thing she needed was to get sick and slow herself down. But she just couldn’t. Suddenly, she started crying. Howling in the night. Her face was wet from rain and tears as she curled up in a ball.

“Yar-a!” An exhausted Amun yelled at her. He had abandoned the boat and swam ashore himself apparently. “Get up. You have to find me shelter.”

That was it. She got up and shoved him. “Leave. Me. Alone.”

“I don’t want to be anywhere near you, believe me. The minute you get me to safe shelter, I’ll discard of you promptly.”

“Ahh!” Yara screamed into the rain.

What awful thing had she done that she was being punished for? Before she could shove the man again, a voice cut through.

“Yara!” Yara’s grandfather stood in the mud with a servant holding an umbrella. Next to him was Amun’s cousin, drenched head to toe, looking more menacing, if it was possible.

“Where did you take us?” Amun asked Yara petrified.

“Us? You’ve been together!” Yara’s grandfather said.

“You are still in Kulum.” Amun’s cousin dragged him by the ear. “No matter. They’re already married.” He said to Yara’s grandfather.

Yara looked up at her grandfather for confirmation.

“We finalized the marriage yesterday. There was no need for this nonsense.”

Yara covered her face in her hands as her grandfather took her by the elbow and dragged her back to civilization.

The wedding party moved to her grandfather’s house to avoid the rain. The belly dancer was still swaying her hips. The music from the orchestra was blaring. The guests were drunk and merry.

Upon entering, Amun’s cousin slapped Amun on the back and exclaimed to the party. “The two rabbits couldn’t wait. The marriage has been consummated!”

The crowd cheered. All happy faces in the crowd. A soaked Yara closed her eyes, then looked up at her husband. Amun looked as downtrodden as she felt.

Maybe, just maybe, their aversion towards each other could be a good thing.