Elvira Dones - Sworn Virgin

‘When are you going back to work, Lila?’

‘In three days … You’re not getting rid of me before that, you better believe it. Then for three more days Shtjefën will stay at home with you, and after that you’ll have to take care of yourself because you’ll be on your own at home. Now go and take that shower and freshen up — Jonida’s on her way.’

Later, while she’s taking a walk with her cousin and niece, Hana breathes in the afternoon air. The park is alive with brilliant colors. Hordes of mothers with strollers and children, their shouts in a multitude of languages helping Hana go by undetected.

Lila, not without pride, explains that this is a good area to live in. Sure, the houses are more expensive, and that’s why they’ve had to make do with such a small apartment. But a walk in the park is better than ten diets and three sessions in a beauty parlor. Hana thrusts her hands into the pockets of her pants and looks like any man in the street.

Jonida skips in front of them and chats about this and that, mixing ‌Albanian Gheg with American English. 4She tells them about something she does at school called ‘social studies,’ and about her teacher, who talks too much and can’t keep the class quiet. ‘He’s a dickhead,’ she says three times, enough for Hana to learn a new word.

‘Uncle Mark, you look good in that white shirt, but I thought you’d be bigger. In the photo you look bigger, you know? You really have to tell me about the mountains. I need to know everything. Mom never tells me anything. Neither does Dad. They’re too busy working all day.’

‘If we don’t work then who’s going to feed you, sweetie?’ says Lila. The girl isn’t listening. She’s doing pirouettes. She’s like a gazelle, a comet, a love poem. She’s wearing tight-fitting, low-cut jeans, her belly button showing, a blue t-shirt with white writing on it, and underneath a red bra with thin shoulder straps just showing.

‘Do I look good, Uncle Mark?’

‘You’re beautiful.’

‘I want you to like me since Mom really likes you. She’s been talking about you so much with Dad these past months, and all Dad said was “Yes, yes, yes … ”’ She mimics Shtjefën’s voice. ‘There’s a secret, right?’ Hana doesn’t answer. ‘I have to find out the secret. If we’re friends you’ll tell me everything, won’t you?’

Lila has stopped. Hana is stuck halfway between Jonida and her mother.

‘What’s this place called?’ Hana asks.

‘Don’t try and change the subject.’

‘What’s it called?’

‘Rockville. It’s called Rockville. But don’t try and be clever. Are you going to tell me everything about you?’

‘Of course.’

‘And about the mountains?’

‘Whatever you want.’

‘Great! I can’t wait for the old folks to get back to work so I can have you all to myself after school.’

Hana laughs. Jonida rushes on ahead to say hi to a gang of friends.

‘Calm down, Hana. Relax,’ Lila whispers affectionately.

‘I’m very relaxed, I promise.’

The evening with Shtjefën isn’t as bad as she feared. He’s so tired that he doesn’t even take a shower before sitting down to eat. He says sorry a few times; he smells like highways and tar. His eyes are glazed and he talks more slowly than the night before. His voice is like gravel. He asks three times what the two women in his life have done today and if, by any chance, they have had time to think. ‘Of course we have, dear!’ Lila reassures him. ‘Of course you have,’ Shtjefën echoes. He’s part bear, part butterfly, this man. He goes on slurping his bean soup. ‘What about you, Mark? Did you get some rest? You look a bit lost, brother.’ Hana doesn’t answer. She holds on to her spoon and can’t decide whether she’s hungry or not. What’s for sure is that she doesn’t want to talk. She takes in the atmosphere: the gestures that warm the air, the rhythmic tapping of Jonida’s foot under the table, the shouts from the neighborhood children wafting through the open window, the uncertain dance of the drawn-back curtain.

Before asking for Lila’s hand, Shtjefën had been wiry and blond. His head was like a sunflower. The girls in the village said it was because of his height: he caught the sun as soon as it came out, long before the others, and was the last to lose it before sundown. His speech sounded rare and distant, like the glory that cloaked his family. The Dibras had been a great fis , a family clan that had been at war with the Turks for centuries. After the fall of the Ottoman Empire, the mountains had enjoyed a brief peace. But then the communists had come, decreed the downfall of the fis and executed their leaders, the bajraktar .

But that is the past and history is no longer important.

In the next-door apartment they’re still cooking. The clanging of saucepans mixed with children’s voices and spicy smells make her feel like she’s part of a giant communal soup kitchen.

‘Our neighbors are from Sri Lanka,’ Jonida explains. She smirks: ‘They have six kids.’

‘Did school go ok, sweetie?’ Shtjefën asks.

‘As smooth as anything, Dad.’

‘Good girl.’

‘And you?’

‘Me what?’

‘How did work go?’

‘There’s a lot of it, and as long as there’s a lot of it, I’m taking it, my little girl. If my boss knew how to organize things, it’d be even better. That guy’s a mess.’

‘Oh no, God save us,’ Jonida laughs. ‘Don’t start on the story of your boss, please .’

Shtjefën doesn’t take it hard; he shakes his head and shifts the soup bowl to one side. Lila’s fighting with the mashed potato and the qofte meatballs.

‘Now Mom and I have two men in the house, we need to rewrite the rules of household management,’ Jonida decrees.

Mother and father exchange smiles.

‘We’re in a phase of full-blown feminism here,’ Shtjefën tells Hana. ‘Since our daughter does absolutely nothing at home, she’s championing women’s rights.’

‘I do a lot, Dad,’ Jonida says as she attacks a meatball. ‘You’re never home so you never see, that’s all.’

Lila serves the other adults. Shtjefën pours some grappa for himself and for Hana.

‘Right,’ Shtjefën says. ‘Tell me what you do, smarty-pants.’

Jonida lifts her hair up behind her neck, then drops it, rolls her eyes to give herself an air of importance, and then rests her elbows on the table.

‘I’m your muse: I inspire you, I breathe life into you.’

The adults laugh.

Dinner is soon over and there is an atmosphere of tenderness. Hana offers to do the dishes.

‘Since when do men wash dishes?’ Jonida jokes.

Lila says, ‘No way, Hana.’

‘Look, all these years I’ve been doing everything around the house,’ Hana says, trying to convince them. ‘I know how to do women’s work.’ But Lila is adamant.

Shtjefën lights a cigarette.

‘Tomorrow after school, let’s go out just you and me, Uncle Mark,’ Jonida says, before going to bed. ‘I want you to meet my two best friends who live a block away.’

Hana wants to know why they would want to meet her.

‘What? Are you shy or something?’ Jonida exclaims. ‘If it’s a language problem, don’t worry — ok? You make yourself perfectly clear.’

‘It’s not a language problem.’

‘So what is it?’

Hana looks at Lila, who shakes her head.

‘You three are weird,’ the girl comments. ‘God only knows what’s going on with you.’

‘Listen, Jonida,’ says Hana, gathering her courage. ‘Before meeting your friends, you and I have to talk.’

‘Whenever you want. Do you like ice cream?’

Hana nods.