“I think maybe I was too indulgent with you,” he says. “You’ve become willful. You won’t be able to behave this way with your husband, Mina. You’ll bring shame on the family—”
“Then don’t make me get married,” I say, jumping in, the answer more obvious than the simplest mathematical equation.
His eyes are gentle. “It’s your time.”
I think of the Primer up in my room, the pages full of possibilities that it would take me a lifetime to explore.
“Why can’t I decide when it’s time?” I ask.
He smiles, reaching for my hand. “Your mother was scared, too. She didn’t feel ready. But she understood that it was all part of God’s plan. And you’ll feel that way, too. I promise.”
If Mother hadn’t been ready, if maybe her parents hadn’t arranged her marriage to my father when she was my age, then perhaps she would be a nicer person now. I want to say this to my father, but I don’t dare. I need an ally in other matters.
“Father,” I say, in my most respectful tone, “Mother says I’m not allowed to go see Nana in the hospital. But Nana is your mother, and don’t you think that she’ll recover more quickly if she knows that a loved one is by her side?”
He smiles at me, raising an eyebrow, and I can see that he is not fooled for one moment. “Your mother has punished you, and I do not disagree with her decision.”
My body deflates.
“However,” he says, “I would recommend you make a wonderful impression on a variety of eligible men this evening and then ask her again tomorrow. She might have a new attitude.” He winks.
He’s right, of course. Nothing would make my mother happier than if I managed to get several marriage offers tonight. I tell myself that I will try my hardest to actually win someone’s heart.
I PUT ON MY CLOAK AND VEIL AS EARLY AS possible, not wanting anyone to glimpse my ridiculous dress. People turn up promptly at six o’clock, and Mother happily switches into hostess mode.
When she considers the room to be full enough, she signals to the Herald to begin. Brother Ozem, whom my parents have known for years, reads from the Book. Standing regally in his gold tunic, he recites a passage in honor of my Offering that I find really embarrassing, about how a daughter is as “delicate as a fresh egg,” and how you must keep her inside to keep her “unbroken.”
When Brother Ozem has finished, the guests immediately descend on the food. I watch with my mouth watering, knowing that my mother will be furious if I eat before the men. It occurs to me that I haven’t eaten all day, and I’m suddenly starving. I’m so focused on the apple tart that I don’t even notice that the front door has opened again and my older brother, Dekker, has arrived. But then my mother makes a sound like a yelping goat and leaps toward him. It has only been three weeks since she last saw him, but she does this every time she sees him, her only son.
“My Little Love!” she cries. She doesn’t have to wait for him to speak first, since she’s his mother.
“Peace, Mother. I’ve brought you a gift.” Seemingly from nowhere, he produces an orange. He’s always shared Mother’s flair for the dramatic. Several guests gasp, and Mother coos like a dove.
“Oh-h-h-h-h. Dek-k-k-k-ker. An or-r-r-r-range! How extravagant! What an exceptional Student you must be to receive such favors!”
“One does not strive to be an outstanding Student, Mother, only to stand out in the eyes of God.”
My mother sounds like she might faint from her son’s devoutness. “I’m so proud of my Little Love.” Dekker is nearly six foot two, and you’d think he would’ve grown tired of this nickname, but there’s nothing about my mother’s fawning attention that ever bothers Dekker.
She turns to the guests and announces, “This is my son Dekker, on leave from the Lyceum for the night. He’s a top Student there. All the Teachers say so.”
I roll my eyes, but thankfully my veil keeps anyone from noticing.
Mother brings Dekker over to where I’m hovering by the buffet. “Dekker,” Mother says, “say hello to your sister on this auspicious occasion.”
Snorting with laughter, he grabs a piece of ham with his grubby fingers. “Yeah, right. Okay. Congratulations, Mina. May you attract a real winner.” He shoves the whole slab of meat into his mouth, chewing it with a grin on his face, as if he’s said something witty.
Mother’s expression is hidden under her veil, but I see her dig her nails into his arm.
“Ahhh,” he says, flinching, the smirk finally disappearing.
“Not today, Dekker,” Mother says quietly. “Too important.”
“Where is Sekena?” I ask. My best friend is the only person I want to see right now, the only one I want to talk to.
“She wasn’t invited,” Mother says, in a tone suggesting I should already know this.
“What?” I say, wanting to flip over the entire buffet table in response.
“This is your night,” she says. “You don’t need any competition.”
Dekker picks up a hunk of cheese obviously meant to be sliced into many pieces and gnaws on it. A few morsels spill onto his new tunic, which is the same light blue that all Students wear. Mouth full, he says, “That girl is hardly competition. She’s like some sad little Chihuahua who fell into a bottle of bleach.”
“How can you talk that way about Sekena?” I say, ready to plunge my own nails deep into his flesh. “You’ve known her since you were—”
“Mina,” Mother says, her voice hissing in warning.
I stop talking. I can’t afford to make her any angrier today.
“I think it’s time for you to mingle with your guests,” she says.
I nod and walk away, taking deep breaths under my veil. I remind myself that Dekker is under a lot of stress right now and doesn’t mean what he says. He’s not worth getting worked up over.
I survey the room to see who else has arrived.
Standing in the corner with a cup is Tonis Plander, a boy almost as rich as he is dumb, but not quite. He spills some juice on his sleeve and looks around to see if anyone has noticed. He then dips his head to suck the liquid off the fabric with his mouth, and that causes him to spill the rest of the juice down his pants.
I turn away, spotting an old friend of Dekker’s, Xavier Pog, who isn’t half-bad-looking. Unfortunately, he’s only as tall as my shoulder and laughs like a choking donkey.
There are a few boys huddled in the corner whom I’ve never met, but they seem too young to be here as suitors. They’re probably the younger brothers of some of the guests. They watch Katla, who’s picking up after people. They whisper about her and giggle like gits, as Nana would say.
Mother talks into the ear of a man who lives in our building. Mr. Yun is an architect who must be at least forty. He’s a widower who makes good money, so of course Mother invited him. He’s looking at me in my cloak and veil like I’m a present and he hasn’t decided whether he wants to unwrap me or not.
Feeling a little queasy, I head for the kitchen. Mother will be very annoyed that I’ve left the room, but I need some air.
Much to my despair, my mother’s sisters have decided to hold court around the kitchen table. I spin on my heels, hoping to walk right back out, but it’s too late. Their conversation has stopped, as if the taps have been shut on three spouting faucets.
“Mina!” Purga says. “Come here!”
I reluctantly approach my aunties. They like to gather in here, with a pile of food, where the men aren’t allowed. They can shed their veils and speak their minds. I should have known better than to come in.
“Let’s see your face!” Sersa says.
I reluctantly unsnap my veil.
The three of them “hmmm” and “ahhh.”
“Skin is pretty good,” says Kilya.
“She’s too pale!” says Sersa.
“She’s blonde. What do you expect?” asks Purga.
“Too bad about her father’s forehead,” adds Sersa.
“Yes, but those eyes!
” counters Kilya.
“She’s gotten so tall!” Purga says.
“The lips are nice,” says Kilya, as if this is a point they’ve been arguing about. “She’s a woman now!”
You’d think they hadn’t seen me in years, as opposed to last week at Sunday service. But my aunties relish on-the-spot assessments.
“Has she started her menses?” Sersa asks.
“You came to the celebration!” Purga screeches. “It was right here in this very apartment only last . . . last . . . How long ago was it, Mina?”
I feel myself flush. “Last summer,” I mumble.
“Yes, yes, of course,” says Purga. “Remember, Sersa? We taught Mina what it means to be a woman, and then Kilya ate so much that she made a burp we thought would blow a hole in the Wall.”
All the aunties burst into laughter.
“Like I said, last summer. That’s wonderful. That means when you get an offer, you can get married right away, dear,” says Sersa.
“I’m in no hurry,” I say.
Sersa sniffs. “Well, look who thinks she has all the time in the world! I can tell you, she doesn’t get her arrogance from our side of the family.”
Kilya leans over and whispers something in Sersa’s ear. Sersa laughs.
Purga then says to me, “It’s all right, dear. You’re just nervous.” She then says to the others, “Did you see that spread of food? Daughters are so expensive.”
“What do you mean? We got a year’s worth of batteries and lightbulbs when we married off Lille,” says Kilya.
“Yes, but first you had to make her known to the best families,” says Sersa. “It’s all so exhausting. Praise be to God for my four sons.”
“I’m so relieved,” says my mother, who is suddenly standing in the doorway of the kitchen. “I was afraid a whole five minutes were going to pass without Sersa mentioning her four sons.”
The other two aunties snicker, but Sersa glares at Mother and says, “Don’t feel too bad, Marga. Dekker is better than nothing.”
Mother is the oldest of her sisters, and although she was the first of them to get married, she was the last to have children. For many years she was made to feel ashamed for her inability to reproduce, and now the aunties love to talk about their already-married children in front of her.
Mother grabs a pitcher of water from the counter behind me. With her back to Sersa, she says, “Mina is going to make a match that is worth more than all of your sons put together.”
The sniggering stops.
Mother continues. “Zai’s boss is coming today, and he’s bringing his son, Damon. Every Deserver in town knows he’s the most eligible man in Manhattan. And who here has a daughter of marriageable age? Oh. I do.” She turns and walks out of the room.
The aunties turn back and look at me, but I’m as surprised as they are.
“Mina, you’ve got your work cut out for you today, sweetie!” Purga says.
“Marga is dreaming,” says Kilya, “if she thinks they’re going to land Damon Asher.”
“She’s crazy,” Sersa adds.
“It’s going to take a lot more than Marga’s fruitcake,” says Kilya, shoving a piece in her mouth.
“Shhh. You’re upsetting Mina,” Purga says, noticing that I’ve started to tear up.
Sersa attempts a smile. “You’re a good girl. No one thinks you’re not up to the task.”
“Even in a cloak and veil, you can make a big impression. It’s all in the hands.” Kilya holds out her hands and holds them up in different poses. “And the tilt of the head.” Turning and tilting her head slightly, she freezes, looking like a confused squirrel.
Purga says, “I’m sure Damon will think you’re fresh and adorable!”
I nod, smiling, as if they’ve given me wonderful advice. I can’t tell them the truth: that I’m worried about Nana. I don’t want to be left alone in the world, with no one to talk to but my aunties and my mother.
“I’d better get back to my guests,” I say.
Purga says, “You’ll get married to a powerful man and have lots of baby boys, God willing.”
“God willing,” they all repeat.
An awkward silence fills the air as they wait for me to respond appropriately, so I echo, “God willing.” Then I put my veil back around my head and leave the kitchen.
FIVE
THIRTY MINUTES LATER, I STILL HAVEN’T TALKED to one potential suitor. Mother will be very annoyed, but all the candidates are lingering on the edges of the room, seeming even more anxious than I am. I’m not allowed to initiate conversations with men, so what can I do?
Mother is busy with Grandma and Grandpa Silna, her parents, and as much as I don’t enjoy standing alone, I really don’t feel like seeing them right now. Grandpa Silna is very stern and never has much to say beyond quoting the Book, and Grandma Silna says even less. She just stares at the ground, nodding at whatever her husband says. Come to think of it, it’s pretty amazing that she produced my aunties, who never seem to stop talking.
I decide to get some food while I can. I grab some slices of cheese and bread and stand in a quiet corner, putting small pieces of each under the veil and into my mouth. I’ve always hated eating with the veil on. Thank goodness I don’t have to wear it when it’s just my family.
I’ve managed to eat a small amount, when Dekker comes sauntering up.
He’s got a pastry in each hand. “I’d offer you one of these, but I doubt you could fit them under the ol’ ‘shower curtain.’” He gestures at my veil.
“How’s the Lyceum, Dekker?” I ask.
Looking at him, his smooth skin and blue eyes, his short little brown beard, I think he could be almost handsome, if he didn’t look so put-out all the time.
“You heard Mother. I’m a top Student.” He turns away from me, wiping his hands on his tunic.
He’s lying, and I know it. And after all of these years of his being such a creep, I really shouldn’t care. But it hurts my heart, because when we were little, Dekker and I were best friends. We did everything together, and he thought I was the funniest person on the planet. All I had to do to make him laugh was fall down. I was great at it. He would say, “Play dead,” and, no matter what I was doing, I would freeze and fall over, and he would bust a gut laughing. All day long we talked and made up games, and neither of us could fall asleep if we weren’t in the same room.
And then Dekker turned six and was sent to school. He cried and cried when my parents said I couldn’t go with him, and I promised we would still play like always as soon as he got home.
But when he walked through the door after his first day, he had changed. He didn’t want to play with me. He didn’t even want to talk to me anymore. And he wouldn’t tell me why. Finally, at dinner, he told Father to explain to me that his Teacher had educated him in the ways of the female, and that girls were worth half as much as boys, and that women were the cause of all evil on Earth.
And that was it. We were never really friends again. Dekker might get so bored at home that he would play with me for a while, but, soon enough, he would feel the need to remind me of my inferiority and we would end up in a fistfight. Mother always took Dekker’s side. Little girls weren’t supposed to get in fights. We were supposed to obey our older brothers in all things.
So now, even though he’s in trouble, he’ll never lower himself to talk to me about it.
Around two weeks ago, a letter came from the Lyceum. It was on the Teacher’s official stationery, and Mother was very excited, but she can’t read, so she had to wait for Father to get home to learn the contents. He opened the letter in his office and then refused to tell my Mother what it said. She was furious, but I could tell from his tone that the news was bad.
The good thing about no one’s knowing that you can read is that no one bothers to hide anything—Dekker had A Is for Apple and Animals of the World textbooks in his room that I looked at as often as I could after Nana introduced me to the Primer.
The day a
fter the letter from the Lyceum came, I waited for Father to leave for work and for Mother to be in the shower, and I ran into the office and found the letter still sitting on Father’s desk. It was a warning that Dekker was on probation and in danger of being kicked out of the Lyceum.
The Lyceum is the only place for higher learning, and because it outgrew the building it was in, the Teachers decided to take over a massive old museum on the Upper East Side, on Fifth Avenue. It has these huge rooms and galleries they can use for group prayer. There are probably four thousand Students there, eating, sleeping, and praying every day.
Dekker started attending only six months ago. He was rejected four times. You have to recite the first six chapters of the Book by heart to get in. I heard him practice so much that I know them by heart, too. It would make him really angry when I corrected him sometimes. But I couldn’t help it—it was all I’d heard, all day, every day, for two years!
So, one morning a few weeks ago, one of the Teachers sent Dekker to fetch some textbooks, and he got lost in the museum and ended up on a floor where he wasn’t supposed to be. He discovered several rooms full of art that had been removed from the museum walls. It seems one painting in particular caught his eye—a nude woman brushing her hair.
The Teachers found him sitting in front of it three hours later.
I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I’m sure Dekker had never seen a naked woman in his life. His jaw probably hit the ground and then bounced back up to the ceiling. But three hours?
Dekker is on probation for the rest of his time at the Lyceum. If he makes any more mistakes, even the tiniest infraction, he’ll be expelled.
Becoming a Teacher is the only hope Dekker has of getting married and having a family. My parents can’t afford a bride price. Teachers are supported financially by Uncle Ruho and the government, and they’re considered a great catch for women, since being married to a religious scholar practically guarantees a slot in Paradise. If he flunks out, however, Dekker will be alone forever.
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