Forget or Return?
Emily, youll be the star fish in my aquarium, declared my suitor with unwavering confidence.
My eyes widened.
Are you serious, Edward? I want to be your only fish, not just one of many Are you married? Why am I only hearing this now, when Im traveling to your hometown?
No, Im not married, but Edward hesitated.
Finish it, I say, I need the whole truth about English gentlemen.
You see, Emily, my parents have already chosen a bride for me. I cant defy them. We can arrange a temporary marriage. And theres more you must convert to Christianity. Otherwise Edward turned away, staring out the airplane window.
Four months pregnant, his words turned my complexion ashen. Why say all this at thirty thousand feet? He could have warned me in a café, on the train, anywhere. I closed my eyes, tried to calm the urge to jump. My family and colleagues had warned me:
Dont wander into foreign customs, Emily. Their religion, mindset, and treatment of women are different. Youll end up biting your own elbows
I ignored them, never suspecting anything.
I am a lecturer at a language academy, teaching Russians to foreigners. Over the years Ive helped countless students navigate a country that isnt theirs. I treat them like any other pupils.
In September a new cohort arrived, and among them was Edward, a striking young man from a small town in the north. He was lean, handsome, mischievous a proper, dashing lad.
Edward lived in the university hall, studied diligently, and was polite without showing off. One day he approached me with an odd request:
Lecturer Emily, how much do you charge for extra lessons?
Nothing. Why do you ask? Youre doing quite well already, I replied, never realizing Id just stepped into a cleverly woven net.
Emily, may I invite you to a consultation? Edwards eyes flickered like a dart.
If you insist. Whats the topic? I said, unsuspecting.
Relationships, he answered shortly.
That evening I entered the cramped dorm room where Edward waited anxiously. I looked around and was horrified cracked, dented furniture, grimy windows that let in no light, never any hot water. Yet on the coffee table sat a vase with a fresh rose, a clean plate with washed fruit, and a bottle of wine. Hes prepared, I thought.
We talked about life, studies, his parents. Everything was proper. But that night
The following evenings and nights rushed past like wild horses across a moor. Edward and I fell into abysses, rose to the sky; we vanished from the ground. Ten years later I would never wish to relive that whirlwind. The consequences of that fevered love were too heavy. We had tangled the whole department; colleagues whispered, students admired our tangled romance in secret.
Emily, dont lose your mind. Stop while you can. Why cling to Edward? He has younger brides waiting back home. In his village girls marry at thirteen. Youre already twentyseven. Isnt there enough English men for you? Come down from those rosecoloured clouds, warned a coworker, herself trapped with an alcoholic husband.
Oh, girls, Id love to taste that spectrum of passion! What a life sighed another, still single.
I lost myself. I was ready to chase Edward to the ends of the earth, not to his village but to wherever his heart lay.
During the summer break we decided to visit Edwards family. We boarded a flight, and midway Edward began to speak of strange plans. He wanted to name me the chief fish, meaning the senior wife in his household. Not a harem, but not the only one either. The thought rattled me.
The plane touched down in a rural English county. Edwards friends greeted us tanned, smiling, just the picture of country folk. They led us to his parents cottage. I was welcomed warmly; Edward took on the role of translator.
His mother and father didnt understand my Russian; I spoke to Edward in English. In a corner sat a girl of about fifteen, hidden beneath layers of modest clothing. Only her eyes were visible.
Meet Emily, our sons future wife, Edwards father announced as if it were the most ordinary thing.
I wanted to sink into the earth. The girl, Emily, was not a beauty. I, tall, with dark hair, a waist like an hourglass, flawless skin, felt suddenly inadequate. I was twentyseven; she was fifteen
In short, I returned from the visit disheartened and sorrowful. There was no turning back; a child was on the way. Over time I swapped my bright wardrobe for dull greys and blacks, modest coats and scarves. I kept only mascara and a pencil, emphasizing eyes and brows.
I accepted the temporary marriage, converted to Christianity, and devoted myself to Edward with all my strength. I loved him and wanted to obey his every wish.
Seven years passed. Edward, Emily, the children, and I moved to London. I now have three sons; Emily has two daughters. Edward supports us all decently, but a nausea settled in my gut. I always felt like an ageing lover, a foreigner in my own life.
My jealousy of the young Emily boiled over. She was the official wife. Whenever Edward looked at her, my heart filled with unbearable pain. I could not accept it. I wanted to flee this imagined paradise without looking back, yet I feared losing my boys. In a divorce, the children would remain with their father.
At last I took a desperate step. I told Edward I wanted to return to my homeland. He was genuinely surprised.
Emily, what are you missing?
Sorry, Edward, youll never understand my soul. Let me go, please, tears choked me.
Alright, stay with your parents. The children and I will miss you. Remember that. Come back soon, Edward gently patted my shoulder.
A month later I flew home.
Two long years have passed since. I speak with the children and Edward by telephone. Emily has given birth to a son. My boys grow, they remember me. I am in turmoil, longing, crying, and yet I cannot fly anywhere.
