Read Online Sworn Virgin by Elvira Dones - Free Book Online

Tirana. The doctors down there will say something different. They’re the best in the country.’
    Her uncle shakes his head. Hana feels a quiver in her stomach but she can’t cry. She has never cried in front of him; it would disappoint him. The mountain peals with thunder. The snow is tired of falling. The roof of the hut is weighed down by two centuries of life.
    â€˜Everything’s getting cold,’ Katrina complains.
    â€˜You’re coming to Tirana, Uncle Gjergj.’
    Dinner is delicious. The potatoes melt in her mouth, the beans taste smoky and the bread is heavy and irregular. In the city the bread is white; nothing like this. Nobody says a word. Katrina envelops Hana in her gaze and they exchange glances only women can share. Life had deprived Katrina of children but given her a man who loved and treated her well. She suffocates Hana with her attentions: offers her a piece of roast onion, fills her bowl with beans again.
    â€˜You’re still not full,’ she says at the end of the meal.
    â€˜Oh yes I am. I’ve eaten a lot.’
    â€˜You’ve turned into a city girl, Hana,’ Katrina says, smiling at her. ‘You use different sounds, you speak like a schoolteacher. And your hair? What have you done to your hair? It’s so beautiful.’
    Gjergj looks at his wife surreptitiously.
    â€˜Tell me about the language of the English, dear daughter,’ he commands.
    â€˜What can I say? It’s a language that talks about beautiful places.’
    Uncle Gjergj lights his pipe. He looks at the black patch on the wall to his left. He suddenly seems nervous.
    â€˜You think they’re beautiful just because they’re far away,’ he says dryly. Then he shuts up.
    In the days that follow, Hana’s books are spread all over her room. There’s a bed and an old wardrobe that hardly opens. Her clothes smell of wood and mold. No soap can wash away the smell.
    One morning, Gjergj gets up and leaves the kulla . Neither Hana nor Katrina dares to stop him. He goes and smokes outside, in the snow. Sitting on a rough slab of wood in the middle of the courtyard, seen from behind, he looks like a sculpture. Then a cough assaults him and he defends himself as well as he can. His shoulders shudder until fatigue forces him to come back inside. He is deathly pale. Hana stares at him, her eyes wide.
    Every six hours Katrina gives Gjergj the pills Hana doesn’t even want to see. Her books are still open in her room. And she thinks that with this pain inside she’s not going to go far. If you don’t look pain straight in the face, it will take you over. It will inhabit you, a grubby black mass, a messy bundle. If you deal with it full on, on the other hand, there’s a chance that it will leave you alone. She tries to take it on.
    On the third day she puts on all the clothes she can find and creeps out of the kulla unnoticed. She knows the path with her eyes shut. There’s not much to see. Mist rises from the snow, obscuring her vision. After a while a runaway dog crashes into her legs. They are both scared. He’s wagging his tail, staring at her. It’s the Bardhajs’ dog; he likes making love to sheep. He’s the disgrace of his masters but the village kids’ best friend. He won’t bite. He licks her hand. Then they each go their own way.
    When she enters the tiny village health center, there’s nobody to be seen, but she can hear a child wailing in the other room. The doctor comes out, followed by the child’s mother, followed by the only nurse, all smelling of talcum powder.
    The mother is young, about Hana’s age. She nods to her and leaves.
    â€˜Hi Hana,’ the doctor says. ‘Welcome home. How are you?’
    â€˜Good morning, Doctor.’ Hana carefully avoids using the word ‘comrade.’
    â€˜Did you just get here from Tirana?’
    â€˜No, I arrived three days ago.’
    â€˜Gjergj is very