Read Online Silent Girl by Tricia Dower - Free Book Online

the tourists wonder what is so daring that both girl and horse need calming. When Aisulu lowers her head and releases a deep fluttering breath through her nostrils, she is ready for the saddle.
    Kesh kumay requires a young man. Kyal’s cousin Almaz has been drafted for the part the past two summers. As family he’s unsuitable, but family is all Kyal has. Striding the herd’s black stallion, Almaz rides out with her to where Usen waits – some distance from the tourists but not too far to be seen. When Kyal and Almaz are in position, Usen shouts, “Go!” Knowing he’ll give her a fifteen-second head start, Kyal takes off, whip in hand, leather boots straining against the stirrups, legs burning with ambition. The wind she stirs lifts the braids off her neck. Almaz whoops like a barbarian behind her. She imagines her father awhirl in her dust, lost in admiration: “My daughter; no one can catch her.”
    Tradition says if the boy can catch and kiss the girl, she is bound to fall in love with him. If he loses, she can whip him. Kyal was born to the saddle and has trained Aisulu to cover ground quickly. That her cousin might steal a kiss is revolting. She wins, as always, and declines to whip him. The tourists applaud her magnanimity. It’s just a game but a deeply satisfying one.
    After the race, the American woman says she heard most Kyrgyz brides are kidnapped. Kyal laughs. “No, no, no. Ala kachuu has been illegal since the Soviets took over. We’re independent now, but it’s still against the law.” She doesn’t mention that everyone whispers of someone who was taken against her will and that the police are too corrupt to enforce the law. Ambassadors aren’t expected to reveal everything they know.
    Later, as she helps with dinner, Kyal relates what the woman said. “Tell her to come to campfire tonight,” Dimira says. “I will speak of ala kachuu. ”
    Kyal can’t remember a time Dimira didn’t tell of the days when emirs and khans prevailed and people believed in flying camels. The stories are windows to Dimira’s heart, the way she warns and protects and reveals what she sees inside others, the way she passes along lessons she fears have been lost. When Aigul and Kyal were little, Dimira fed Aigul tales of poor peasants submissive to Fate. Kyal preferred the ones about brave young women even though they rarely had happy endings.
    This night, Dimira starts with a tale about a fox that learns there is no gratitude in the world. Then, fixing her eyes on the American woman, she tells of an old khan so cruel he killed one peasant each day. So lecherous he sent a gang to kidnap a poor peasant girl who lived with her father in a small village in a valley in the mountains. The girl was of indescribable beauty as all girls in Dimira’s stories are. In a clear voice younger than her years, Dimira recites: “‘I love another,’ the girl cried. ‘I shall not be yours.’ She threw herself from a window in the Khan’s towering fortress. From where she fell, caves opened up and pure, clean, crystal clear water flowed from them, forming the mountain lake the people call Issyk Kul. Only there do jagged peaks rise sheer from the water on all sides. Only there do hawks ride the wind and chase the clouds away.”
    Since Independence, Dimira has spoken only Kyrgyz. Kyal translates Dimira’s words into English, trying to match her grandmother’s facial expressions and gestures. English is better for getting to the point than for telling tales. Kyal has to be careful not to be done too soon or the tourists will think she’s holding something back.
    Two days pass before Usen speaks to Kyal as Aigul said he would. The family sits cross-legged on cushions, a kerosene lamp casting light on the meal before them. Kyal is blowing on her noodle soup when Usen clears his throat and speaks her name.
    â€œEmil has asked