Breathe the ocean in

2

MARI

Night was a plague, I managed to fall asleep closer to the morning only. All those thoughts about Alex and my parents waiting for the news of me, probably crying over me by now, are circling in my mind. The thoughts about my whereabouts and getting out of this trap wouldn't give me a chance to sleep either. Everything messed up in my head. And there is a tiny hope it's just a huge misunderstanding, hope that they'll send me home tomorrow. In sum I wake in an absolutely broken state in the morning. My breakfast is waiting for me on a low table already. And they don't weary me with long stay this day surprisingly. Soon after my shower two subtle girls enter the room, they are as bright as tropical birds dressed in pretty national dresses. They don't talk to me and shake their heads 'no' to all of my questions. And they obviously like my blond hair which is unusual for this region. They brush me and hand me an outfit very alike theirs together with an upper veil-dress, make me wear it gently but persistently. Their eyes are radiating with a burning curiosity and laughter, but their faces stay serious at the same time. Well, arguing and acting up's not profitable for me at the moment. Let's abide. I don't have to wait long by the way. The not talkative acquaintance I met yesterday orders me to follow him with the gesture. We walk through the narrow corridors to the torrid and sultry backyard where an already started vehicle is waiting for us. Maybe they'll bring me to the embassy? The trust to a favorable outcome rises up again. Hey, I am Maria Bekheroff, the famous lucky one. But the drive turns out to be brief. We wind through the narrow dusty streets for fifteen minutes or so, and they bring me to another house, probably a bit smaller than the previous one but as splendid. The man who found me 'suitable' yesterday is waiting for me on the doorstep.

- Good morning, Maria, – he greets me with the clear language of my northern motherland.

- You were much less gracious and talkative yesterday, – I can't hold my sharp tongue back. And I regret it as I notice the way he glares at me. – Excuse me, that was impolite of me. Good morning, mister... – I fall silent expecting for the man to introduce himself.

- My name is Samir, dear child, – he grins. Yeah, we both know I can't be called a child in no case. Not at my twenty five. – I guess you're craving to know what you're doing here and what your future is.

I stay silent waiting for the resumption, so does he staring into my eyes. I am so tempted to take the damn niqab of but I don't venture to irritate him. In the end he gathers his thoughts and lets me in into the house. It is gloomy, chilly and pompously in the inside.

- Do you like this house, beigaly?

- What does "beigaly" mean? – To confront someone with a question is my favorite game.

- It has no translation to your language. The closest I can think of is something like "precious servant".

Samir laughs completely heartily and at his ease as he catches a sight of me shuddering:

- It's not that bad, girl. Beigaly is a beloved toy of her master, you will literally be blown off dust particles and guarded like the apple of the eye.

Somehow these words don't comfort me. I stop abruptly:

- My father is a very powerful man, Samir. And rich. I think we can reach an agreement. I have fiancé after all! What do you want? The buyout?

I keep on standing expecting for the answer, and Samir is twirling in his hands an artsy golden pen he took out from nowhere. Silence lingers.

- Do you understand they'll be looking for me? Do you really need such a problem?

He deigns to turn to me though:

- There are high and strong fences in this country, girl. And people stand up for their men to the last breath. They will never find you. Face it.