The cold uncaring winds of March blew the bride’s white veil. At first, it rained hard but then the rain turned soft and light. The donkey, with its red saddle and the carnations around its neck, walked slowly as if it knew its burden that day was one of happiness. Helena, the young bride, was seated on the donkey, trying to protect her adornments with the umbrella of her uncle, the priest. Her heart was heavy with sadness, and her mind, with a sort of worried surrender, tried to keep up with the events of the day.
The choice of Said as a husband for Helena made her mother happy. Helena herself had had no say in the matter; for how could a pure girl choose her own husband? Said’s resounding footsteps had created fear in her heart and the hearts of her girlfriends whenever he passed by their playground. She never told anyone of this fear, but she immediately felt it whenever she saw him approaching. She would hear his sonorous voice before catching sight of his moustache that curved upwards towards his temples and his whip that lashed against his leather boots. Helena always hid when he stormed by, waiting for the tree branches to settle.
Her heavy heart leaped out of her chest the day her mother told her, with some pride, that it was Said’s mother who had decided to make Helena the wife of her eldest son.
‘Mother, this man scares me. His footsteps sound like a regiment of soldiers,’ Helena told her mother.
But her mother’s only concern was that the neighbours might hear her objection.
‘Don’t you dare repeat this outside the house. Said will become your husband and you will soon love his footsteps. They are the footsteps of a strong man, unlike those of that Chahine who moves around like a jar of oil.’
Helena sighed and was quiet. There was no use objecting: her mother had given Said’s mother a promise, and it was improper to break a promise. She would move out of her mother’s house, that loving but broken woman, and into Zmurrod’s house, the woman whose reputation shook the walls of the neighbourhood. She was a woman in the fullest sense of the word. In fact very few women were like her. Zmurrod brought up her children single-handedly after her husband’s death. She was also a pious woman, and a skilled midwife who had delivered many male children. It was evident that Zmurrod was a woman with a strong mind, for all the village women came to her for advice: she was their reference in all matters.
In the hope of easing her gloomy heart, Helena kept repeating to herself all the compliments the women in the village heaped on Said’s mother.
‘With her you will live safely, Helena. And who knows, you might even learn from her how to become a professional mourner in the surrounding villages. What better calling is there to help the soul return to its Maker?’
Helena remembered her uncle’s funeral. She was seven then and it was the first time she had been allowed to approach a deathbed. Her uncle lay on embroidered sheets and Zmurrod was leaning over him, describing him in so many wonderful words, words he had certainly never heard when he was alive. Zmurrod stayed by his deathbed and did not leave until he was taken for burial. Her trembling voice had a great effect on the mourners and those offering condolences. It was an invitation to weep but it also had the power to console those grieving.
Helena remembered how her aunt used to insult her uncle. She would curse him, accusing him of being lazy, slow, irresponsible and cowardly. Yet in death, Zmurrod called him a brave knight, although he had ridden nothing more than his donkey to and from the mill. Helena remembered his patched trousers, but Zmurrod said he wore a silk cloak embroidered with gold.
The seven-year old girl thought that perhaps these words of reverence and glorification were a magic elixir that would change the dead person’s mind about departing from the world. As she recalled this scene, the energy flowed through her veins again, for she secretly hoped she would inherit the gift of mourning from this strong woman. Perhaps, like Zmurrod, she would be able to change reality, erase poverty and humiliation with glorious rhymes, erase the sins of the villagers, and send them to their God as pure, rich heroes.
The beast hurried down the slope, while under his hoofs drifted streams of mud and hard stones. A strong wind blew out of nowhere as they approached the groom’s village: it took hold of the white veil and blew it off the bride’s head and into the distance. The guests who were accompanying the bride on foot paused to discuss what to do. They separated into groups and followed the direction of the wind, searching for the veil among the blueberry bushes. According to tradition, a bride with no veil is a bad omen. Helena’s grandmother told her that a bride who got married hastily or eloped ended up a widow. Helena saw her mother in the distance waving the now wet and torn veil in the air: ‘We found it hanging on a blueberry branch. The wind has torn it to shreds. What a shame!’ She immediately ordered her nephew to go to the convent and rent a veil from the nuns at any cost. The bride must not enter her groom’s home bareheaded.
On that March day Helena sensed the hardships that awaited her. Early that morning her mother had been proud and happy as she prepared for the days to come: ‘Tomorrow Helena will send us a supply of soap and oil.’ However, now she felt her mother’s unease. The events of the day had gone contrary to her expectations. Strangely, only Helena remained unaffected, for she had given in to her fate. It was as if she had joined the guests but had nothing to do with the wedding itself. Until that day, she had known nothing of the world except for her house and neighbourhood. Her mother even thought that playing with the neighbourhood children was a waste of time, a sign of irresponsibility. So she gave Helena things to do all day long: ‘Helena, bathe your brothers and sisters… Helena, sort the lentils… Helena, shell the peas … Helena, feed the chickens… Helena, milk the goat…’ Helena was so busy that she never had time to look at herself in the mirror. She had no idea that her eyes were the colour of leaves and that her brown face was round like the full moon. She grew up in poverty, without any education, without a black school uniform, and without a school bag full of dreams. Early on in her life she went to the field with her sisters to feed the cows and harvest the crop. Her mother taught her how to breed silkworms. Their prayers and vows were the size of mountains, but their faith brought little money. Despite their poverty Helena’s mother bought her daughter a piece of white silk cloth and had it made into a wedding dress in the neighbouring village: she did not want Helena’s new family to think they were poor or miserly.
On her wedding day Helena was allowed to look at herself properly in the mirror for the first time and was surprised to see a beautiful young girl dressed in white staring back at her.
The day after the wedding the bashful bride accompanied her husband and his mother to the city to buy a wedding ring, necklace and clothes. Once they returned home, Helena was amazed at how Zmurrod ordered her son around. Ironically, the man who had terrified her with his footsteps was scared of his mother and a slave to her every whim.
Translated by Mirna Haykal