"George Alec Effinger - Marid 3 - The Exile Kiss" - читать интересную книгу автора (Effinger George Alec)

to discuss the matter of my liberty.
I saw her shudder. "I didn't know that, husband."
"I haven't told many people about it. But Papa's al-ways there looking over my shoulder, ready to jam his thumb
on the agony button if I do something he doesn't like."
"So you're a prisoner, too," said Indihar. "You're his slave, as much as the rest of us."
I didn't see any need to reply. The situation was a trifle different in my case, because I shared Friedlander Bey's
blood, and I felt obliged to try to love him. I hadn't actually succeeded in that yet. I had a difficult time deal-ing with
that emotion in the first place, and Papa wasn't making it easy for me.
Indihar reached out her hand to me, and I took it. It was the first time since we'd been married that she'd re-lented
any at all. I saw that her palm and fingers were still stained a faint yellow-orange, from the henna her friends had
applied the morning of our wedding. It had been a very unusual ceremony, because Papa had declared that it wouldn't
be appropriate for me to marry anyone but a maiden. Indihar was, of course, a widow with three chil-dren, so he had
her declared an honorary virgin. Nobody laughed.
The wedding itself was a mixture 6f customs observed in the city as well as those from Indihar's native Egyptian
village. It pretended to be the joining of a young virgin and a Maghrebi youth of promising fortune. Friedlander Bey
announced that it wasn't necessary to fetch Indihar's family to the celebration, that her friends from the Budayeen
could stand in for them.
"We'll pass over the ritual certification, of course," Indihar had said.
"What's that?" I asked. I was afraid that at the last minute, I was going to be required to take some kind of written
 test that I should've been studying for ever since puberty.
"In some backward Muslim lands," explained Fried-lander Bey, "on the wedding night, the bride is taken into a
bedroom, away from all the other guests. The women of both families hold her down on the bed. The husband wraps a
white cloth around his forefinger, and inserts it to prove the girl's virginity. If the cloth comes out stained with blood,
the husband passes it out to the bride's father, who then marches around waving it on a stick for all to
see.
"But this is the seventeenth century of the Hegira!" I said, astonished.
Indihar shrugged. "It's a moment of great pride for the bride's parents. It proves they've raised a chaste and
worthy daughter. When I was first married, I wept at the indignity until I heard the cheers and joy of the guests. Then
I knew that my marriage had been blessed, and that I'd become a woman in the eyes of the village."
"As you say, my daughter," said Friedlander Bey, "in this instance such a certification will not be required." Papa
could be reasonable if he didn't stand to lose any-thing by it.
I'd bought Indihar a fine gold wedding band, as well as the traditional second piece of jewelry. Chiri, my
not-so-silent partner, helped me select the gift in one of the expensive boutiques east of the Boulevard il-Jameel,
where the Europeans shopped. It was a brooch, an emer-ald-encrusted lizard made of gold, with two rubies for eyes. It
had cost me twelve thousand kiam, and it was the most expensive single item I'd ever purchased. I gave it to Indihar
the morning of the wedding. She opened the satin-lined box, looked at the emerald lizard for a few seconds, and then
said, "Thank you, Marid." She never mentioned it again, and I never saw her wear it.
Indihar had not been well-off, even before her hus-band was killed. She brought to our marriage only a mod-est
assortment of household furnishings and her meager personal belongings. Her contribution wasn't materially
important, because I'd become wealthy through my asso-ciation with Papa. In fact, the amount specified as her
bride-price in our marriage contract was more than In-dihar had ever seen in her lifetime. I gave two thirds of it to her in
cash. The final third would go to her in the event of our divorce.
I merely dressed in my best white gallebeya and robe, but Indihar had to endure much more. Chiri, her best friend,
helped her prepare for the ceremony. Early in the day, they removed the hair from Indihar's arms and legs by covering
her skin with a mixture of sugar and lemon juice. When the paste hardened, Chiri peeled it off. I'll never forget how
wonderfully fresh and sweet-smelling Indihar was that evening. Sometimes I still find myself getting aroused by the
fragrance of lemons.
When Indihar finished dressing and applying a modest amount of makeup, she and I sat for our official wedding
holos. Neither of us looked especially happy. We both knew that it was a marriage in name only, and would last
only as long as Friedlander Bey lived. The holographer kept making lewd jokes about wedding nights and