That was the ceremony we had witnessed under the apricot tree not so long ago.
Grandma’s friend Mira performed the role of koshchin. The principal person who was “plucked” was Mariya, but a few other women waited their turn, unwilling to waste such a rare opportunity.
Mariya was seated on a chair. Her head, wrapped in a scarf and tossed back, was held by one of the women. Aunt Mira sat down opposite her and spread her fingers. We could see the dark thread between her fingers perfectly well. The thread moved, its strands got close together, then drew apart, merged together like the jaws of a beast of prey, moving like a roller around Mariya’s face, which was getting redder and redder. Poor Mariya squinted, grimaced, even moaned, and Aunt Mira, repeating “You can take it, my dear” and rocking rhythmically, continued her work. It even seemed to us that we saw little wisps of hair between the parts of the thread.
“Ouch! She’ll pull out her nose!” I said to laughing Yura.
Mariya had a nice straight little nose located neatly on her small oblong face. She belonged to the category of girls who were attractive without make-up. With a short haircut, slender, neither stout nor skinny, with everything in moderation, she looked splendid in her white wedding dress. There was only one thing that evoked our malicious remarks, her gait. Mariya’s little bottom wiggled, forming figure eights when she walked, as Ilya had put it.
Meanwhile, Uncle Misha, after endowing the newlyweds with an incredible number of the best qualities, expressing hope for their future achievements, and wishing them happiness and wellbeing, finished his speech. He was replaced by a vocal-instrumental group that was quite popular in Tashkent – a doira, two guitars, a clarinet, and a singer. The group opened with an Uzbek song, one of the old favorites. The tanned singer with long dark hair performed it very well. She sang, taking dance steps and waving her raised arms. Her long silk dress dotted with roses danced as she moved her shoulders. Sparkling gold hoop earrings danced in her dark hair. That was when we forgot about teasing and gossiping and couldn’t tear our eyes away from the dark-complexioned singer. Our jaws dropped, and we sang along with her “Guli sangam, guli sangam…”
“The first dance is for the newlyweds! Please!” one of the guitarists announced, strumming his guitar. The guests applauded. Robert took Mariya’s hand and led her to the area in front of the tables. He usually stooped a bit, but today he stood up amazingly straight. With his hair neatly combed, he looked elegant in his new black suit. Mariya, in her snow-white gown, was cut out for the role of bride. In a word, they were quite a couple.
The newlyweds moved around the “dance floor,” smiling at each other tenderly. They danced well, feeling the rhythm and changes in tempo, their movements natural and supple. They didn’t stand close to each other but rather a bit apart. That’s how newlyweds should behave during the first dance in Central Asia. Those are unwritten rules, but they are strictly observed. Guests are not just spectators; they are very stern examiners. If a rule is not observed, an exam failed, so to speak, the gossip will travel all over Tashkent the next day.
The newlyweds exchanged tender glances and a few words. It was clear they were in love. Looking at them, I suddenly remembered the conversation I had accidentally overheard three months before the wedding.
I was playing in the yard, and Robert and his two older brothers were talking at the table near the cherry tree. I noticed them only when I heard Father’s loud angry voice:
“What do you need her for? Aren’t there enough other girls out there?”
Father was sitting with his back to me and I couldn’t see his face, but by the tone of his voice and the way he waved his hands it was clear that he was enraged. Misha patted him on the shoulder, trying to calm him down and, at the same time, saying something to Robert, trying to convince him of something. I couldn’t hear everything he was saying, only separate words “she… such… family” reached me.
I clearly understood that they were talking about Mariya and that the older brothers didn’t approve of her.
Robert listened to his brothers without saying anything, his head lowered. From time to time, he repeated, without looking at them and trying to seem calm, “That’s my choice. It’s none of your business.”
And now, after he had upheld his choice, Robert the Victor was dancing with his chosen one. There was joy etched on their serene faces. It would be ridiculous to expect that thoughts about what fate had in store for them would cross their minds at such a moment…
“Dear guests, join the newlyweds!” the leader of the music group announced. The guests came quickly to the dance floor. Charmed by the Asian music, they simply couldn’t stand still any longer. Things like that didn’t happen in our parts. There was no family celebration without traditional Asian dances.
The big area near the tables was filled with dancers. They moved over the ground in time to the music, moving their shoulders, their hands close to their faces, tapping their feet. From a distance, it looked like a multi-colored swaying carpet or a huge flower bed. The bright ethnic dresses made the women look like flowers, fairy-tale flowers that had come to life, dancing.
One’s hands were the most important part of this dance. They were like magic birds whose “flight” could be watched endlessly. Now their wrists turned gently from side to side, now they began to bend so rhythmically and gracefully that it sent a shiver of delight down my spine. It seemed that their hands were singing, that the music was emanating from them. Faster, faster, fingers were snapping… Suddenly, they came to a standstill, as if listening to the melodious tune… and then they resumed their bewitching dance…
In my opinion, to my taste, there is nothing more beautiful than an Asian dance. In Asian countries, including those of Central Asia, the culture of dancing, dancing skill, is not entertainment. It’s an emotional requirement, almost a necessity. The hand movements of almost any dancer, much less a professional dancer, are full of an expressiveness and grace that you rarely find in the best dancers from other countries of the world.
Young people, certainly, don’t mind dancing Western style, even when Asian music is played. And now, a few couples danced that way outside the circle.
“Who is Rosa dancing with?” Ilya asked with interest.
We all knew Rosa very well, but we weren’t familiar with her partner. He must have been invited by the bride’s family. We exchanged glances. It meant that Rosa had met this guy at the wedding, and he hadn’t hesitated to ask her to dance. On top of that, the couple chatted happily as they danced. Our customs hadn’t yet lost their patriarchal nature in those days. And such behavior seemed quite daring, even to us children.
“Just look at them,” Ilya muttered. “As if they’ve known each other for ages… Well, well, we’ll see what happens tomorrow.”
We giggled. We could guess what would happen tomorrow.
Tomorrow, the telephone would ring in Rosa’s house. One of the acquaintances who had been at the wedding would tell Rosa’s mother with an air of significance, “The kids looked so great together, really very nice!” Soon, another voice would sing on the receiver, “His family is so decent, a hardworking family… We used to work together.”
In a word, there would be many interested individuals ready to begin immediate matchmaking in absentia, who were absolutely sure that a dance at the wedding was sufficient reason to do so.