Work at the bookstore is relentless. Hana wants coffee and something sweet. She didn’t have breakfast this morning and she feels a little dizzy. Lucky it’s nearly the end of her shift and she’ll soon be able to go home and get some sleep. Forget evening reading.
She looks up to call the next customer in line and finds Patrick O’Connor, holding three books and a political journal. He hands them to Hana with a distracted ‘Good evening,’ but when their eyes meet he focuses on her, and then looks totally confused.
‘Good evening.’ Hana smiles, trying to sound as normal as possible. ‘Do you have a loyalty card, Mr O’Connor?’
Now he recognizes her. Still more confused, the shy smile he tries out on her rapidly fades. He pulls out his loyalty card and passes it to Hana, who slides it through the electronic reader.
‘I’m Mark Doda. You’re not wrong there. It’s not a mistake.’
He mumbles something inaudible.
‘I did tell you on the phone that you would find me different,’ she says, trying to hand him a lifeline.
The man fiddles with his wallet, and Hana feels emotion paralyzing her. But she goes on smiling.
‘I didn’t think you’d be this different,’ O’Connor manages to say. ‘You were … er … pretty vague on the phone.’
‘It wasn’t easy to tell you the whole story on the phone. I couldn’t face it. I apologize.’
O’Connor adjusts the lapels of his jacket for no reason.
‘Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to embarrass you.’
‘Anyway, I recognized you right away,’ he quips, trying to rescue them from this awkward moment.
Hana looks past him. The line of customers waiting to pay is getting longer; the cash registers are all working. She hands over the bag holding his books. O’Connor’s eyes are deep blue, his forehead is high. He must be in his fifties. Light-skinned and physically fit.
‘I don’t usually come to this neighborhood,’ he goes on, taking control. Hana is already regretting that she called him. ‘I had a doctor’s appointment nearby and had some time to spare, so here I am.’
‘I don’t know why I called you, but what’s done is done, right?’ she says, squirming with embarrassment as she realizes her cheeks are burning bright red. She looks again at the customers in line.
‘Before we go on, what am I supposed to call you?’ O’Connor asks. ‘And if I’m not being indiscreet, what time do you get out of here?’
‘Hana. Call me Hana. My last name is the same. My real name has always been Hana Doda.’ She enunciates it clearly, and he nods that he understands. ‘It’s my given name. In northern Albanian it means “moon.”’
‘Ok, Miss Moon,’ O’Connor says, smiling, finally more at ease. ‘I’d like to wait for you, or see you at some other time, if that is to your liking.’
‘Look, you don’t have to do this, you know.’
‘I know I don’t have to. But if you’ll allow me, at this point I’m curious. Dead curious.’
Hana finishes her shift in twenty minutes and he says he’ll wait at the bookstore café. He leaves, with a nod of his head and a smile. He walks with a stride, his shoulders straight, like someone accustomed to hiding their fears. Or maybe he has none, because life has always treated him well. And she has made a giant mistake when she didn’t hang up as soon as she heard him in person on the other end of the line rather than the voice mail she had got the other times she tried. You’ve made this mess, now deal with it, she says to herself, calling the next customer in line to come and pay.
Half an hour later, when she sits in front of him, he smiles at her. He’s had time to think about this unexpected meeting, she thinks. He’s also had time to finish an espresso and flip through the newspaper. He crosses his arms and leans back on his chair. Hana experiments with a smile, shrugging her shoulders, and tries to hold his gaze. He’s in no hurry to start the conversation.
Before coming over and sitting down, Hana has spent a little time in the ladies’ room. She powdered her cheeks lightly. No bags under her eyes; last night she slept well. Lucky she decided to wear the jeans that fit her properly. Being androgynous has its advantages, she tells herself. She won’t be good-looking whatever she does and, anyway, she’s not here to please him — she lies — she’s here to put herself to the test. She’s still lying. She would like to make a dazzling impression. She would like to look enigmatic and translucent and deep and unusual and rare. She’s just tiny, plain and cheaply dressed, with a guy who is clearly sophisticated sitting opposite her.
‘Listen,’ she says, beginning the conversation herself since there seemed to be no alternative. ‘Go easy on me, and stop staring at me like that.’
He goes on stripping off her skin with his eyes, layer after layer. Only now he’s doing it more delicately, trying not to look over-curious.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘It’s just I don’t really know how I’m supposed to behave.’
‘It’s not easy for me either.’
‘Right then, shall we make things a bit easier for ourselves?’
‘Ok,’ she decides. ‘Me first, since I’m the one who dragged you into this situation. I’m a woman. I’ve always been one. I’m not a transvestite, or a transsexual, and I’m not gay. I’ve never been any of these things. It’s just that I swore to become a man, in a social sense, sixteen years ago. I had to do it because my circumstances forced me to. The Kanun, the collected laws and traditions of northern Albania, allows a woman to become a man and give up her female role forever if she wants to, or if the head of the family orders her to. So I’m what they call a “sworn virgin.” You’ve researched the Balkans and Albania — you must have heard about them. That’s it. That’s my story, more or less. Now can I order a coffee?’
O’Connor leaps to his feet but Hana beats him to it and makes him sit down again. She stands in line for her coffee and tries to breathe normally. Out of the corner of her eye she sees him settle down and stare out of the window.
Hana returns with her steaming double espresso and sets the cup carefully on the table. She looks up and meets O’Connor’s stare.
‘When we met I felt there was something strange about you,’ he starts. ‘Your face was ambiguous, your voice was ambiguous, and your suit looked odd on you. But I couldn’t go out on a limb and ask anything too personal, could I?’
She sips her coffee, head down.
‘Anyway, at the time I knew nothing about the Kanun and northern Albania in general. It was the first time I’d set foot in the country, remember? Then I did a bit of research, I read a few things about it. I waited for you to call. I wanted to know how you had settled here in the US, but you never got in touch. I went back to Albania a few months ago. A couple of journalists in Tirana helped me try to find you, but …’
Hana smiles. She has finished her coffee and has nothing left to hide behind.
O’Connor is good-looking and relaxed, just as she remembers him. An oddball who’s interested in strange countries like the Balkan states. This thought is a blow to her self-esteem. She called the wrong guy, she tells herself, panic rising.
‘I’m really ashamed I called you,’ she says, sincerely. ‘I don’t want to put you to any trouble. I’m a nobody to you.’
He lifts his hand.
‘Tell me more, come on, and call me by my name. If I didn’t want you to get in touch I wouldn’t have given you my card. Let’s just get the preliminaries and apologies over and done with, shall we? It’s just ballast, right?’
‘I’ve been thinking of calling you for months, but I was too scared,’ Hana admits.
He smiles.
‘We’re just having a conversation here: your English is great and I’m all ears. What else do you need to help you relax?’