Bojana Babić
A man worth waiting for
Everything that Marijana owned could be fitted in the old blue bag that Vesna brought from Macedonia when Budimir went to find himself a wife strong enough to chop wood and milk four cows twice daily. Vesna was completely to his liking; the only thing that bothered him was that she stood with a cigarette while cooking at the stove and thought no one could see her, and Budimir had always had eyes in the back of his head, on his ears and everywhere else. He promised Marijana’s brother Miodrag that he’d buy him a bicycle if he told him every day what Vesna did while he wasn’t at home. Marijana once found Miodrag in the yard, leaning in through the window of their unfinished kitchen. ‘What are you gawping at?’ she whispered, and he put his hand over her mouth and thrust her to the ground. Miodrag heard the roar of the tractor and rushed out the gate. ‘Mum’s smoking!’ he shouted, but Budimir didn’t see him and didn’t hear him over the noise of the engine, so, as usual, he swung his leg to jump down from the tractor and knocked out two of Miodrag’s teeth. Miodrag got a new bike out of it, but not any new teeth.
Marijana wasn’t interested in bikes; she always preferred home-made bread, lard and chicken liver, but most of all the plum preserves she scoffed before bed while watching turbo-folk programmes on TV and imagining she was one of the singers in a tight skirt and tiger bra. Marijana knew the words to every song that echoed loudly from her room, a room with unpainted walls in the old house where they all lived together. Budimir had built a new house next to it, but no one was allowed to go there, not even Miodrag, for whom the house was intended. ‘When you bring a girl and have children, the house will be yours,’ Budimir said.
‘When are you going to marry off Marijana?’ the neighbours would ask, and Budimir would twiddle his fingers and say: ‘When the right man comes along.’ Mr Right. That was the man who’d come to Budimir and tell him he’d like to take Marijana home and never bring her back: a slim, hard-working young fellow with house, land and cattle. Marijana always imagined she’d meet Mr Right down at the canal. She’d sit on the grass with the other eligible girls and watch the boys splash around in the shallow water and swim to the other bank. They’d come back ruddy and smiling, emboldened by their feat, and approach Marijana and her girlfriends. Mr Right would sit down on her towel without asking, offer her a wet hand and introduce himself. He’d ask which village she was from and why he hadn’t seen her at the canal before. Marijana would poke her finger in the soft earth and conceal a smile. She hadn’t come because she couldn’t swim. Mr Right would stand up and take Marijana by the hand. ‘Don’t, please!’ she’d cry, but Mr Right wouldn’t listen. He’d lead her into the shallows and first give her a good splashing, then he’d pull her deeper into the water, to her friends’ cheers. ‘Don’t you trust me?’ Mr Right would ask with a sly smile because he knew Marijana had never been taught to say ‘no’ at home. Now up to their waist in the water, he’d motion for her to turn onto her belly and let herself down into the water, above his muscular arms. Marijana would be afraid but obey him. She’d look towards the bank and see that her friends were gone – no one was there but her and Mr Right. She’d clench her teeth and swim, and Mr Right would take his arms away. ‘See, it’s not so scary,’ he’d say as she doggy-paddled with her eyes closed. Mr Right then grabbed her by the waist and slowly slipped his hand under her swimming costume.
In reality, Marijana had never even been to the canal, and now it was winter anyway, the river had frozen over, and Marijana was actually getting married. She packed heavy, thick jumpers and dresses that belonged to Vera, but that she’d never seen her wear, and she put on a long white one that was tight around the waist. Her friend Biljana came to do her eyes, cheeks and lips.
The man in question had chosen the biggest piglet on the farm, paid a good price for it and then sat down in the yard to taste Budimir’srakija. ‘Nenad,’ he said, shaking Marijana’s hand and smiling to reveal a few bad teeth
