The Unforgettable Suitor
On most Friday mornings, my friend Shama drops by for a little visit. If she’s late, we will have lunch together, otherwise it will be tea. We banter like old friends do. This morning she showed me a bruise on her leg. Shama is Pakistani and wears the kamiz shelwar. She pulled her baggy pants up to show me. ‘Sexy legs,’ I teased.
‘Oho! There you go again! First you call me a seductive woman and now you say I have sexy legs! There’s nothing sexy or seductive about me. I am too tall. That’s why it took me so long to marry!’
‘And see who you got? Hossein is distinguished, well read, well spoken. Would you rather have married a short Pakistani tyrant?’
‘I wouldn’t have married a short Pakistani tyrant!’
‘Well, you got a lovely gem of a husband!’
‘He isn’t bad,’ she replied with a coy smile.
‘You want to hear about a doozy of a suitor? I got one I will never forget!’ I chuckled.
‘There you go again with your stories!’ she said.
I leaned back on the chair and took a sip of my tea. She did too.
I cannot remember whether I was eighteen or nineteen. It was the year my parents went to India for a long business visit. My Uncle Albert got a call from this widow with an eligible son. She said she was very interested in considering me as her son’s wife. My uncle called my Aunt Semha to tell her what transpired. Between them, they decided that it would be a great idea to present my parents with a betrothal upon their return. Aunt Semha was to speak to me about this.
She started by telling me that since I was the eldest of three daughters, it would be a bit of a problem to marry off my two sisters if I did not get married first. When she finally convinced me of my responsibility as the eldest sister, she proceeded to lecture me on how to dress and behave. I was to choose either a beef or chicken dish. I was not to smoke nor ask for wine or an alcoholic drink like vodka lime, the latest rage amongst my friends. I was not to speak unless spoken to.
On the day the young man and I were supposed to meet, Aunt Semha came over to our house. She looked through my wardrobe and chose a suitable dress. It was a high-necked, pintucked navy blue dress that was quite elegant yet demure. She hovered over my makeup to make sure it was just right. She opened her handbag and brought out some jewelry. Once she was satisfied with everything, we went downstairs where Uncle Philippe was waiting patiently. We drove to the restaurant where we were supposed to meet.
Uncle Albert and Val were already there. I was beginning to feel nervous. What did he look like? Was he handsome? Was he nice? As we walked into the restaurant, Uncle Albert started repeating what Aunt Semha had said, no wine, no smoking, no, no, no. We walked to our reserved table. Uncle Albert and Aunt Semha sat on either side of me. Somehow that comforted me. We did not have to wait too long. In walked a no-nonsense, hard-faced woman. Her mouth was set in a grim straight line. She was followed by her son. My heart sank as I looked at him. He looked like a short, cross-eyed owl with spectacles. He hadn’t bothered to shave before coming. His clothes were rumpled. He did not smile a greeting; if anything, he seemed stern and lacking in grace and humor. What he seemed to be was downright unpleasant. I remember thinking that it was only one meal. I was not committed to anything. Make the best of it, I told myself.
As she sat down, the mother seemed to think matters were settled. I was to be her daughter-in-law. With a curt nod of acknowledgment to me, she proceeded to tell me what he ate and at what time, how I was supposed to care for him. I said nothing, but I thought her rude, rough, and aggressive. I certainly disliked her attitude and her lack of breeding. In my family, we treated each other with respect, wit, and humor. My Uncle Philippe felt my discomfort and quickly tried to change the subject.
The waiter came around to take our orders. I think I remember either ordering Kievski or Beef Stroganoff, my two favorite dishes. When the food arrived, the suitor offered me some of his salad. Very politely I thanked him but declined. With a look of utter anger on his face, he lifted his plate off the table and brought it down with a bang! “I told you EAT!” he thundered. I was even more alarmed! I took a bite of his salad, but there was no way I was going to marry this boor. I spent the rest of the evening shaking inside. I could hardly wait for the moment that we parted from their company. If this was how he behaved now, what would he do later? As we were leaving, Uncle Albert once more explained to the mother that my parents were away and the ultimate decision was theirs. I muttered under my breath that I thought not. It was mine! By no means would I marry that man!
As we walked to our cars, I was asked what I thought. “I don’t like them and won’t marry him!” I declared emphatically.
“But Stella, you are not giving him a chance!” they cooed.
For the next three weeks, until my parents returned, they did not stop trying to persuade me to marry him. I was quite worn out. At last, the day came when my parents returned from India. I stood at the airport flanked by Uncle Albert and Aunt Semha. ‘Do you know how happy you will make them?’ they asked as we watched my parents come off the plane.
Then they were out of customs. My aunt and uncle walked over to greet them. I followed slowly behind them. As they hugged and kissed, they announced that they had good news. I had received a proposal.
‘Who?’ Papa asked dryly. You could never ruffle his feathers.
When he was told, he said, ‘Her again? What part of no does she not understand?’
With relief, I rushed over to them and covered them with kisses. ‘Welcome home Papa! Welcome home Mama! Did you have a nice trip? It’s so good to have you back!’ I gushed with relief.