FORGET OR RETURN?
Clara, youll be the prize goldfish in my tank, declared my chosen one with a steady tone.
My eyes widened.
Are you serious, Arthur? I want to be your only fish, not just one of many Are you married? Why am I hearing this only now, as I fly to your home?
No, Im not married, but Arthur hesitated.
Finish it, I say, I need the whole truth about English lads.
You see, Clara, my parents have already chosen a bride for me. I cant defy them. Well arrange a temporary marriage. And youll have to adopt the Church of England. Otherwise Arthur turned away, staring out at the aircrafts porthole.
I was in my fourth month of pregnancy, and his words turned my skin ashen. Why did he spill this in the sky, where the clouds could swallow a secret? He could have warned me long before.
I closed my eyes, tried to steady my breath. I wasnt about to jump out of an aeroplane, however surreal the dream felt. My relatives and colleagues had warned me:
Dont rush in, Clara, not into a world that isnt yours. Different customs, a different mindset, a different view of a woman. Youll be biting your own elbows
I ignored them, oblivious to the trap.
I was a lecturer at the Language Academy, teaching foreigners Russian. I had guided many overseas students to survive in a land that was not theirs. I treated them like any other pupils.
In September a new cohort arrived, among them an Englishman named Arthur. The moment I saw him, his tidy posture, his mischievous smile, his amber eyes, I was drawn in. He lived in student halls, studied diligently, and was courteous without ostentation. One day he approached me with an odd request:
Lecturer Clara, how much do your private lessons cost?
Nothing at all. Why do you ask? Youre doing quite well, I replied, never realising that a fine net was being cast around me.
Clara, may I invite you to a consultation? Arthurs eyes flickered.
If you insist. Whats the topic? I answered, naïve.
Relationships, he said shortly.
That evening I entered the cramped dormitory room where Arthur waited, heart racing. I looked around: battered furniture, cracked windows smudged with grime, no hot water in sight. Yet on the coffee table a fresh rose lay in a vase, a clean plate held washed fruit, a bottle of wine glistened.
Hes prepared, I thought, a whisper of admiration.
We talked about life, studies, his parents. Everything seemed proper, until that night
Subsequent evenings and nights thundered past like wild horses across the moor. Arthur and I fell into abyss, rose to sky, vanished from the earth. Ten years later I would not wish to relive such a fevered romance. The aftermath was heavy, and I should not have tangled myself so deeply. The whole department knew of our liaison. Colleagues whispered, students admired our tangled love in secret.
Clara, dont lose your mind. Stop while you can. Why chase after Arthur? He has plenty of younger women back home. In England a girl can be wed at thirteen; youre already twentyseven. Too few men for you? warned a colleague, herself bound to a drunken husband.
Oh, girls, Id love to feel such a spectrum of passion again! sighed another unmarried teacher, dreaming of a life untamed.
I had lost myself. I would have run after Arthur to the ends of the world, not to England.
During the summer break we planned to visit Arthurs family. We boarded a plane and, midflight, Arthur spoke of strange things. He announced he would make me the chief goldfish, i.e., the senior wife in his household. Not a literal harem, but not the only one either. The thought tightened my chest.
The plane touched down in Yorkshire. Friends of Arthur greeted ustanned, smiling, a perfect picture of countryside hospitality. They escorted us to his parents cottage. I was welcomed warmly; Arthur acted as translator, for his mother and father did not understand my Russian, and I spoke to him in English. In a corner sat a girl of about fifteen, her eyes the only visible part beneath a heavy shawl.
Meet Eliza, Arthurs father introduced, as if introducing a future bride.
I wanted the floor to open beneath me. Eliza was not a beauty; I was a tall brunette, waist like an hourglass, flawless skin. Yet I was twentyseven, he was fifteen.
I returned from the trip despondent. No turning back; a child was on the way. Time forced me to swap my bright wardrobe for drab grey and black modestysimple dresses, plain scarves, a touch of eyeliner and mascara, the only cosmetics I kept.
I consented to the temporary marriage, embraced the Church of England, and did everything for my man. I loved Arthur, and I wanted to obey him wholly.
Seven years later
Arthur, Eliza, our children, and I had moved to London. I now had three sons; Eliza had two daughters. Arthur provided well, yet I felt like an aging lover, a foreigner in my own life. Jealousy gnawed at me whenever Arthur looked at Eliza, his official wife. My heart swelled with unbearable pain.
I could not bear it any longer. I wanted to flee this imagined paradise, but I feared losing my boys. In England, a divorce often left children with the father.
At last I took a desperate step. I told Arthur I wished to return to my homeland. He stared, surprised.
Clara, what are you missing? he asked.
Im sorry, Arthur, youll never understand my soul. Let me go, tears choking me.
Very well, stay with your parents. The children and I will miss you. Remember us, and come back soon, he brushed my shoulder gently.
A month later I flew home.
Two long years have passed since. I speak with the children and Arthur on the phone. Eliza has given birth to a son. My boys grow, remembering me. I am adrift, yearning, crying, and yet I cannot lift off again.
