Sworn Virgin by Elvira Dones

Tirana would have envied it.
    She sits on her bed without touching the vest. Uncle Gjergj is coughing downstairs. She lets him. When the silence wraps itself around the walls she decides to go down.
    They sit curled up on the cushions. Hana has forgotten her hunger. He goes on smoking. She falls asleep.
    Gjergj starts wheezing around dawn. He groans and rattles, and asks her to pass him a spray for his throat. The spray smells really strong; it’s terrible. He is sweating and trembling. He finds it hard to breathe but doesn’t want any help.
    â€˜Just go and check on Enver,’ he manages to say to Hana. ‘I don’t know if he has eaten, poor creature.’
    Hana leaves the room and goes to the animal pen in the courtyard where their goat and sheep live. The sheep is sleeping, the goat is not. As soon as he sees Hana he starts bleating.
    â€˜Hi Enver,’ Hana says, stroking his beard. ‘How’re you doing?’
    She looks around her. The hay is fresh, the water pail has been filled. Somebody has taken care of everything before leaving. The nearest neighbor’s kulla , to the left, is ten minutes away. Nobody lives on the right, there’s just the sharply rising mountain.
    A woman who came to Katrina’s funeral brought the traditional offerings of tobacco, sugar, and coffee. Maybe she cried, and then went to take care of the animals. It must have been Dille, Ndué Zega’s wife. The two families help each other out, without making a show of it. The Zegas have a son who works in the Party as a member of the Citizens’ Committee in Lezhë. He doesn’t approve of the Dodas. They are a little too Catholic to be politically reliable.
    The communists have always doubted Gjergj’s faith in the regime, but they have never caught him out in any way. Gjergj Doda is canny. He has never expressed a point of view regarding the government. Better not to talk at all than to say something against them. He’s a good peasant. He sticks to the communist rules, except for the name he has given his goat. He has secretly called him Enver, like the dear departed leader, but this small detail nobody knows about.
    â€˜See you later, Enver,’ Hana says as she leaves the pen. ‘I’ll come by and visit tomorrow when I have more time.’
    The next morning she goes on her own to the village cemetery. The sun is shining and the tractors from the agricultural cooperative are already plowing their way up and down the few tracts of amenable land. The rest is so steep it can only be farmed by hand.
    Katrina’s grave is easy to spot. There are fresh flowers stuck into jam jars and bottles.
    She touches the freshly turned earth and quickly pulls her hand away. Then she touches it again, this time digging her fingers in and leaving them there.
    â€˜Thank you for my vest, Auntie,’ she says out loud. The collar of her blouse is dripping with sweat. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t get here in time.’
    She realizes that she should be in the exam room right now, in the auditorium next to the dean’s office.
    She sits down on the ground. Her knees are killing her. She pushes her other hand into the earth and bows her head until her chin touches her breasts.
    She tries, but can’t seem to make herself cry. Suddenly tears of anger that she doesn’t feel like crying fill her eyes.
    After an hour, she goes home.
    Uncle Gjergj is hunched up, trying to keep the spasms of pain under control. He can hardly speak or move his arms.
    â€˜My whole body is hurting. Leave this house, Hana. Stop looking at me.’
    In the daylight she can see the mess left by the mourners after the funeral. Aunt Katrina wouldn’t have stood for it.
    â€˜But Uncle Gjergj …’
    â€˜Go away, I said. Get out of here. Did you leave your obedience in the city? Have you forgotten your manners?’
    She leaves the room. She starts boiling a pan of water, in which she’ll