The Mountain and the Wall Read Free

urban and rural, modern and traditional, in Dagestan. Ultimately, Ganieva’s novel is not about politics, and not about the Caucasus being separated from Russia, but about the fate of her contemporaries, the young people of Dagestan, who both seek to reclaim the traditional past that was obliterated by the Soviet regime and to make their way in the twenty-first century.
    Ronald Meyer
    Brooklyn, April 2015

“Anvar, go get the corkscrew!” yelled Yusup, waving his hand in the air.
    Anvar darted into the kitchen and found himself in a cloud of flour. Zumrud stood at the table, shifting a sieve from hand to hand and babbling:
    “Can you imagine, Gulya? I’ve known her for over twenty years—we went to school together. She was always so sarcastic, you know, always had some snappy answer. Ten years ago her husband turned religious, so she divorced him—she wasn’t about to change her whole life around on his account. So now I run into her and she goes, ‘I went on the hajj. ’ I couldn’t believe it. ‘Who with?’ I ask. ‘With my husband,’ she says, meaning her ex.”
    “ Ama-a-an !” drawled Gulya, settling her plump body more comfortably on her chair and adjusting her colorful sweater.
    “She’s started praying, keeping Uraza. So I go, just joking, ‘Why not marry him again, then, if you’re getting along so well.’ He’s got a new wife and children now, but she can be his second wife this time around.”
    “ Vai, we’ve got one of those second wives living across the hall.” Gulya flapped her hand in that direction. “Or rather, fourth. She’s Russian, a convert to Islam, and now she goes around covered.Her husband is a big shot at the cement plant. He comes to see her on Fridays, and brings his bodyguard along. Picture this: you open your door in the morning, you’re taking out the trash, or you have some shopping to do, and some hulk is waiting out there on the stairway, twitching at the slightest sound. Then the husband shows up. I’ve never actually seen him in person. But you can tell when he’s coming. She goes outside beforehand and licks up every speck of dirt in the entryway…”
    “Anvar, that’s the wrong drawer,” said Zumrud, kneading the dough. “Anyway, Gulya, frankly I don’t like it when they start covering themselves up like that…”
    “You know, I’m worried Patya is going to start covering herself,” grumbled Gulya, smoothing her shimmery skirt. She lowered her voice. “So, this distant relative of ours started coming over, a real shady character. He barraged her with instructions about how young ladies should behave. Patya was already keeping Uraza, and then one day she comes home in the rain, crying. She goes, ‘I got water in my ears, I’ve violated the fast.’ I really let her have it. ‘So don’t keep Uraza, then’ I tell her. ‘And don’t let me catch you in a hijab!’”
    “Where are they getting it all?” asked Gulya, scrunching up her shoulders.
    Anvar grabbed the corkscrew and ran back into the living room.
    They were telling jokes and laughing. Kerim slid a glass over to big-nosed Yusup and said, “This Avar dreams that he got beaten up, so the next day he takes all his buddies to bed with him for protection.”
    They poured a round of Kizlyar Kagor wine and clinked glasses. Tall Yusup; bald, bespectacled Kerim; stocky Maga; skinny Anvar…
    “So you’re not drinking, Dibir?” asked Yusup, addressing a morose-looking man with a bandaged finger, sitting in silence.
    He shook his head.
    “It’s haram. ”
    “It’s haram to get drunk, I agree, but Kagor isn’t a drink, it’s a song. Just get a whiff of that bouquet, that flavor. It’s medicinal! My mother used to give it to me when I was a boy…small sips, for my heart.”
    Dibir seemed about to object, but said nothing and just stared at the side table, where a small metal sculpture of a goat stood.
    “I remember,” began Kerim, smacking his lips and adjusting his glasses, which