Both men leaned back more easily and for the first time seemed to taste their cigarettes. Lulash looked at me; the aquiline profile became a full-face view of the handsome, sensitive, strong face framed in folds of white. What did I look like to those mountain eyes, I wondered, sitting there disheveled among tumbled blankets, a brown sweater bunched around my neck, my riding trousers creased and muddy and dangling their unputteed legs?
“I should be glad to see the women of my tribe wearing American garments,” said Lulash. “Skirts are heavy and cumbersome; trousers are far better.”
Perolli translated.
“Goodness! He thinks all American women wear trousers!” I said. “Well, tell him I thank him; I agree with him; for the mountains trousers are more comfortable. Tell him I am much interested in the women of his tribe and would like to ask him some questions about them. And I’ll die right here if you don’t tell me what’s happened.”
“He will be glad to tell you anything he knows, but no man understands the nature of women, which is like the streams that run under the mountains. Don’t worry; it’s all over.”
“What do you mean? Ask him if he thinks it is a good idea to betroth children before they are born. (What did you write in the notebook?)”
“He says he does not think it a good idea. (I tell you it’s all right.)”
“Oh, thank goodness! Then he does not think the women are happy in their marriages? (But tell me what he was saying to you, won’t you?)”
“He says that as for happiness, his people do not expect happiness in marriage; happiness comes from other things. (I cannot tell you; he would understand the word; I will spell it. He has sworn a b-e-s-a that his whole tribe will be loyal to the Albanian government as long as he lives. Careful! Don’t let him suspect I’m talking about it.)”
Albanians, with their many languages, are used to such conversations. I hope I deceived Lulash; my training in dissimulation has been small. I was rather dizzy.