I had to simply wait.
Margaret knew everything. Of course she did she wasnt twenty, nor even thirty
***
Margaret was tired of being alone, of dragging that endless cart.
Lord, why am I like this? Whats wrong with me? Am I a bore? Do I smell? Am I clingy? she muttered in the fog of her mind. Why cant I give love and tenderness?
Everyonetall, squat, thin, stout, drunk, gorgeous, plainseemed to have a private life. All of them. And I have none.
Whats wrong with me? Why am I solitary?
Listen, Margaretdont laugh, but my gran used to whisper about a thing, I cant quite saythe Crown of Celibacy, said Liza, sliding off the stool.
No, really, Margaret waved her hand. Are we living in the Middle Ages?
Dont you believe it? Liza sprang up. My thirdcousin once had that crown removed by my gran.
What gran? Margaret asked flatly, only to fill the silence.
Anyway, Ill call Harriet, my sistershes the one who had the crown taken off. Ill find out everything.
Ten minutes later Liza was scribbling on a napkin, tongue tip catching the paper.
Right, thanks, Harriet. How are you? Getting married again? What about George? Oh, hes gone. Fine, Ill be there
She hung up, a pause hanging between them.
Something happened? Margaret asked.
What? Nowell, actually yes. I need a wedding gift again sisters tying the knot. Fifth time. That old gran must have pulled the crown off hard. Heres the address. Will you go?
Margaret shrugged. She went, but the crone, twisting a handkerchief, sent her back emptyhanded.
There is no crown for you.
It cant be
What? Youve been picking the wrong men? First bloke left you with a child in his heart, a scoundrel who promised a girl yet was already married.
You didnt know? Thought something was off with you? the crone hissed. Hes a rogue, hell hide in the hedgeslifes sorted for him.
What?
You neednt know, he isnt your man.
The second wasnt?
Not yours, the crone confirmed. Neither was the third.
The third? I have no one
No, thats how it will be
And when will mine appear? Will he ever?
Hell appear when youre not lookinghell be yours, but not wholly. A girl cant change that, but trust himhes steady, youll find a mothers happiness with himmaybe youll even have him wholejust wait, dont rush.
Now goand tell your friend she should see a doctor, take these herbs, then visit a womens surgeon. Say the old crone asked you to pass it on.
That conversation was whispered many years before.
Desperate for a feminine joy, Margaret had driven to the crone, a village healer. Everything turned out exactly as the crone said.
She met the third, the crones words dissolved. He was good, treated Margarets daughter well, yet something would flicker, theyd become thoughtful and vanish forever without explanation.
Later Margaret met Yuri.
At first she didnt realise he was the one. The flat next door had been empty for years. When Margaret moved in with her little girl, no one lived there; the neighbour, Aunt Kate, mentioned the landlord roamed on nightshifts, stopping by his mothers house.
One day Margaret, curiosity nudging her, peered through the slightly ajar door of the neighbours and saw a man wallpapering.
She slipped out quietly; the landlord must have returned. He did, and returned again.
Their first clash happened in the corridor a week later. The doors were absurdly built: if one opened, the other refused unless the first was closed.
Margaret rushed to work, tried to open a door and couldnt. The neighbour apologized swiftly, shut his flat, and Margaret heard light, hurried footsteps.
Later she blocked his exit. They met again on the communal landing, and he let her be the first to open the door.
One afternoon Yuri helped Kristine lift a bicycle; Margaret baked scones and brought them over. In the park Yuris son, about Kristines age, ran to them; the children befriended instantly, swinging on the carousel while Margaret and Yuri chatted merrily.
Six months on he asked her out, then introduced her to his family. They began living together, but before that Yuri told his story.
MargaretIm not a twentyyearold lad, nor a hulking oaf. Im a man, an adult with my own views and temper. I promise, if you live with me, I wont stray; Ill do the mens work, help, earn, and I dont drink or smoke. No bad habits. Ill respect you, cherish youIm sorry, I cant love you properly, Ive tried.
No, Im no stone, I do feel something, just not the sort you want. I cant give you what you need. Im a pitiful thing, as my wife once called me. Thats why I explain everything, lest you think Im just playing hero.
Back in my youth I fell for a girlyou know, standing close, warm, it felt right
It didnt work. She saw me as a friend, I tried for years to push her from my heart, but failed. Ive had women prettier, smarter, and still it wasnt right. Perhaps you should have spoken to her? Margaret asked, voice strained.
I talked, you think Im a deer in the headlights, suffering? I laid it out, said I love you more than life. No whining, just asked you to listen. Shed just split from her husband, I
She said shed always been a friend, almost a brother to me. I argued love didnt matter, I loved her anywayShe listened, paused, then asked why I left Inna.
I told her plainly I didnt love her.
And? she shrugged. Shes pretty, bright, cheerful. You dont love her, she loves youwhats the harm?
Then I realised she was the one Id been chasing, the one I couldnt love fully yet forced myself to stay with. I married.
No, I wasnt a walking corpse, I lived, laughed, like anyone else. But thinking of the one I love feels like a curse. For some love is a gift; for me its a punishment. I feel bruised, unable to give a woman happiness. Women love with ears, dont be angryI cant lie.
Dont think Im babbling, feeling sorry for myselfI just want you to decide if you can live without bright emotions. My wife couldnt. Think, dont answer now.
Margaret thought, then a week later she met his large familycheerful, lively, welcoming her and her daughter. She feared being called a substitute, being pitied, but everything went smoothly.
She never regretted marrying Yuri; he was reliable, solved her problems, and she tried not to dwell on passion. Occasionally, a stray glance from her husband would stir a memory of the lost love, but it never disturbed their life.
Again that gaze lingered.
Was it painful? Honestly, with hand on heartany woman dreams a man might change for her. Margaret wasnt married for love at first, but grew to love the dependable husband. How could she not? He was perfect.
That hazy look, though, was not for her.
Margaret? Yuri called.
She was washing windows, spring sun scorching the panes, humming softly. Yuri entered, admiring his wife.
He felt free, like a bird. He had met his beloved once, was simply glad to see her, then suddenly wanted to go home.
Whats up, Yuri? Anything happen?
Nothing, everythings fineMargaret, you have no idea how good everything feels.
He kissed her, newly realizing how deep his love was, how dear she was.
She thought, Hes the one the crone didnt lie. She said I just needed to wait.
Good morning, dear ones! May your love, if still unseen, flutter to your window. And if its already with you, cherish it. Sending you warm embraces, rays of kindness and positivity. Always yours.
