Sugar Festival Night

Sugar Festival Night

     “Bob, why do you sit there reading news magazines all afternoon? Wouldn’t chatting with your beautiful wife be more interesting? You did marry me after all. And we are in Turkey. We speak the language. Let’s go out and mingle with the crowd.”
     “Pat, I know being home while I am working at the base must get lonely. But I will make it up to you. Tonight we are going to the Sugar Festival.”
     “I’ve heard about it from the general’s wife while gardening and being patient for your return as a proper wife should.”
     “There will be dancers, men beating drums, and we will have some fun.”
     “And you will spend the entire time taking pictures instead of dancing with me.”
     “I need to document our travels for our child to know where we were when he was in your womb.”
     “How do you know our child isn’t a girl?”
     “I’m just using the standard reference when gender is in question.”
     “Your King’s English is so proper. That is one
of the reasons I took your hand in marriage.”
     “The sun is down. The festivities are about to begin. We’ll walk there.”
     “This street is so dark. But I feel safe with you by my side. I agreed to join you for your two year station in Turkey if you would settle in New Orleans upon returning home instead of taking me to your hometown of Boston. You must really love me to give up your native city and move to the south with our foreign customs.”
     “Being with you in the Big Easy will be the best move I have made in my life.”
     “Well, being with you here in Turkey has been been an eye opener. I hope you are more talkative in the states.”
     “I read the magazines to keep up with the latest back home. Would you like me to tell you the news after my reads?”
     “Please spare me the news. Instead tell me how much you liked supper. I need some emotional contact so far from home.”
     “Your stuffed grape leaves are better than my Mom’s New England boiled dinners.”
     “My first compliments to the chef. I am giddy.
My cooking is better than your doting Mom’s”
     “You know, the Turks at the festival would be more comfortable with me taking pictures if I changed out of my Air Force uniform into civilian clothes. Wait here while I go back to the house.”
     “You want me to wait here, in the road?”
     “You’ll be fine. The Turks respect women.”
     “Say hello to the general. His wife is my best friend and sole conversationalist in Turkish. My English speaking husband isn’t so chatty. But you do like my dolmas and that goes a long way. Next thing you know you’ll compliment my hairdo. Oh, my heart!”
     Pat waits in the crisp cool air that is a touch too cold compared to her Louisiana weather and wearing the fashionable dress to impress her solitary husband. But hearken. There is a Turkish tea house on this corner. These establishments have been men only for centuries. But surely they will tolerate the fairer sex needing warmth and seeking refuge from the winter cold. They can’t be heartless.
     So she walks into the smoky room with old men sitting around talking and she thinks how lovely a respite from the silence at home engaging them with her newly acquired Turkish language would be. But no need to push her luck she thinks.
     So she orders her tea and the gracious barista serves it to her piping hot. As she sits minding her own business an old gent approaches her surely to welcome her she hopes. He slaps money on the counter as payment for her tea. What a gentleman she thinks to pay for her tea. But he says, “Sorry Ma’am only men are allowed here.”
     “I didn’t mean to spoil the atmosphere,” she replies. “I was waiting for my husband and it was cold but I’ll be on my way.”
     Bob appears in the dark like an apparition dressed in slacks and a buttoned shirt. She speaks first as always. “Hey you, I just got kicked out of a Turkish tea house. I’m glad you came to rescue me.”
     “Are you cold? Here is your jacket.”
     “So thoughtful of you, now let’s go to the festival. These heels are hard to navigate in. But I’ll be the cheery wife you married.”
     “Would you like to know the latest on the project Mercury space shots?”
     “Only if you give me the spicy tabloid news on the marriages of the astronauts. You know we women love gossip.”
     “I am not up on that.”
     “Then tell me the latest on our own marriage. You know the juicy details that I am dying to hear.”