hadn’t been fired at all. It just seemed too neat: Geldy had escaped a job he hated for a much better job, with higher pay and more prestige, closer to home. He probably just didn’t want to tell me he was taking a job in Ashgabat because he thought I’d be angry that he invited me to come work in Abadan and then abandoned me there a few months later. I didn’t say anything to Geldy about my suspicions – I just sat and sipped my coffee and listened to him and his friends talk – but that was the day I stopped trusting him.
Around midnight, we paid our tab and left. Outside, the girls got into one cab and Geldy and I got into another. We went to Geldy’s older brother’s apartment. He had a key and we slipped in, found a couple dusheks and pillows, and laid them out in the living room. He turned on the TV and flipped around until he found a channel showing naked women posing under waterfalls, next to pools, and in showers. He stared at the screen for a few minutes, remote poised. “This is boring,” he said and then clicked off the TV and went to sleep.
***
The next day, I went to Dom Pionerov to work on my carpet. I’d been hunched over it tying knots for a couple of hours when Mahym showed up. She walked into the room, came straight to where I was kneeling, and abruptly told me I was no longer welcome. “We don’t have room for you to work here anymore,” she said sadly. “I need you to move your loom out of here by the end of the day.”
It was 4 p.m. and Dom Pionerov closed at 5 p.m. The loom was too big and heavy for me to carry on my own, so I walked home to find Denis. I found him lying in front of the TV, as usual. When I told him what had happened, he didn’t seem surprised. He never seemed surprised, no matter how absurd things got. Maybe it was teenaged cynicism; maybe it was the result of living in Turkmenistan all his life. He rummaged through a closet and pulled out a flimsy metal dolly meant for hauling luggage through airports. At Dom Pionerov, we packed up my yarn, my pattern, my tools, and my loom and dragged it all down the street and up the stairs into my little room. I was confused and disappointed. I’d loved working on my carpet. It was something I didn’t need permission for, something tangible and I could sit down and just do.
A few days later, Tanya told me what had happened. In typically indirect Turkmen fashion, Mahym had sent me an explanation and apology through Tanya. The local government, it seemed, had decided that I should no longer be allowed to learn to weave Turkmen carpets – that, by doing so, I was stealing a national secret – and told Mahym to throw me out. It was too absurd. I couldn’t stay angry. I started laughing.
At the dinner table that night, I told my host family what had happened. Olya was sympathetic. Misha thought it was hilarious.
What can you expect? The Turkmen have taken over the country. If the Russians were still running things, this never would have happened,” he said.
My bedroom was small, but there was space for the loom at the foot of my bed. So I went back to work, adding a millimeter or two per day. When anyone in Abadan asked me how my carpet was coming, I told them I’d given up. I was starting to learn that in Turkmenistan, it’s best not to attract attention.
11.
In the Golden Age, There Are No Cold Schools
The school-heating project went well at first. Since Aman wouldn’t let me use the phone at Red Crescent, I would make up excuses to leave the office and sneak home to call embassies and non-governmental organizations in Ashgabat, looking for one that was interested in funding the project. I needed $10,000 for materials. Ovez had promised that the school district would provide the labor. While I was calling around, I learned about every available grant program in Ashgabat. The British Embassy, it turned out, was interested in paying me to paint a health-related mural. The American Embassy had a whole bunch of
Around midnight, we paid our tab and left. Outside, the girls got into one cab and Geldy and I got into another. We went to Geldy’s older brother’s apartment. He had a key and we slipped in, found a couple dusheks and pillows, and laid them out in the living room. He turned on the TV and flipped around until he found a channel showing naked women posing under waterfalls, next to pools, and in showers. He stared at the screen for a few minutes, remote poised. “This is boring,” he said and then clicked off the TV and went to sleep.
***
The next day, I went to Dom Pionerov to work on my carpet. I’d been hunched over it tying knots for a couple of hours when Mahym showed up. She walked into the room, came straight to where I was kneeling, and abruptly told me I was no longer welcome. “We don’t have room for you to work here anymore,” she said sadly. “I need you to move your loom out of here by the end of the day.”
It was 4 p.m. and Dom Pionerov closed at 5 p.m. The loom was too big and heavy for me to carry on my own, so I walked home to find Denis. I found him lying in front of the TV, as usual. When I told him what had happened, he didn’t seem surprised. He never seemed surprised, no matter how absurd things got. Maybe it was teenaged cynicism; maybe it was the result of living in Turkmenistan all his life. He rummaged through a closet and pulled out a flimsy metal dolly meant for hauling luggage through airports. At Dom Pionerov, we packed up my yarn, my pattern, my tools, and my loom and dragged it all down the street and up the stairs into my little room. I was confused and disappointed. I’d loved working on my carpet. It was something I didn’t need permission for, something tangible and I could sit down and just do.
A few days later, Tanya told me what had happened. In typically indirect Turkmen fashion, Mahym had sent me an explanation and apology through Tanya. The local government, it seemed, had decided that I should no longer be allowed to learn to weave Turkmen carpets – that, by doing so, I was stealing a national secret – and told Mahym to throw me out. It was too absurd. I couldn’t stay angry. I started laughing.
At the dinner table that night, I told my host family what had happened. Olya was sympathetic. Misha thought it was hilarious.
What can you expect? The Turkmen have taken over the country. If the Russians were still running things, this never would have happened,” he said.
My bedroom was small, but there was space for the loom at the foot of my bed. So I went back to work, adding a millimeter or two per day. When anyone in Abadan asked me how my carpet was coming, I told them I’d given up. I was starting to learn that in Turkmenistan, it’s best not to attract attention.
11.
In the Golden Age, There Are No Cold Schools
The school-heating project went well at first. Since Aman wouldn’t let me use the phone at Red Crescent, I would make up excuses to leave the office and sneak home to call embassies and non-governmental organizations in Ashgabat, looking for one that was interested in funding the project. I needed $10,000 for materials. Ovez had promised that the school district would provide the labor. While I was calling around, I learned about every available grant program in Ashgabat. The British Embassy, it turned out, was interested in paying me to paint a health-related mural. The American Embassy had a whole bunch of
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