In many ways, the Eastern Orthodox wedding ceremony was turned around backward to the more familiar form. We began with the exchange of rings, which in every wedding I had ever heard of, happened at the very end, just before the presiding minister said, 'You may now kiss the bride.' So from exchanging rings, we proceeded halfway down the aisle, where we paused.
The bishop raised his hand, and the music stopped, so that he could say, "Marriage is a holy union, and must be entered into freely and honestly, without constraint or reservation. I asked now that you each declare before God, and these assembled here, that you enter into this marriage freely and of your own accord, by the laws of man and God, bound by no promise made to any other -- not even in the secrecy of your own hearts. My daughter?"
This, in its way, was the equivalent of asking "If there is any here present who knows of any reason why these two should not be wed, let them speak now or forever hold their peace." It would be a grand moment for Valeria to turn up and say something.
"I am marrying this man of my own accord and choice, and I am bound to no other by any tie." I said, clearly, pitching my voice to carry over the crowd.
"My son?"
Victor said firmly, "I have come to be married to this woman of my own accord, and I am free to do so by law. I am promised to no other."
"Liar!" The voice was female, and, unfortunately, a bit familiar. Everyone turned to see a woman standing on the white carpet behind us. Sometimes I just call it entirely too well: it was Valeria.
"Madam?" Said the bishop, somewhat weakly. I suppose an entire lifetime in the service of God must go by without a single instance of someone getting up during a wedding and objecting.
" From earliest childhood, we were intended for each other." Valeria said, walking up the aisle toward us. She thumped her fist against her breast bone, in emphasis. "You promised yourself to me."
"Granddaughter!" Boris said, "This isn't right! Thirty years ago and more that was, and you told me yourself you wouldn't have him."
"Can you defend him, Grandfather? When it is your honor as well as mine?" She flung at him.
"Honor?" Boris said, startled.
"She does not mean what you think she does. Had I ever gone further than honor could reconcile itself, I would have mended it, and married her." Victor said. "I did not injure her innocence."
Valeria ignored him, drawing nearer. Seeing her at close range was as much of a shock of seeing the un-glamoured face of the Valeria from the altered reality, which Wanda had created.
She was dressed as traditionally and conservatively as a Rom woman could -- a full-length black skirt, for women are unclean below the waist, and an enveloping shawl. She had chosen to lead a traditional life.
The problem was that the traditional life for a Rom woman was extremely limited. While I had learned to see beyond the stereotypic Gypsy image, and while I knew firsthand that the reality was quite different -- those who assimilated did well—not as well as Victor, perhaps, but well-- many Rom still lived in abject ignorance and poverty, much like Native Americans who chose to stay on the reservations provided by the United States government and tried to cling to the traditional ways. The traditional ways did not outfit them for life in the 21st century.
.The illiteracy rate among traditional Rom was about 70, in part of the reason was because the parents of Rom children encouraged their own children's truancy. Rom girls were usually taken out of school to marry at about the age of fourteen, and not a grown man, but another teenager -- only, however, after her virginity had been proven intact -- not on her wedding night, but by the probing dirty fingers of an elderly woman.
Rom men had no corresponding moral probity expected of them. In fact, the code of Rom behavior was probably the worst double standard between the sexes of any community I knew of. A traditional Rom woman would not even leave the house without her husband's permission!
There were no opportunities for traditional Rom men, outside of music -- the metalwork for which they were once renowned was done better and more cheaply in factories, and few people required their services with horses anymore. That left very little for them but crime and alcoholism.
That was the life Valeria had wanted. That was the life Victor did not want.
The real shock however, was her face. This Valeria was gaunt and haunted but still beautiful. It was her bones, which stood out starkly in her face. Her face was weatherbeaten, her skin sun-damaged, her expression bitter – yet she had a perfection of feature I did not.
"Perhaps this should be discussed indoors, in private." suggested the bishop.
"This challenge was made in public, so I shall answer it in public." Victor bit out. "The promise she speaks of was made in earliest childhood, as she says. When we were in our teens, it was already evident that we would not suit one another -- what she wanted of life and what I wanted of it were far too disparate for us to marry. It was more than twenty years ago when that became apparent -- and I have not seen her, spoken to her, or had any contact with her for more than 16 years. When last we spoke, she made it clear that she would not marry me."
"Is this true?" asked the bishop of Valeria.
"I would have," said Valeria. "I never married—I thought for certain, if I did—you would come after me, and kill him. I hid, I ran…"
"I never indicated in word or deed that I would pursue you. You made your feelings known. You were free. I was free, as well—free to choose another, one who cares neither whether I am handsome or hideous, but only that I am myself." Victor was working himself up into a fury.
"You think I cared about that?" She was equally mad. "I wanted you for yourself—can this Americanized slut truly say the same? Or did you buy her?"
"Such tawdry accusations you have brought to my wedding day." Victor said. "Have done, Valeria."
"No! I will not have done."
I cut across her fury, my insight spurring me to say what I would not have said, had I room to think. "You never married—not because you were afraid of him, but because you loved him—you love him still. You were waiting for him to come to his senses and go back to the old ways."
The truth must have hurt. She looked at me, and spat right in my face. Her spittle landed on my left cheek.
Victor slapped her. Not hard—he could have taken her head off, being in armor as he was. It was more an insult. She crumpled to the carpet and began sobbing hysterically.
The guests gasped. This was better theater than Shakespeare.
"Guards," Victor said, quietly. "Please escort this woman off the castle grounds. She is barred from them. Treat her with respect, but see to it she does not return." He raised his voice, "Bishop—honored guests—please forgive the interruption." He asked me, in an undertone, "And I must ask your forgiveness most of all. Would you like a moment to compose yourself?"
"What I want most is a handkerchief." I said. "I—oh, thank you, Boris." He had pressed his into my hand. I wiped my face. "I'm not the one crying her heart out. Let's continue."