It was their wedding day mother and father was getting married Gold and Suleiman were getting hitched at long last.
Mother was ever so excited she was in the thrills because she got to wear a new dress which was very pretty. She had on a pair of new stockings and shoes as well. She said she looked like a doll because she was all brand new and shiny.
“Hopeless you are hopeless.”
“What is hopeless about the situation?”
“Don’t you know?”
The little stitches in the wedding gown made from old gold which was hand sewn which in the later day would play a part in the grand children of some woman’s game. The hand sprayed flowers which she had made herself added to her charms and made her simper the more pronounced and what does a pair of shoes add to something but elegance and even when the wedding is a mockery what about the makeup and the hushed tones? The hired hall the gentle clapping and the sounds of the musical scores.
The bride was not in her first flush of youth after all it was her third marriage. The thinking behind someone marrying for the third time was a bit unusual in the turn of the century. People would get a peep into hell and then would abscond and renounce forever more,
Many would speak against such a deed but the thing was Z did not her name was Gold and she carved golden dreams and dramas all the time.
After the first world war when the fighting had been eclipsed and many had found fortunes for themselves and their families. The town had grown and prospered and they felt it passionately that they had escaped. Because in a large town no one could remember the son which Huseyn had and given up for adoption and now he had come back and was founding a family.
His eyes filled with tears.
Huseyn could see what it was about what did it matter when eight of his grandchildren had died and then why nobody could find out and they all assumed natural causes which had ended his wife’s sanity and his daughter’s marriage to a comely man who had gone insane.
Insanity ran in the years away from them who knew better.
The old know best they are the wise.
The young know least.
“Who is the pretty bride who is that pretty woman what does she do all day?”
“She has a doting daughter who she gave birth to only for the child to mature into an idiot.”
“She is given to giving birth to idiots.”
“How unkind now behave.”
“Someone sat on the daughter,”
“Husband no the second.”
“What is the matter with her now?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are we come to gloat?”
“It is nothing.”