Stories: All-New Tales

“So I used up all the frequent-flyer miles I’d accrued over the years in my job. When they were gone, I called in every favor I had due from people who could get me where I wanted to go. I spent a lot of time in southwestern Russia because that area was like the new Wild West, what with all the oil money and exploration going on down there.

“It was in Baku that I met the Yit.”

This was typical Ava storytelling. On her TV reports she gave you relevant information in perfect sound bites and was crystal clear about it. Yet in person she often got so carried away telling you a story or personal anecdote that she overlooked the fact you might not know Baku or, like most people on planet earth, what a “Yit” was.

“Please explain the last two terms.”

“Azerbaijan,” she said impatiently. “Baku is the capital of Azerbaijan.”

“Okay, that’s Baku. What’s a Yit?”

“A djelloum.”

“What’s a jell-loom?”

“A Yit is another word for a djelloum—kind of like a fortune-teller but more shamany. It’s a sort of combo fortune-teller and sage. But in Azerbaijan, women are djelloum, not men. Which is interesting because it’s a very macho, male-oriented society otherwise.”

“Okay—Baku, and a Yit.”

She leaned over and kissed me on one side of my mouth. “I like how you stop me and ask for clarification. Most people just let me rattle on.”

“Proceed.”

“Okay. So at the end of the trip I wanted to spend some time in Baku because one of my favorite novels, Ali and Nino, takes place there. The book makes the city sound like one of the most romantic places on earth. It isn’t, but that’s beside the point.

“I was visiting a section called Sabunçu. My guide was Magsud, an Azeri fluent in English who we’d used before when I was there on assignment for the network. So I knew the guy pretty well. He knew the sort of things I liked and was interested in. This time, because I wasn’t working, I hired him just to show me around.

“When we got to Sabunçu, Magsud said one of the most famous djelloum in Russia lived in that part of the city. Would I be interested in visiting her? Things like palmists, astrology, and tarot card readings are like crack for chicks. Seers, shamans, psychics—lead us to ’em. So I said sure, I’d love to meet a Yit.

“Her name was Lamiya, which is Azeri for ‘educated.’ She lived in a small apartment in one of those soulless 1950s, gray-cement Communist public-housing projects where every building looks exactly the same and you can easily get lost. I think there were two rooms in the place but we only saw the living room, which was dark even in the middle of the day. Lamiya sat on a couch. Next to it was a baby bassinet. The whole time we were there she kept one hand inside the bassinet, as if she were touching the baby to keep it quiet.

“After we sat down, she asked Magsud if I knew about lal bala, which means the silent child. He said no. She told him to explain it to me before she went any further. Of course I didn’t understand them because they were speaking Azeri. But I did see him grimace when she finished, like it was going to be tough explaining this in a way that I’d comprehend.

“While Magsud explained lal bala to me, Lamiya kept her hand constantly inside the bassinet. I didn’t know why until later.” Ava stopped speaking and just stared at me for a few moments. I think she was gathering her energy to go on to the difficult part.

“Now I’m going to tell you the story exactly as it happened. You can believe it or not, but just know that I do with all my heart because of what Lamiya told me about myself. Details and facts no one on earth could know but me. No one, do you understand? Not my parents, or my sister, no one. But Lamiya knew. She rattled off the most intimate things about me like she was reading them from a list.

“Let me first explain the silent child. According to legend, there are three of them in Russia at all times. When one dies another is immediately born to replace it. It’s kind of like the succession of the Dalai Lama in Tibet: a silent child chooses its mother before it’s born.”

“What do you mean, before it’s born? Before the child is born?”

“Yes. Lamiya said she knew she’d have a silent child the moment she first sensed she was pregnant. So when hers was born, she wasn’t surprised or upset to see it.”

“Why would you be upset to see your own baby? Was there something wrong with it?”

Ava looked apprehensive, as if hesitant to tell what must be said next. “The child is not alive. I mean, it’s half alive—half alive and half dead; it lives half in this world and half in the other world too.”

“What ‘other world’?”