The bachelor

He’d had enough offers to be married a dozen times over already. His host parents had arranged a double bed in his room so that his future wife could move in with them. It would just take a couple of speakers, some kalens, and a few sheep.

“When are you getting married?” was a common refrain. “It’s a question heard in the states, too,” he thought, “but it’s asked of couples that are engaged.” The question here always came after he stated he was single. The thing about this place was that men picked a day first and a wife second.

His foot tapped lightly on the ground as a fellow staff member at the school continued their conversation:

“Are you married?”

“No, I’m single. No girlfriend either.”

“When are you getting married?”

“Good question. Who knows?”
            “Would you marry a Kyrgyz woman?”

“If we both spoke the same language and both loved Jesus, I suppose.”

Dials number on phone, lets it ring once and hands it to him – “It’s my daughter. She’s studying English in Bishkek.”

“Ohhh, great, thank y—Hello! This is Luther.”