USHBA 3: The Funeral

When I arrived, I was immediately recognized as a foreigner. I had sunglasses on too, which was a mistake. A fellow came to the car to say hello to the family patriarch and me, the guest. He refrained from greeting me and in turn put a pair of his own sunglasses on and looked back at me as if to give the impression that he was not my friend, and he’ll be watching me. I felt bad. I instantly took my glasses off. I was new in the village, the sun was beating down and snow was everywhere. I needed the sunglasses. But I took them off. I didn’t want to create barrier between me and the people, being a foreigner as a barrier large enough.

We walked down the road to the Aunt’s house after we had parked the Niva. The road was muddy and was like a river. It was slippery and Teimuraz slipped [but did not fall] and said a bad word in English. It was the first English word I had heard him say. I laughed, and then asked him how to say it in Georgian. But I forgot it now.

We then entered the property and were instantly greeted. Many expressed their condolences to Teimuraz, who initially seemed not affected by the death of his uncle Igor. We greeted many people. I greeted as many as possible and shook as many hands as possible, trying to make as many friends as possible—as opposed to enemies and subjects who many want to kidnap me. Soon, Teimuraz stopped introducing me to people, I felt a little out of place because I did not know where I was supposed to stand. I patiently started making eye contact with everyone around me, nodding me head, so as not to look like a complete fool. I was being stared out by many people though. Then, I found a comfortable place by the wall. Teimuraz then told a young man, about my age, in charge of protecting me. I call him Pharaoh. We tried talking for quite some time. We walked around and met even more people, that was easier. I know a few things, like “Hello, how are you? I am well.” Then I can move on to the next person and say the exact same thing and feel like I know how to speak Georgian.

We both (at least I did) knew that the young women who were preparing the tables for the feast were watching us and whispering to each other. One girl turned another girl around inconspicuously in order to have a look at Pharaoh and me. Pharaoh and I walked toward the coalition of women. I thought we were going to sit and talk, but we kept going and found some other men standing at the end of the row of tables.

One claimed to know German, but everything he said sounded like Russian to me. So another fellow came, he looked pretty clever and cunning and said to me, “Wie heisst du?” I responded, “Gut, danke, und du?” He looked confused, as if he didn’t hear me. Then he asked again, “Wie heisst du?” I responded the same. Then he immediately said something that sounded like a joke to the other Svans in Svan about how I didn’t know German. Then I realized what was happening and said, “Dangit!” in my head. I blurted out, “Ich heisse Peter, oder Petre.” Then I followed up by saying, “Und wie heisst du?” and he said, “Temuri.” I said, “Sprechst du Deutsch?” “Niet,” he said.

Then my good friend Dato, perhaps trying to make things less awkward said that we should go see the tower, which was just a house away.

On the way there we met two drunk fellows who had been sitting in a booth drinking Araqi and waiting to be invited to the funeral feast. They greeted Dato. We talked for a while. Dato managed to get a cigarette and then jumped off the rock he was standing on and pointed to the tower and said—Dadeshkeliani Tower. It is an extremely tall tower. Many in the town boast that it is the tallest one. The tower was so tall that I had to walk outside the ruined fortress area to get the whole tower in one photo. This is the former ruling family’s tower, hence the name Dadeshkeliani.

The three, Dato, Pharaoh and another fellow, who accompanied me walked back to the feast area. We said hello to several others as we got to the entrance of the property, where several horses were tied up and a big dump truck was parked. One guy who was standing at the entrance of the property, acting like he was guarding or patrolling, had a serious look on his face. He had no intention what so ever to put a friendly look on his face. Then he slipped off the log he was standing on and fell into the muddy road. Everyone laughed, including the fellow who fell. Then Dato made a camera gesture with his hands, telling me to take a picture of the dude who had just fallen. Of course, I did not have the camera ready.

As this happened, a young lady and her mother made their way over to where we were, standing several feet from us, across the small bridge over the stream that went into the property. They were perhaps planning on what to say to me. I do not mean to be egocentric by any means, but it seems to be the tendency that young unmarried women try to marry a foreigner in order to get citizenship in some Western country and get out of Georgia. It has happened to me before, but this is the first time in Svaneti.

Soon the two, mother and daughter, went back to the tables. As soon as this happened Dato indicated that we would enter the property. We started walking down the row of tables where that young woman was sitting. I had surrendered to the idea that I would have to talk myself out the second awkward marriage conversation.

To my surprise, Dato continued walking by without stopping, and I was relieved. The mother muttered something to Dato, and he responded with something in Svan that sounded like, “Don’t mess with my guest.”

We walked up the snow stairs to the next section of tables. Dato sat me down with the only other person who could speak English, or a little bit of English. It was a boring conversation; I enjoyed the Georgian conversations much more. The ‘English speaker’ left the table, “Thank God,” I said to myself.

I sat there minding my own business when the burial procession began. The men’s choir, which has an album which they recorded in France, started singing everyone stood up and began walking behind the open coffin. The close relatives were wailing, weeping, and sobbing, while the choir sang beautiful tunes. The crowd of 300 people started moving as one body. I started walking with everyone else. This would be a perfect time for someone to kidnap me, I thought to myself. I didn’t recognize anyone. (Kidnappings, as perhaps I have mentioned before, are quite common with foreigners in this area). Soon someone grabbed my shoulder, in the spirit of accepting any circumstance that was to come my way, I nonchalantly looked over to see who it was. It was Dato, watching out for me. Everyone was in their Sunday best, walking in the muddy road.

Soon we came upon the grave, which was next to the Dadeshkeliani tower. Someone said a few words, people wailed, one lady even jumped into the grave after the body (for which she was scolded), and then it was finished. It was short. People wanted to get to the feast.

I found a friend after the burial. We talked for a little while, and then I headed back to the feast. I arrived late, and almost all the spots were filled. I found Dato, however, and there was a spot near him. I sat down and the party began.

All these toasts were first to the deceased fellow, and then anything else. Before drinking, one must pour out some of the wine on the ground in honor of the dead man. The man sitting to the left of always poured out his whole glass. I soon followed suit, because I didn’t want to drink. But once I did that, and a fellow across the table wanted to clink glasses with me, and I had no wine (it was all in the snow) and so he disapprovingly took his glass back.

I left the table to take pictures, after eating all the halva on my table. After I got to the balcony, I heard my name being called, “Petre, Petre.” I looked over and in a private room sat the Patriarch, the Pharaoh, the Doctor, and other leaders. They insisted that I join them. They made a toast to me and then I left.

THE END