Part 1

"Tell them that I am looking for a wife with traditional values."

I am talking to your father and mother. You are a beautiful young girl. I have no idea how old you are. You look very young, but your parents consider you marriageable.

"They don't trust Americans. They were hoping for a husband who wasn't a foreigner."

"I have a very good job. I will return to the States in a few months, but I will let her come to visit."

Your parents speak no English. I have brought a translator. He keeps looking at you. It isn't proper, and it makes you anxious. I think you understand some English, but I'm not sure.

"They are a respectable family. They want their daughter in a good home."

"I will give her a good home. I respect their culture, and I come from a good family. I am sincere, and looking for a wife. I will give them many grandsons."

Now I look at you. I am older. I am strong, and the translator defers to me. You think you see something in my eyes, but don't know what it is. My face is almost like a mask. I smile at you, and you move behind your mother.

"Can I demonstrate my good faith? I would like to make a gift to the family."

"They say that is most generous, but there daughter is not for sale."

"I understand that. I want them to see I am sincere."

I pull out my wallet and start counting out money. It is more than your family will see in five years. To me, it is just worthless foreign money.

I take the pile of money, and take a few bills off the top. It is enough to feed your family for a few weeks, but not nearly the whole pile.

"I will give you some now. The rest we can use to pay for the wedding when I have shown you that I am honorable."

"Would you mind letting us talk for a bit?"

"Of course not."

The translator and I step out of your home. Your parents are whispering to each other. You can't hear. You are watching intently. At one point your father looks up at you and drops his eyes in shame. They are going to sell you.

They invite us back in.

"We see that you are a good man. We will let you marry our daughter."

"Thank you so much. You have made me very happy. You know I am several hours away. Is it alright if your daughter comes to my town so I can court her before the wedding, as is the American custom? I promise she will always have a chaperon."

"That will be acceptable."

I hand over the rest of the money. Your parents tell you to gather your things. It doesn't take long. You can fit everything you own into one bag.

"Rick, help my bride carry her belongings."

He takes the package from you, and walks out to put it in the car. You don't want to leave. Your parents tell you that you must and you are shaming them. They turn their backs on you.

You follow me out to the car. You still aren't talking, and your eyes show some tearing.

Rick is the driver. I sit in the front seat. You are in the back.

As we drive away, you look back through the window at your house, dropping away. You have never been away from home before, and now you are going off to marry an American. I don't look right to you, but you will be a good wife anyway.

"Another one bought and paid for, right Rick?"

"A good day's work. I'll never get used to how uptight they are."

Rick and I talk a little as we drive. We leave the village and start driving through deep country. There isn't much here. Not many people live in this area. I had to search really hard to find you.

"Rick, this looks like a good place. Pull of the road and behind those trees."

You look confused at the surroundings. There is nothing here. Why are we stopping?

"It's time for the wedding, sweetheart."

I climb into the back seat. You are uncomfortable being this close to me. You are wearing a simple shift, a rough one piece dress. I put my hand on your knee, and you pull it away. I put my hand on the knee again and start to move it upward. You grab at the door to get away. You are sure you can find your way back home.

I smack your face and leave a red mark across your cheek. I grab your hair and pull my face up close to yours. You can smell my breath, and see the anger in my face.

"You can either do what I want, or I can make you hurt. Stop fighting unless you want to make me angry."

I still don't know if you can understand me.