My Stolen Sister

My Stolen Sister

By Stephanie Gilbert

Copyright 2023 Stephanie Gilbert ©

All characters in this story are totally fictional and also over the age of eighteen

Chapter One

I was only five when my world exploded. Mom and dad were from a small village in Turkmenistan, near the border. I had often heard stories about my father's family; but, living in London, it all seemed so foreign to me. According to their customs, my mother had been sold into marriage by her father. because he could pay the price, even though he was ten years older than my mother. But when they moved to the UK, she began talking back to dad, and soon the physical violence started.

I had to give it to mom; she found social services and left him, taking Ayla, my two-year-old sister, and me to a women's shelter. They divorced, and we visited dad every second weekend. Within a year, dad announced that his mother was ill and wanted to take Ayla and me back to visit before she passed. He was very polite, and had won back some points with mom, so she would allow us to go...reluctantly.

I put up a fight as I didn't know anyone back in their homeland, and I had a big soccer camp, that break, that I had been harping on about for months. It worked, as mom would use any excuse to say no. Dad eventually relented and took Ayla by herself. I remember seeing her holding dad's hand as he led her through the security gate, and she sadly looked over her shoulder at me.

Dad never returned to England, and mom's family had no contact with dad's parents. Mom contacted the authorities in the UK, but even with their help; there was little progress. The Turkmenistan police could never find either my dad or my sister. We would never see Ayla again.

I blamed myself; I should have gone there too and made Dad bring her back. After months of watching mom crying, I returned to school, throwing myself into my studies, hoping that any small prize or award I brought home would brighten mom, even if it were just for a second.

"Mum, I'm home!" I yelled as I dropped my backpack on the living room floor.

"Mum?" I yelled again, as I moved through the house.

I entered the main bedroom to find her on the bed, surrounded by pictures of Ayla; her face streaked with tears.

"Mom, how long have you been here like this?"

"It's her birthday." She whispered, and I sat beside her, picking up the silver frame, filled with my sister's sweet baby face.

"What would she be doing now?" I asked, almost to myself.

"She would be helping the women of the village prepare the meals for the men as they sat around smoking and telling of their hard day's work." She offered, looking into the corner like it was a channel back into her youth.

"What about school?"

"Unless things have changed, she would already have left and be getting ready to be married."

"What the fuck!"

"Language, Paul." Mum reacted before throwing herself into my arms.

"I'm going to see if I can find her," I whispered into her ear.

"It's too dangerous; her family could fight to keep her. It's not like here. The laws can be broken if you are willing to pay compensation."

"If you kill someone, you just pay off the police?"

"It may never go to the police. The villages are hours away from cities."

"I'm going anyway. I've finished university, and when I get work, I won't have time to look." I announced defiantly.

Mom spent the rest of the week trying to talk me out of going, right up until I was hugging her at the security gate. "Come back to me," she whispered into my neck.

"Love you, Mum," I said back, as I kissed her on the cheek.

Chapter two

The flight was over quickly, but getting to the villages, where my family grew up, took a train and then a bus ride that I thought would never end. When I came up to the address that my mother gave, I shook my head as it looked like the house had been partly demolished and someone had repaired it with sheets of corrugated iron.

"Can I help you?" An older lady asked, as she peeked out between two iron sheets. I recognised the language instantly as Mom and I had used it at home, until I started school.

"I was looking for the Charyeva Residence," I said, with as much conviction as I could muster.

"The Charyeva family moved away." She answered, looking at me suspiciously. "Why would an Englishman be asking after them?" she said, picking up my English accent even though I spoke her native tongue.

"I'm a relative on my mother's side, and this was the last address she had."

"They moved to the city after this happened."

"It looks like a bomb went off."

She nodded and pulled back from the gap between the rusty sheets.

"Where could I find the Nuryev family?" I said, trying my father's surname.

She stuck her head back through, rolling her eyes, and nodded northward. "They live in the next village, I think." then disappeared.

I walked for a short distance, before a bus with no doors or windows pulled up beside me, and I paid the small sum asked. It was a godsend because the next village was miles away. We pulled into the main street that bustled with the local market. The moment I stepped off the bus, I was besieged by young children offering various foods and drinks. I mistakenly bought a soda from one of these panhandlers, and was set upon by a dozen more.

I went into a small store, mainly to get a reprieve from the noise, to find three elderly ladies doing needlework behind tables of fine cloth.

"I was after the Nuryev residence?" I said, in my broken local language and English accent, making them giggle.

"That is an old name around here. They used to own a pottery stall, at the end of the street." one said, waving in that direction with an arthritis-crippled hand.

I thanked her and hurried away from the children, as they gathered around the next bus that just pulled in. The main street was lined with stalls, selling everything from food to clothing, even live chickens and birds in small cages. I passed all the stores like this and ended up where it became more industrial: machine shops, and car repairs. The shops looked the same, but greasier. Everything was done out of the front of the shop, on the footpath, and I could see women cooking and holding babies and small children in the rooms behind.

When the street ended; I found a small yard, with a wire fence about three feet high. It surrounded hundreds of pots piled inside each other. They looked like they could topple over at any second, causing an avalanche that would destroy the whole lot. I walked into a gap in the pot mountains, to find an older gentleman sitting at his desk scribbling on pieces of paper.

"Can I help you?" He asked, without looking up.

"I was looking for the Nuryev family."

"The family doesn't exist anymore. The last one died some years ago. Why do you ask?"

"I'm looking for my ancestry. I have lived in the UK all my life but have no connection with the birthplace of my parents."

"Then look around you. All the people in this village are connected to each other and you in some way."

"Do you know what happened to the family?" I asked, knowing I was pushing it.

"Why don't you come to dinner tonight, and we can see what my wife remembers about it," he said, studying my face.

"I don't even know your name."

"Durdy, now come and eat a real Turkmenistan meal."

"That would be incredible," I replied, feeling closer to finding some answers.

"Meet me here at four o'clock, and I will give you a lift to the farm."

"Will do," I said as I retreated through the pot mountains.

The small outdoor coffee shop was a complete surprise. The biscuits and tea were superb. I was told they invented the stuff, but India might argue the point. I made it to the shop entrance as Durdy put a loose chain around the gate and clipped it into place with a clip you would see on a dog leash.

"Won't you lose the stock?"

"I would know if I sold the pot and who to. It would be impossible to hide." He said, unconcerned.

"We are not in London anymore, that's for sure."

"Is that where you are from?"

"Yep, I was born there."

"And your family?"

"Mom."

"Good, you are going home after your excursion then?"

"Yes," I said as we came to a small farm, with goats, and a few cattle roaming the fields.

As we stepped into the farmhouse, I noticed it was built with brick and covered in a white render. The doors were made of wood and had sturdy old iron hinges. The main room served both as a kitchen and dining area, with bedrooms branching off at each end. The room was crowded with people, and as Durdy gestured for me to come in, the noise ceased, and all eyes turned towards the unfamiliar visitor.

"I have brought more family all the way from England. I have asked him to dine with us," he announced, and there was a flurry of chatter that I only caught pieces of. "This is my wife, Berdi."

"I don't want to put you out."

"You are from England. No, no. Sit." She said, going into overdrive and ushering the others around to different places around the table.

Berdi was in charge of the family; her short round body and round face seemed at odds with her fierce nature. All the other ladies moved to her orders. Only the small children got away with disobeying her commands. I couldn't help smiling, as I knew mom would be the same when I got around to giving her grandchildren.

As I looked around the room, I noticed a woman sitting next to a man who appeared to be around her age. She was introduced as Berdi's daughter, but I couldn't keep track of all the names thrown my way. There were also two younger girls, who looked to be around 10 and 8 years old, sitting with their heads covered in bright cloth. We seemed to be waiting for something, and I wondered if there would be a prayer before we started. Then, I noticed an extra place sitting across from me.

Suddenly, the door opened, and a cloaked figure entered the room. The figure turned away from the group, removed its shawl, and revealed the most beautiful woman I had ever seen! Her dark skin and piercing steel-grey eyes captivated me. I tried to speak, but all that came out were a few murmurs and silly-sounding squeaks.

"Jemal, this is Paul. He's from London," Berdi said as the stunning woman took her place and looked down at the table.

"Paul, this is my cousin's daughter Jemal. She is staying with us until she is married." Durdy said as the food was passed around.

Despite my attempts to avoid staring, her intense gaze penetrated my defences whenever she looked my way. The situation only grew more uncomfortable when our hands brushed as she handed me the bread basket. Her eyes met mine briefly before quickly turning away. The little girls began giggling with each other before Berdi's daughter hushed them with a look.

"So, when is the marriage?" I asked Durdy, trying to distract myself.

"When a suitor comes up with the right offer." He answered without a hint of jest in his voice.

I thought for a long moment, before asking my next question, in case there was some laughter coming, and I would make a fool of myself.

"How many offers have come?"

"Were you thinking of throwing your cap into the ring?" Berdi asked, a smile on her face for the first time tonight.

"I came looking for my heritage, not to build a family. I'm going back to London and finding a job."

"What was your father's name," Berdi asked, and I knew instinctively I was on tricky ground.

"Nuryev," Durdy answered, when I paused.

"Mmmm. That family died out some years ago. There is a bit of Nuryev blood in everyone at this table. That family name goes back over two centuries in this village." Berdi stated, holding onto Durdy's hand.

We ate, and I listened to Berdi and Durdy talk about my family and theirs, but as the travelling caught up with me, I asked about accommodation.

"We have a spare bed that you can use while you are here. I'm sure Jemal would like some company of someone her age, as Batyr has to take her family home tonight." Berdi offered; yes, that was her name.

"I must pay for the room."

"No, no. We are the closest thing you have to a family for thousands of miles. You will stay here." Durdy said, and I stopped arguing, as I didn't think a decent hotel would be nearby.

Berdi had Jemal make up a bed, and I later found out that she had to share, to give me the room to myself. I wasn't going to argue with her as I didn't know the religious ramifications. I fell asleep that night, staring at the ceiling and pondering so many questions that had only been raised over the last 24 hours.

"Is my dad really gone? How will I find my sister? What about Jemal? Wait, scratch that. Jemal is not the solution, only more trouble." I thought as I drifted off.

My dreams were filled with me chasing someone and being unable to catch up. I knew my life depended on catching them; but, try as I might, I couldn't reach out far enough.

Chapter Three

I woke to the smell of breakfast and the desperate need to relieve myself, to get rid of my morning wood. This was not London, and I didn't have a bathroom off my bedroom, so I had to pull on my boxers and some clothes to make the trip outside. It was like going back a hundred years, having an outhouse in the backyard. I thought about jerking off, but with images of Jemal's beauty still bouncing around in my head, I thought better of it.

"You might like to visit some of the older villagers and ask them what they remember of your family. Jemal has the day off and would be a great guide." Berdi said, and Jemal could not hide her distaste for the suggestion, but quickly hid the expression and looked down.

"I couldn't put anyone out like that."

"No, you will be stumbling around the streets without some local help," Berdi said before fixing her stare on Jemal.

"No, it would be my pleasure," Jemal said softly.

As we wandered the street, I lagged behind a miffed Jemal. She kicked every rock and shrugged off my every attempt at conversation. Without looking back at me, she waved me to an older man and slumped against a post. I talked for ten minutes and realised he didn't know, or at least would not tell me, anything about my family.

The next three meetings went much the same, until I saw an older lady eyeing me off as we passed her stall on the way to get more tea. As we passed her on the way to another fruitless community leader, I ducked into her basket-making stall while Jemal kept walking, not caring that I had fallen off her trail.

"Do you know something about my family?" I asked as the lady tried to slip into her private residence.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Neither does anyone else in this town, but my family came from here."

"I'm not supposed to talk to you about this. Please leave me alone." She said but brushed her hand across my shoulder before disappearing through the doorway.

I caught up to Jemal; she never even knew I was missing. Her next stop was another bust, like all the rest.

"It's getting hot. Is there somewhere we can cool off?"

Her eyes flashed to mine, then back to the ground before she nodded and waved for me to follow. She took a left in the middle of the main street and headed out of town and into the small foothills. She moved through the rocks easily, but I stumbled over and bumped into every one of them, as I followed. She crouched through a low opening in the side of a cliff and then ducked her head back out and waved me in.

As I gazed in disbelief, I noticed a sizable body of water within the cave. Despite the faint lighting, I could distinguish the sandy perimeter that encircled the pool, except at the rear, where the spring continuously replenished it through the shear wall.

"Can we swim?"

"Yes, it's ancient. We have been swimming here for centuries." She said, the first glimpse of a smile at my childish excitement.

I took off my shirt and pants to my boxers and dove into the cool water, looking back to see Jemal taking her sandals off and dipping her feet while sitting on a rock.

"You're not coming in?"

"It would not be proper with a boy here."

"Shit, sorry, I will leave you and walk back," I said, wading towards the shore.

"If you don't tell anyone." She said, letting the water trickle through her fingers.

"Not a soul," I said, making a zipper motion with my fingers across my sealed lips.

She reached for her headscarf and untucked it from her collar. Then unraveled it from her head. Her long dark hair fell across her shoulders, curls bouncing as she ran her fingers through to straighten it out. She undid her shirt and dropped it from her shoulders, revealing her old-style bra that covered more of her upper body than any swimsuit I had ever seen. She dropped her skirt quickly and slipped into the water but not before I saw her white panties that covered all the good real estate.

"You were not supposed to look."

"Then you should have told me to turn around. Would have been a shame, though." I said as my best attempt at flirting.

She ducked under the water and came up beside me, her wet hair now clinging to her shoulders and long neck. Her beautiful eyes distracting me before darting down again.

"What's London like?"

"Not so different," I said, but I couldn't keep a straight face. "Sorry, no, it's totally different. Indoor plumbing, for one."

"I have read books, but it's so far away."

"Bright lights, tall buildings, and history on every corner," I said as her face lit up the pool.

"Big Ben."

"Yes, you can hear it for miles."

She swam over close enough that her arm brushed mine. She got nervous and looked down into the water, and her smile vanished. She swam to her clothes, but as she walked out of the water, her white panties were almost see-through, giving me an incredible view of her perfect bottom.

We walked home the long way, giving our clothes time to dry in the heat. We walked into the kitchen as the food was about to be served.

"How did you do?" Durdy asked, but I had an idea that he already knew I had struck out.

"Not much to report. I think I will soak in the feeling of my ancestral village for a few more days and head back to civilisation." I said, noticing that Jemal's eyes darted to mine and then back to her food.

I made a late-night trip to the outdoor toilet and jerked off, but the vision of Jemal's wet pantie-covered bottom sprang into my mind just before I blew. I lay in bed thinking about her fate of never seeing an actual city in her lifetime. Who would she marry? Probably someone older and able to pay the dowry that is being asked.

With a promise to meet Jemal at the pool after she got off work at two. I headed along the main street, asking questions and mainly getting shoulder shrugs. I didn't expect anything else, but I needed an excuse to approach the basket stall to see if I could find some real answers.

I slipped in before she saw me coming, and as she darted through the connecting doorway, I followed her through. She was about to close the door, but seeing that I had filled that space, she relented, waved me to a small table, and turned to the stove.

"Tea?"

"Yes, please."

"You knew my family?" I asked while she had her back to me, and I saw her head drop.

"I, I knew of them; but, a feud started with a family from another village that turned nasty."

"And?" I asked as she sat across from me.

"I don't want that to start up again."

"I'm not going to start anything."

"People died on both sides, and the other family moved to the city."

"What city?"

"Ashgabat. I heard the other family left for England or France the following year. But your family was devastated by the loss of the two remaining men, so the family name died with them." She said, and I guessed my father was one of those men.