16. After the Farmers Left
"behind blue ice" by julia-julia |
The Unfinished Song: Initiate
…take my leave now, however, as I must also visit Full Basket clandhold before the sun sets.”
Is there anything else I could do to convince Abiono not to invite me to become a Tavaedi? Dindi despaired while the rest of the clan fussed over Abiono’s departure. My life is a colossal joke that’s funny to everyone but me. Uncle Lobo was still chortling.
Once
the guest was gone, taking the excitement with him, a general exodus
out of the kitchen followed. One by one the others finished, burped and
left, until only Dindi and her mother remained. The kitchen was very
hollow and empty without three dozen bodies filling it with life. The
smell of farmers’ sweat lingered, mixed with spicy food aromas and smoke
from the burning dung.
Dindi sniffled.
“Lady
of Mercy,” said Mama under her breath. Muttering to her- self, she went
to the oven, where she placed a dollop of bean mash from a storage pot
onto a piece of flat bread. She laid cheese on top, and folded over the
three corners of the bread. She placed it on the pottery bread shovel
and pushed it into the oven, which was kept stoked all day. When she
decided that the pisha was crisped to her satisfaction, she pressed it into Dindi’s hands. “Eat, eat.”
Dindi pushed it away. She hid her blue face against her drawn up knees.
“You
behave a like a child,” Mama said. She lifted Dindi’s chin. “But you’re
twice seven years, now, sweetling, and past your moon-blood. If you lay
with a man, he could make you a mother.”
“I know I’m a burden to everyone around me. I try to do what’s right, but everything I weave gets tangled.”
“There
is still a chance you will be chosen.” “Great Aunt Sullana obviously
doesn’t think so.” “What does she know?” “Maybe something I don’t,” said
Dindi. She lifted her head just enough to peer at her mother through tear dewed eyelashes. “You weren’t chosen.”
Mama stilled. “No. I wasn’t.”
“But
you could have been the best dancer of your generation. Everyone
thought so. Then, one day, instead of choosing you to dance magic, they
told you could never dance, ever.”
“It...wasn’t
as bad as all that,” Mama said. “By then, I had your father. Soon I was
trying hard to have a child. Sometimes you have to let a dream die.”
“I just want to dance.”
“Oh, Dindi.” Mama put down the pisha. “If you won’t eat, at least let me clean you up.”
She
went to the shelves in the corner. There she fiddled with various jars,
until she returned with noxious, sharp smelling goo on a rabbit skin
cloth.
“Come
here, my little blueberry face,” she said, taking Dindi by the chin.
Mama wiped the ick on Dindi’s cheeks and scrubbed. Hard.
“Ow!”
“Stop wiggling.”
“Are you washing me or flaying me?”
“If you prefer, we can just rub blue soap over the rest of…
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Author's Note
For some reason, my mother really likes this scene.
About the Artist
Julia, today's
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Here's what she says:
TO BE CONTINUED
The pencil portraits that I make are not sketches but very detailed portraits made in 20-30 hours.
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Do you like my work? Would you like to have a pencil portrait of yourself or of your loved ones? Just fill in the form bellow and I’ll contact you as soon as possible (1 working day max) and talk about it.
Here is how it works:
- You send me a photo – Upload your photo in the form below or send it by email at anca@jullia.eu. Tell me the type and size you prefer. It can be a realistic drawing, or a fantasy one (maybe you being a princess? or looking like a gangster in 1920? or maybe in the 19th century with a Victorian look?)
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