10. Mediocrity
Wasima cleared her throat, acutely aware of her mother and her grandmother watching her. "Um," she said, "Well. I'm a very good cook and… um, Mother says my hot sweet green curry is better than hers. And. Um. I'm quite good at spinning and embroidering. And I'm good around the forge and…" she decided not to mention that she often out-performs her sister despite the two year age difference, "... and I'm quite good at telling the weather. Um." She folded her hands behind her back.
Her grandmother flashed a somewhat not-very-nice grin at her. "Oh, you're a very good cook, are you?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Dahsa Hadiyya? Is that true?"
Wasima's mother flinched slightly. "She's very good for her age and her hot sweet green curry is very good," she said, shoulders hunched despite how she towered over her own mother.
The old woman nodded, as if considering something for the first time. "Then you can make lunch, Wasima Sabr," she said. "Hurry up. I'm hungry."
It didn't go well for Wasima. She was so nervous and feeling the pressure that her hands were shaking. Something simple. Yes. Something fast and easy. She occupied herself with searching through her grandmother's clusters of spices while she tried to rack her mind for something to make. Green papaya salad with rice. It'd have to do. It was enough to keep her hands busy as she shredded cucumber and pounded on green papaya, chilli and palm sugar in the mortar. And then she forgot to heat up the pan for her tenderised green beans, which meant that it was too cold when she put them in and they were soggy and it… it just wasn't up to her normal standards at all! Lime! Where was the lime? She added extra chilli - which was a low move, trying to cover up that she didn't have the elements of the dish in balance at all - and set the rice to boil. She didn't burn it, but the day was going so badly that she wouldn't have been surprised if she had managed.
Hands behind her back, she served her elders and betters with the and hoped that she was judging herself too harshly. Maybe things wouldn't go as badly as she feared
Her grandmother gave her opinion.
"Profoundly average," she said, poking the side-dish of beans with a disapproving eye.
Wasima was crushed. She wasn't average! She was exceptional! Everyone said so!
She ate in a funk, barely listening to her mother and grandmother gossip about village things, and dutifully and obediently went to begin cleaning up the pans without any protest.
And all too soon it was time for her mother to go. She had been given a collection of spirit-wards and good-luck charms by her grandmother and had been given a sage prediction of the weather for the next month and now she was leaving. Leaving Wasima with her grandmother, who may have been respected and honoured and elder and all those things, but was sort of mean. Wasima didn't think she'd be getting many hugs from the old woman.
"Now, Wasima," her mother said to her, wrapping her up in her warm, oversized embrace, "be good, do you understand? Don't let your grandmother catch you misbehaving."
"I don't misbehave, Mother," Wasima protested. "Much."
Her mother gave her a look.
"Well, I won't be getting in any fights up here," Wasima said.
"No, you won't," her mother said, brushing her hair back as she bent down. "Me or your father'll come to see you when we can, and your grandmother comes down to check on us every month or so, so you should be able to come then. And," she pressed something into her hand, "if my mother takes you over to Tower Amidst Still Water, can you give this to your aunt?"
"Which one?" Wasima asked, taking the fine silver necklace.
"Bahit Buhayra."
"She's not my aunt, though."
"Yes, yes, I know she's my second cousin," her mother said slightly tetchily. "It's for her newborn. I haven't had the chance to give it to her. If you give it to her, it'll at least remind her that I haven't forgotten her." There was a look of sadness in her mother's eyes. "Can you promise me that?" she asked Wasima.
Impulsively, she gave her mother a hug. "I'll try," she whispered into her chest. "I… I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too, darling," her mother whispered back. "Hopefully my mother will help you calm down a bit and keep a better grip on your temper and we won't have to do that again." She kissed Wasima's forehead. "I had a bad temper when I was younger too. You'll grow out of it, I'm sure. But you need to be a good girl - better than me. I was the youngest. You have to be a good example for Imani and Mahzuz Tur. Especially when… well, never mind. Well. Your sister needs help because she has to work hard learning the trade and doesn't have time to look after the others as well."
Wasima nodded mutely.
Her mother flicked her nose. "And he was a spoilt brat," she whispered. "I remember his mother and I think she needed a good dunking in a river too."
The girl giggled.
It was in the evening when it really started to come crashing down. There was just the slightest remnants of light on the Western horizon and Wasima had been careful to hang the netting around her bed roll to keep the mosquitos away and she'd said her prayers and…
… and everything was wrong. It was too quiet up here away from the river and the noises of the village. All through the day she'd been listening unconsciously for the sound of the forge and had twitched when she hadn't heard it. Her grandmother's cooking in the evening was… well, it was quite like her mother's, but it wasn't the same. She didn't have her younger siblings annoying her or her elder sister getting on her nerves and while she sometimes wanted them to just go away, right now she could do with a little bit of annoyance. Just a little bit. Anything other than the silence of the house on the ridgeline.
Everything was wrong and she wanted her parents and her siblings and she… she just wanted to be home.
Faintly, quietly, Wasima began to cry, hugging her knees. She tried to muffle the sound. Distress wasn't proper behaviour. But she was alone and she missed her family and even if her grandmother was her family she wasn't her family-family and…
"Alright, alright," her grandmother grumbled as she stomped in through the door, two cats flanking her. She smelt of a strange hot smoke and she wore a leather apron not unlike what Mother wore in the forge. She brushed away the net, and looked down at Wasima, her hands on her hip. "What's the matter, Wasima Sabr?"
Wasima bit her lip. "Nothing is the problem, Honoured Grand-" she began.
"Nonsense. Don't lie to me, Wasima Sabr."
"I… I just miss home," Wasima said quietly.
Her grandmother sighed. "Of course you do. If I tell you a story, will it help you sleep? I have things I need to get done before I can sleep and I can't do them if you're distracting me or the cats."
Wasima nodded. "It might help," she said.
"Good. Well, what to tell?"
What story does her grandmother tell her?
[ ] The Tale of the Man-Eating Burning Boar (On Elementals)
[ ] The Tale of the Tiger With Backwards Knees (On the Fae)
[ ] The Tale of the Weeping Woman (On Ghosts without Honour or Kin)
[ ] The Tale of the Thing in The Jungle (On the Pale Mistress and her Servants)
[ ] The Tale of the Lady in Green (On Strange Happenings and Odd Lights in The Sky)
