Feast or Famine

Every day a person lives there are changes. Some come too slowly to notice before they set upon you, some come sharp and quick with a burst of pain.

A morning of prayers together had followed the required rituals. Tossing away a few lingering items of my childhood. Toys of mine. Pieces of clothing I had long outgrown. Even an old wooden teething ring that my grandfather must have carved. Otherwise, my mother would not have saved such a worthless trinket.

Now she cast it away as a sign of my growth. Part of the purification and cleansing of our shared pair of rooms.

In other times, in another place, I might have been sent to another town. I might have gone to live in another home, to take a place with other family members, but without even a father to call by name, I stayed. For now that much remained unchanged.

“By the Law, we are blessed. By the Law, we are saved. By the Law, we serve.” intoned my mother over our first meal together as adults. The table was laid out with a pair of bowls of fresh greens, four boiled eggs, and tiny bits of bread, cheese, and fruit. A meager almsgiving from a person I could never offer gratitude. Any more, even a single bit of meat, and it would have been thrown out.

I knew one of Yamma’s granddaughters had left it at our door, without even a knock. A final gift. An unwelcome truth made clear. A part of my life was over.

I would never set foot in her kitchen again by my own choice, let alone be allowed to help prepare food for another. But she could still be kind.

Mother clapped her hands in slight impatience at me, expecting me to close the prayer.

“Heed to the Law, Keep to the Law, Live to the Law” I choked out the words, knowing how often I’d be saying them, that this was merely the first of many repetitions.

I passed the portion of food on my side across the table, as my mother did likewise to me.

Even our cups of water.

Others before self. Self after others.

I took a deep breath before beginning to eat. The entire meal might pass with only the clink of forks to break the silence. It’d happened before when my mother had not felt like speaking to me.

I was not so graced this time.

Barely three bites passed my mother’s lips before she decided to ask me a question.

“Do you know why we keep the Law?”

“Because we made the Promise.” I answered. Our people. Our tribe. Our family.

“You have made it now,” she said, “in the Temple, as an adult, no more a child. You will keep it, as I did, as your ancestors before you. You will fulfill your obligations. You will serve under the Law.”

“Yes, mother, I know, I intend to do so.”

Even though my heart pounded at the thought of those obligations.

“So what will you be doing?”

“A forty-wagon caravan is supposed to be arriving this afternoon. Out of the southern provinces, heading north. The outriders posted a report. Most of them are new to the city.”

A click of her tongue signaled irritation. She wanted a different answer. I had none to give her.

“You’ll be with those boys at the fountain again.”

I nodded in agreement, I could hardly dispute the truth of my plans.

“I don’t like those boys. I’ve never liked you spending time with them. I like it even less now.” she said before taking a few more bites.

“I know mother, but you never forbade me,” I replied, without mentioning that she no longer could do so. If she wanted, if I pushed her with a defiant assertion of independence, she could still find a way to make me regret it. I had no escape. Not yet.

I took a long drink of water to keep myself from saying more.

Her fork stabbed a piece of cheese hard enough to make her bowl ring. She chewed it deliberately herself.

“And what will you do together? How will you serve now?”

“I will do the same as before, mother, lead them to innkeepers of good repute, show them the marketplaces for anything they have to sell, find them what they wish to buy.”

“You could do better, you could find a place in one of those inn’s now,” she said, “you don’t have to beg strangers for kindness at the gates. You’re better than that. You have choices.”

“Not when the Mustering is a month away, I will be called, I will serve. No one would be fool enough to think otherwise.”

“You don’t think your mother is a fool, do you?”

I shook my head, she knew better.

“Mother, I know you worry, I know you want more for me, but you’ve never stopped me, you’ve never forced my path.”

“I should have. I listened to your grandmother, let you have your illusions. Let you pretend you could live that life. How much longer do you think you hide the truth from them? What if they find out you’ve been lying to them?” she snapped.

If I were still a child, perhaps I would have crushed the cup of water in my hand. Yesterday, I could have thrown it, striking the wall, or even striking her. I couldn’t today. I was no longer a child. I knew what was right, and I had sworn vows.

Acting in violence would be a wrong deed. The thoughts were ill enough to chill me worse than a fever.

I turned back to my meal. Only when I finished eating, did I let myself speak again.

“I have said no untrue words to them. Excuse me, I have to go.” I said. I might be rude to leave so abruptly, but with all my food eaten I had done no wrong.

That didn’t stop the tears.