Cream Yaherra
Midge
Isai delighted in helping Father each day when business at the bazaar was at its peak. The girl never complained when asked to polish brass lamps or to set displays of crystal to catch the sun. Each item imported from distant lands was a rare and glorious treasure that readily fed her imagination and allowed her to daydream of faraway lands and people with fair faces that did not hide their features to ward off the harsh glare of sunlight and bite of blowing sand.
It was the spun glass vases in particular that touched the girl's heart. These ranged in size from a turquoise bowl barely large enough to hold an olive to a fantastic red and green swirled vase that could easily hide a small child. Isai had named each after a favorite character from legend and she liked to think they brought luck and prosperity by their presence.
As she grew, Isai learned the value of listening to customers and inquiring about their stories. Here were sources of new tales of adventure and daring deeds almost better than the grandmother who knew all seven legends of the genii by heart. Sometimes they would complement her to her father. Sometimes they would even add a few coins to the bargain, earning her a beaming smile of approval.
The sealed scroll came unexpectedly on an evening after the oil lamps had been lit. The rider's horse was lathered with sweat, the rider trembling with exhaustion. Father's hand shook as he broke the violet wax. A knowing look passed between Mother and Father though she would not weep until he had gone.
Father took Isai aside, placing a hand on her shoulder and looking her in the eye like a man. "I am going away, hon. The journey will take many months and the road holds many dangers. I am leaving the shop to your care in my absence. I know you will keep it as profitable as I leave it."
Isai was stunned. Father had two brothers and while neither was a man of such esteemed reputation, both were men fully grown, certainly more respected than a girl not yet sixteen. She hardly knew what words she uttered as she promised to make her father proud.
It did not occur to her then that she may never see Father again.
She strolled into the shop, whistling a merry tune as she ran the usual setup on her first day as overseer. All was properly placed and ready for the rush of loyal customers who soon made their appearance.
Isai had watched from afar as many of her favorite items passed into the hands of new owners buts he had never had to handle a transaction before.
As luck would have it, the first man to approach the counter was intent on purchasing the orange vase Isai thought of as Ali Akhran. It was a fine-looking pitcher with the occasional swirl of white on its surface and it was dear to the girl, having sat on Father's shelf for nearly three years without a buyer. The customer plunked down the requested price short a few coins. There was a challenge in his eyes, one that had Isai gritting her teeth.
She could not refuse such a reasonable offer but there was no warmth in her voice as she concluded the sale. She hesitated in handing over the vase wrapped in creamy paper, clutching the parcel as if he would snatch it back. The buyer nearly had to pry it from her fingers.
Each sale of the day was met with a cold stare and words spat in a resentful tone. One woman in perfumed silks was so insulted by her sullen behavior that she changed her mind midway through the haggle and left the ivory combs sitting where she'd set them. Isai cradled them gently as she replaced them on their display shelf.
Her daily profit was only half as much as Father would typically bring in. Mother said nothing when she went to her room, taking only a few grapes and a slice of bread for her evening meal.
The slice of breads he carried in her hand was claimed by the swipe of claws.
"The devil take you, Ayaan! I should have drowned you when I had the chance."
The tabby hissed and arched her back, devouring her prize in rapid gulps then licking the crumbs in an indulgent way. She had tried a hundred ways to dump the cat so that she could not find her way back, even going so far as to drop her down the slanted shaft of a pyramid half a day's journey from the village. Somehow she always found her way back.
It had been her stupid girl's heart that fed the starving kitten always begging in the streets. All she ever did was steal her food, cause her pain, and wake her in the middle of the night with her love-struck songs. She hated to think how many kittens she must have mothered. At least these seemed too afraid of their ill-tempered parent to come near their place of birth once weaned.
Days melted together and still there was no word from Father. Isai gritted her teeth with every sale, charming smiles giving way to sullen glares the moment a price was agreed upon. Those who insisted on haggling were treated to especially harsh parting words. Such treasures were already sold much too cheaply at the prices Father had set.
Mother never complained though her visiting friends had plenty to say about the way she'd raised her daughter. Isai was shunned when she walked the village main and children took to calling her Isai the Greedy behind her back. Even those friends who had once delighted in sharing sweet meats and candied dates at the local vendors would not meet her eye, for many had heard parents lamenting of the poor treatment they'd received at her hands.
Isai learned firsthand what it was to go through hardships as all but the most loyal of her father's customers abandoned the shop entirely. Meals shrank, the contents of the oil barrel shrank to an alarming low, and eventually she was forced to sell the mule that had long carried baskets to the market. These went on her own shoulders when new wares were shipped to be displayed.
She could not overcome the resentment that saw every sale as a personal insult. She could not cease to see the treasures entrusted to her father as anything but hers.
The only wish in her heart greater than a sultan's stash of gold was Father's return.
Pureflower
