The Vine Basket by Josanne La Valley Read Free Book Online Page A

bear the pity of family and friends when she had no gifts to bring to them on birthdays or at weddings or funerals. She had no more pieces of the precious cotton she had brought with her from her village to give away when she made visits, and was too ashamed to go empty-handed. She no longer went gifting and wanted no one to bring a gift to her, for she could not spare the few nuts, or sugar cubes, or small loaves of naan she was expected to give in return. Ana no longer belonged to the world she’d once known and had withdrawn into a bleak and colorless existence. Mehrigul wondered if she even remembered why she didn’t want to go to market.
    Ana had become even more weary of life since Memet had gone. Hadn’t they all lost a part of themselves when he left? But instead of helping with the extra work, Ana now had her headaches and spent more and more time huddled in the dark corner of her platform.
    Mehrigul took a good look at Ana standing there—her eyes dull, her body drooped as if she wanted to descend into the earth. Having the best baked squash at the market would never be reason enough for Ana to go.
    She pressed her mother’s arm. “Help Ata with the cart. I’m changing into my school skirt,” Mehrigul said, and headed for the house. She knew that she herself would never, ever give in to the world Ana had chosen. She’d go to market today and every Wednesday in her skirt, even if it was worn to a rag by the time she got to return to school. Her scarf would be tied in back. Today she’d sell Ana’s squash with pride.
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    The market was busy. Even before noon, leftover skins from sold squash slices piled high on the cart and spilled over the side to the ground. It pleased Mehrigul to see how customers young and old scraped their teeth along the rind to get the very last taste, threw the rind away, and asked for more. It was Ata who cut the squash. The money collected went into his pocket.
    In midafternoon, after the business of the day had peaked, a group of men came to see Ata. They moved a distance from the cart so Mehrigul could not hear what was said, but she could guess. They were probably planning how to get more money to drink and gamble away, or maybe discussing how much money their daughters might be worth if they could send them to work in factories.
    One by one, she saw the men glance in the direction of the animal mart, where crowds still lingered among the unsold sheep. They must have spotted a spy, for as quickly as they had come together, they dispersed, blending into the milling crowds.
    Her father told her nothing when he returned. Nor did Mehrigul ask. He lifted a squash from the pile, one of the biggest, and cut it into twelve wedges. He ate a piece. “Your ana cooks the best squash,” he said, wiping his beard and mustache clean with the back of his hand. “Use the knife to cut up more, if you need to.” He picked up his knife and buried it among the uncut squash that lay on the cart. “I’ll tell people we have some left and that they’d better come over soon, or it’ll be gone.”
    â€œDo you have to go now, Ata?” Mehrigul asked, making her voice as calm as possible. Whether he was off to gamble the money in his pocket or to meet with the men again, no good would come of it.
    His answer was to walk away. “Remember to buy mutton for Ana,” Mehrigul called, hoping some reminder of home would keep him from trouble. Surely he knew the risk.
    Her father flipped the back of his hand at her and hurried on.
    When she could unclench her teeth, she grabbed a slice of squash and ate it. Wiped her mouth with her hand, wondering why she cared if he got caught.
    It surprised her when several women came by for squash. Had Ata been true to his word? The women asked about Ana, and Mehrigul told only how busy she was—with Lali and all.
    Another woman appeared. Mehrigul had noticed her lingering about the