Friday, July 22, 2011
Cooking, eating, lazing
Company of women, waiting for steam to rise the second time from the cous cous. Talking, sort of dancing in the kitchen. Now throw in the turnips: red and golden. Later, zucchini goes into the pot. The daughter teases the mother, "you need a boyfriend," and the widowed mother retorts, "no. no. I married one time. one time." She shows me a photograph of him, and of their wedding day. When she asks I say, "divorced." They say as one, "Oh no. In our family, marry one time. No divorce." Then they laugh. Cous cous and vegetables are arranged on a lovely red tray with the plump saffron chicken in the center.
My fingers greasy, flecked with cous cous, no, I really can't eat one more carrot. But we talk more, and I eat more. Until finally we stagger out to the pool so the daughter can smoke. The children swim again, and the sky is quite bluer than usual. Not sure how I manage to repeatedly make such wonderful friends.
Home again with leftovers, striking embroidered tunic, new words in arabic, and sunburnt nose. Days like this, it's easy to feel that life will work out just fine.