Isis watched Rebecca as she kneaded the hard dough, her bony knuckles white with squeezing. For the few days that Isis had been in the Abadi’s house, Rebecca had not said a single word to her. The older woman treated her son’s guest with cold indifference, and had taken to treating him badly as well because of her. Isis, already feeling like an imposter in the Israeli clothing, said nothing around Rebecca, refusing to feed her hostess’ disapproval any more than she had already, by simply being Egyptian. Now, as she watched perspiration break out on Rebecca’s forehead, Isis spoke to Nathan’s mother for the first time.
“Will you teach me how?” She asked quietly.
Rebecca looked up in surprise. She considered for a moment, thinking of her mother and of her early days, learning to bake for her father and her brothers. She remembered how young and strong they had all been, but what bitter tongues and quarrelsome words they had had. Almost all of her brothers had died in Pharaoh’s trenches beneath the Egyptians’ whips and the blazing sun. And now this Egyptian girl stood before her, with quiet calm, asking to be taught to bake bread. Rebecca shuddered inwardly. She went back to kneading without a word. But the next day when she came home from her labor at the docks on the Nile, Isis was kneading the dough, and a finished loaf was already sitting on the table.
No comments:
Post a Comment