Free The Vine Basket by Josanne La Valley Page B

“There is no excuse for his behavior toward you, my beautiful Mehrigul.”

Thirteen
    M OVE FASTER , L ALI . I know it’s early, but you’re the only help I have.
Kwai dian.
Quickly,” Mehrigul said in Mandarin, trying to sound like a teacher so her sleepy sister would liven up and be useful. The donkey cart was only half loaded and it was already time to go. There’d be no good spots left at market if they didn’t leave soon. Mehrigul shooed Lali ahead of her into the house, filled their bags with more squash, and returned to the cart.
    It had been long past the setting of the sun when Mehrigul decided she couldn’t bake another squash. She’d worked every minute since Ata left and still a few squash would have to be sold unbaked. Ana would be disappointed, but Mehrigul had insisted she not help. It was enough that she was going to market.
    Mehrigul went now to wake her. It was unusual for Ana to sleep so late, but the teas the doctor had provided did seem to bring her rest and comfort.
    â€œTime to get up, Ana,” she said, shaking her arm. “We need to leave.”
    The peace of Ana’s dreaming vanished as she sat upright. “Yes, I’ll go . . . I know I must. Why didn’t you call me earlier? I should be helping,” she said, and now she was standing, pulling her skirt from the clothesline above the sleeping platform.
    â€œWear your red sweater today,” Mehrigul said. “For happiness.”
    Ana’s hands folded in front of her, that horrible gesture of resignation as she began to withdraw into her cocoon.
    Mehrigul took Ana’s hands in hers, placed them at her sides. “I’ll bring your sweater,” she said, heading toward the wooden chest where it was stored. “After you eat, I’ll braid your hair.”
    Ana’s eyes rose to meet hers, and for the first time in many weeks Mehrigul thought her mother had actually seen her.
    Â 
    So little was going right this morning. How many times had Mehrigul watched Memet and Ata harness their donkey? The animal would just stand there, accepting the collar, the harnesses, the belly straps. Not for Mehrigul. He kept striking out with his front hoof, nipping at her with his foul-smelling teeth, as if to tell her she was doing it wrong. “Hold still!” she shouted, and he brayed so loudly she thought every donkey within three kilometers would come to his rescue. She tried gentler urgings and finally got everything on him that was needed. She was glad this had happened out of Chong Ata’s sight. He would have insisted it was his job, and it was not wise for him to do so strenuous a task.
    Ana and Lali were by the cart when Mehrigul led the donkey from the shed. They helped shove the shafts of the cart through the loops of the belly band and into the loops in the collar. Ana held the donkey while Mehrigul ran back to Chong Ata’s room, where he was already busy sorting and soaking willow branches for his day’s work.
    â€œWe’ll return as soon as possible . . . when all the squash is sold,” she said. He nodded, kept on working. Perhaps only Mehrigul worried about his being left alone. “Take time for tea, Chong Ata.”
    â€œYes, yes,” he said. “Go on. Get started before the sun climbs any higher.” He reached out, picked up a branch that had fallen from the pile, and flicked it with a dismissive gesture, as if to tell her it was all right to go.
    There was still a bite in the air as they made their way along the narrow, poplar-lined roadway. The old donkey went at his own pace and Mehrigul saw little reason to interfere since he ignored all the commands she called to him and seemed to hardly notice when she used the whip. They passed sheep grazing at roadside, a woman carrying buckets of water hanging from a pole slung over her back.
    But it was far from quiet. Lali’s chatter was loud enough to drown out the