The Vine Basket by Josanne La Valley

Author:Josanne La Valley
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

LALI NESTLED SO TRUSTINGLY against her gave Mehrigul reason to begin a new day. Daylight strained into the room through dust-gray windows. How quickly the rain had given way to winds from the desert, coating the windows once again with fine grains of sand.

No one stirred. Mehrigul tucked the blanket around Lali and slid quietly from the platform. She put on pants, shirt, vest—the same dirty, gritty clothes she’d crawled out of the night before—and went about building a fire in their cookstove, grateful that there’d been a few twigs left in reserve. One of her chores today would be to collect more kindling. Nothing was left of the pile that once stood beside the house.

She walked outside to fill the kettle, then put it on to boil. She found one last piece of naan in the tin. That would be for Lali. If Mehrigul built a fire in the earth oven, maybe Ana would rally enough to bake more.

Mehrigul woke Lali with a finger to her lips. When Lali’s eyes popped open, she understood and played the game of being extra quiet. She tiptoed. Hugged her favorite red and green sweater with a noiseless squeal. Her face fell when she knelt to drink tea and saw the pitiful chunk of dried naan beside it. Still, she dunked and chewed as quietly as a mouse.

Once outside, Lali pulled Mehrigul faster and faster toward the roadway. “Can I talk now?” she asked.

Mehrigul nodded.

“Tai hao la,” Lali said. “That’s great.” She grabbed Mehrigul’s hands and tried to turn her round. “Do you know what I want to be?”

“Bu zhi dao, gao su wo. No, tell me,” Mehrigul said.

“A dancer. Someone who sings and dances and is famous on television.”

“How do you know about that?” Mehrigul caught Lali, tugged her close.

“My friend tells me all about it,” Lali said, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Uyghur girls can sing and dance in hotels and make lots of money. I’d live in a big city with my friend.” She broke away. Twirling. Dancing with lively steps.

“You’re very good, Lali,” Mehrigul called. “I love to watch you. Come, give me a hug before you leave for school.”

Mehrigul’s arms engulfed Lali when her sister danced to her. She held Lali close until her body stilled. “You can be very popular right here, singing and dancing at weddings. You must practice and learn all the Uyghur songs.” She lifted Lali’s face, brushing aside the wispy bangs that peeked out from her headscarf.

“But today,” Mehrigul said in Mandarin, “you will pay close attention to your studies. Get the highest marks. And be better than anyone else at speaking Mandarin. For I believe you, Lali, will make a very good teacher.” She held Lali at arm’s length, made sure she was listening. “That is what I want you to be.”

Lali squeezed her cheeks. “Teachers are old and fussy . . . and bossy. I don’t want to be one.” She flipped her head from side to side.

“You have lots of time to think about it.

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