I am just a stranger

[Aremu Ediwo]

Early Afternoon, 18 Intas, 2720
The Ibutatu Estate, Isla Dzum

Aremu grunted.

Niccolette did not look in the least apologetic, her fingers pressing rather viciously into his shoulder joint. “You are a striping idiot,” the Bastian told him.

“I know,” Aremu said, quietly.

The Bastian snapped a fierce glare at him, and began to cast. It wasn’t painful, so Aremu supposed it diagnostic. He stared at the opposite wall, waiting silently. In his head, he turned over Aurelie’s letter, trying to think what to say. A striping idiot indeed, Aremu thought.

“Several cracked bones,” Niccolette snapped. “Inflammation,” her voice trailed off, her fingers probing once more.

Aremu stifled a cry; he closed his eyes, holding as still as he could bear.

Niccolette let go of his shoulder. She was still wearing her travel clothes; she smelled, just a little, although Aremu didn’t think he should mention it.

“I suppose you did not even bother to call a doctor?” Niccolette asked coldly.

“I did,” Aremu said.

Niccolette glared at him. “Some imbala, I am sure!”

“Who else would come?” Aremu asked, quietly.

Niccolette snorted, but he knew the anger on her fave wasn’t for him. She went to the door, shouting for Ahura. “Heat,” she told Aremu, sharply, turning back. “And a limited range of motion. You are gods blessed, this time, that it is not worse and that it is healing well.”

No, Aremu thought, no - but he nodded.

Niccolette went off with Ahura, speaking rapid Mugrobi.

Aremu sat, shirtless still, on the chair, and waited. He looked down at the hand and wrist in his lap, silent.

Niccolette came back not long later, carrying a dripping wet cloth, steaming slightly. She pressed it to Aremu’s shoulder; he grunted again. “Ahura tells me you were trying to lock up the processing plant yourself in a storm.” Niccolette’s voice was cool.

”There wasn’t anyone else,” Aremu said, “and I was the one who left it unsecured.”

“You are an idiot,” Niccolette said, quietly. She adjusted the cloth, carefully, and left it in place. “And if I lose you too? Have you thought of that? Do you think Uzoji would have given a fuck about these machines, weighed against your life?”

Aremu shifted, silent. There were many things he could have said; he chose to say none of them. He did not think Niccolette was ready to listen.

Niccolette sighed. “Stay with this on,” she told him, “for half an hour. Then you can go about your day.”

“Can I use my hand?” Aremu asked.

“Small motions,” Niccolette snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. “No reaching up or behind for at least the month.”

“Writing?” Aremu asked.

Niccolette shrugged. ”Fine. Anything which does not move the shoulder,” she pressed his hand with hers, and she went.

Ahura brought him a glass of juice; when he asked, she brought him a piece of paper too. Water dripped steadily down his chest and back, and, slowly, Aremu began to write.

Dear Aurelie,

I apologize for my thoughtlessness, and for causing you worry. I am pleased to tell you that my shoulder is much improved and will in further time be fine, and that I am told writing will not do it any further harm.

Aremu paused, thinking. The doctor had prescribed an opium tincture; Ahura had given it to him, faithfully, for the better part of a week. He remembered almost none of it, the letter included, except the sharp tang of vomit in his mouth afterwards, and an odd memory not of flying but crashing.

Apadha had told him he was very insistent, that she had let him dictate the letter so he would rest, that she had sent it so he would stop asking. Aremu grimaced. It seemed to him far worse to tell Aurelie this, to make her worry for no reason. He knew what he had written from Apadha at least, or close enough.

I hope my letter did not distress you unduly. The doctor had prescribed me some medicine which did not agree with me very well. I am not taking it anymore, and feeling much better overall.

I have not done much baking. I was, I fear, over-optimistic in my prognosis in my last letter. You need not worry that I have strained myself.

We did make the tea cakes. Ahura did the mixing for me, and the kneading which was called for. We have an ice chest which we sometimes can use; there is no ice storage on Isla Dzum, but it comes sometimes to Laus Oma. Since we anyway had some, we used this for the cooling of the dough. Ahura added turmeric, pepper, and cardamom; I will add a card with the amounts if you wish to try this way of making them. They were very good.

When next we have ice, I shall make the shortbread, likely with macadamia. I hope that my shoulder will be fully recovered by then, so that I can work with this type of buttery dough myself. Ahura reported that it was more difficult, but I think she liked the challenge. She has come to enjoy the baking projects, both the work and the result.

I did not think my description of snow to Efere would frighten him. I told him of the world blanketed in white, that it was cold to the touch and damp when touched, and how the flakes fall from swirling gray clouds in the sky. I did not tell him of hypothermia or these other misfortunes which can befall a man in the snow; I hope you do not think me so foolish as that.

It sounds very cold in the kitchens. It is still warm here; it is always warm here, for which I am very grateful. There are some storms, but it has not been too bad a season so far. They say more will come, but I do not think we will see too much rain until the flood season starts.

You wished to know of Mugrobi holidays. We have many that I do not think Anaxi celebrate. These are mostly festivals, like Dzum’ulusa which I wrote of to you. We have another, Ku Ossa, which is a celebration of love.

I think the most similar to Clock’s Eve is Maltalaan, which is celebrated on Bethas 1. It is a celebration of Hulali. In thanks for his generosity, we throw offerings into the ocean: food, spices and precious stones. We also give gifts to one another.

In this spirit I have enclosed a small gift for you. I hope it will not cause you any trouble to have it. It is a miniature painting of a mangrove tree wrapped in a flowering dzutaw vine; it is enclosed in a locket. I thought you would like to see it.

I am grateful to call you my friend, Aurelie.

Best regards,
Aremu

Aremu reached up, slowly, taking the warm damp cloth from his skin. He set it off to the side, looking down at the letter. After a moment, swallowing hard, he put the letter to dry.

There was no need, he thought, to mention Niccolette, or to mention the year anniversary of Uzoji’s death. It would only trouble her, and he had done already enough of that.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Intas 29, 2720 | Brunnhold

Dear Aremu,

You don't have to apologize. I am happy your shoulder is doing better. I cannot help worrying, but you do not have to feel sorry for it. It is just my nature, I think.

I am also happy to hear that you were able to make the tea cakes in the end. I will try not to send so many recipes that require chilling, now that I know. I am sorry I did not consider it enough before. Thank you (and Ahura) for the amounts. I have not yet had the chance to try, as I do not think anyone but me will want them, but I look forward to it. I hope to before my next letter. I think the friend I told you about would have tried them, but it is hard as we do not see each other very often. It is hard to bake for just myself.

I am sorry if my last letter sounded too scolding. I do not think you would have told Efere anything you thought would frighten him. I was trying to make a joke. I am not any better at it in letters than I am in person, it seems. I suppose it does sound quite frightening if you are not used to it, even put that way. Floods sound much more frightening to me, but I am not used to those much.

The kitchens are normally quite warm, once the ovens are lit. It is just in the early morning when we have not been to them yet, they can be quite cold. They are nice in the winter, and even now in the spring. It is still chilly here, if less than it was.

The gift had been unexpected and very nearly overwhelming. She was grateful, then, that she had been given her letter to read in private. It had been revealed to her before she had even begun, falling into her hand as she opened the envelope. A little bit of a brightly-colored cloth that had sat strangely heavy in her hand until she unwrapped it to find the locket inside. Aurelie had cradled it in her palm, before carefully opening it to look at the small painting inside. She recognized the tree from the drawing she had seen in the book; that, then, must be the flower.

This was, then, the second gift she had received since coming to Brunnhold. Not the same, and Aurelie found herself better able to keep from crying at the feeling of it. Her eyes prickled uncomfortably, but she had smiled and put it into her pocket after a moment more of looking at it. Later, when she was back in her room, she would slide it onto the chain with the other. Shiny and new where that one was worn and tarnished.

For a while Aurelie struggled with the sentiment, and how much of it to include in her letter. In the end she chose to say very little; difficult enough to express herself in person. Writing had yet to prove any easier a method of communication, although it did provide her with less opportunity to blurt out something foolish. It would likely seem silly anyway, to be so overcome by something like this. Aurelie didn't know, not really.

Thank you. Both for the gift, which is no trouble at all and I am very grateful to have, and for telling me a little about the holidays. I am glad my letter will possibly arrive in time. I have nothing to send, beyond this next recipe, but I may in my next. The spirit, I hope, will still be good. Happy Maltalaan (or whatever is said, I am sorry if this is not it).

Speaking of the recipe, the one I have included is a kind of not-quite-cookie from Bastia. It is baked twice, and is quite dry. This is so that it will hold when being dipped in tea or coffee. I have included a very plain version of the recipe, as I suspect it will be altered. You can add whatever you would like by way of nuts, dried fruit, and so on. For the amounts I have have specified here, you just want to make sure that you are using 1 1/2 cups or less of these added things. I have also included a very poor drawing of how to shape and cut the dough. I could not describe it very well. I hope the two things together are enough.

I am not sure there is much to be grateful for in my friendship, but I am selfishly glad all the same.

Your Friend,
Aurelie

If that wasn't quite the proper way to end a letter, Aurelie hoped Aremu wouldn't mind. It was true, and she hoped carried some of her heart in it at least.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Late Afternoon, 3 Bethas, 2720
The Ibutatu Estate, Isla Dzum

Dear Aurelie,

If your nature is to worry, I think mine is to feel sorry. Perhaps in this way we can propose a trade: I will not ask you not to worry, if you do not ask me to keep from feeling sorry for it. I think friends can make such bargains between them; otherwise, I am not sure how they would survive.

My shoulder is now almost entirely healed, apart from a little stiffness and soreness on occasion. I am even allowed to swim once more, although I must be careful with my motions, and careful not to push myself too hard. Writing remains permitted, and although Ahura watches me with great care, I am allowed in the kitchen again also.

I hope to hear your thoughts on the addition of spices to the tea cakes. You wrote in an earlier letter that the nice thing about cooking is that you can change it to suit the one eating, and that in the changing you make it your own. This is true, but I would add that something of the original – much, perhaps – still remains. This is all to say that I think of the recipes which we make here as your recipes, even if it is mine or Ahura’s hands which shapes them, and even if we make some changes here or there. In this way, it is almost like you have been baking for us.

Perhaps this is poor comfort. I will add comforting to the list of things, which also includes the making and recognizing of jokes, which I have little skill with.

Thank you for the maltalaan well wishes, which did arrive in time. Happy Maltalaan is the right thing to say. In Mugrobi, we also say tsageq’es, which is like saying his mercy in Estuan. We celebrated two days ago. I told you that the house is on a cliff, but this is not where I celebrated. I went instead to Ahura and Ulofo’s home; they live not too far away on the island, closer to Western Port. From there we went down to the beach, and we made our offerings to Hulali. It is a good tradition to observe.

We had some ice remaining a week ago, and so I made then the macadamia shortbread which you sent. I liked working with the dough, though it left my hand very slippery, more so than the other baking doughs. I had purchased some chocolate for when I have the chance to make the macadamia butter cookies again, so I added some to half of the dough. Ahura instructed me to add also ginger, which I did to the other half. Both came out very well.

I have returned the recipe for the biscotti also. This one was my own devising. Ahura approved, which I take as a compliment of the highest order. I added coconut, the extract of vanilla plants, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, nutmeg, cardamom, and black pepper. The volume was not too much, I think. I do not know whether what I shaped was as you envisioned it, but these were very popular as well. We had them dipped in kofi, and everyone agreed they were nice that way.

I offered one biscotti to Hulali as well, for maltalaan.

Efere tells me his favorite is the tea cakes; he did not like the biscotti as much, but he did like the shortbread. He has tried chocolate now, and he asks you to send more recipes with chocolate.

I am glad you liked the gift, and that it will not cause you any trouble.

Your Friend,
Aremu

Rain lashed at the window outside, battering in sudden, sweeping gusts against the glass. Aremu glanced up from his desk, rubbing tired eyes with his hand, and set the letter aside to dry. He went, and sat by the window, watching the distant trees sway in the wind, and beyond them, the boiling whitecaps of the sea.

After a little while, he rose and went back to the desk, and picked up the pen once more. He stared down at the paper; he set the pen, back down, slowly, and left the letter as it was.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Bethas 17, 2720 - Morning | Brunnhold

Aurelie didn't know what it was that made her wake that morning and think to herself that it had been Bethas that they had gone. Nothing, perhaps. A change in the wind, a shift in the shadows before she slept. A dream, now forgotten. It could have been any of those. As she lay on her back and waded out from the depths of sleep, it came to her that she didn't know the date; Ana had never said.

Her hands wandered then to her throat and that tarnished silver chain, heavier than it was before. She let them brush, just so, around the edge of the older of the two lockets that hung there now. Aurelie's eyes stared into the dark and she found no tears in it she could cry.

Dear Aremu,

That seems like a fair kind of trade. I will take your word on the things friends can do, but I can do this at least. I am glad to hear your shoulder is mostly better now.

I have finally gotten a chance to try the tea cakes with the spices in them. They are normally very mild, but I like this version very much as well. It is a little harder to pair with so many things, but that is fun too. A little like a puzzle. I do not think my recipes are so special as that, but I am very happy to hear you say so. I do not think you are so poor with comfort as you seem to think.

That sounds like a good tradition. It is nice, I think, to have somewhere to go and people to spend holidays with.

I am pleased to try all of these versions. You may be pleased to try both chocolate and ginger together, I think. I have had some candied ginger before dipped in chocolate and I remember it being good. I was a child when I had this, but I do not think the memory is so faded as that. I had only time for the tea cakes, but I hope to try the others before my next letter.

I do not think many children like biscotti. I did not, when I was small. It is a very dry sort of thing. I am not sure why it is something you come to like as an adult, but it seems to be so. I have, as requested, sent two more recipes that contain chocolate. One of them is a very simple chocolate chip cookie. There are many debates about what kind of cookie is best, softer or more crisp, so I have included instructions for both. (I like the softer kind, myself.)

The other is not, I have to confess, a recipe that requires chocolate. They are called linzer cookies, and they are a bit like little sandwiches. You may also use a jam or preserve in the middle, but they certainly do well with chocolate. I have included instructions for a chocolate filling for them. Here we have special metal cutters for making the shapes, but they do not have to be anything special. Efere might enjoy helping to cut them out. It is a little fussy, also, but pretty when they are done.

Less pretty I am afraid is what else I have included. I promised a small gift in this letter. It is supposed to be a bookmark. I do not know if you need such a thing. I'm sorry my skill with embroidery is quite poor, but it is all I can do that isn't edible. (Cookies would not survive the journey in the post.)

Your Friend,
Aurelie

She frowned down at the bookmark, such as it was, before she reluctantly included it. She had done her best. Certainly her skill had come some way since this time last year, and she was pleased that the stitches weren't as uneven as they might have been. The design... Well. She had made an effort, with the flower. At least if Aremu thought it terribly ugly, she wouldn't know it.

She had thought, for a while, that she might say something else in her letter. But that was a silly thing to mention, and did nobody any good. Better to leave it at the recipes and in the bookmarks.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Evening, 38 Bethas, 2720
The Ibutatu Estate, Isla Dzum

Aremu came up the stairs to find Ahura briskly re-packing his trunk. He held there, looking at her; he opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it once more, thinking better of it.

Put it on the estate, Niccolette had said, shrugging, the last time Aremu had mentioned needing a new suit. He had not said anything of it, this time; he had gone himself to Laus Oma, and the tailor had told him he would have it ready before the airship left. He hadn’t minded the ferry ride there and back; they had given him time to think, leaning against the railing with the spray of water against his face.

He had taken a cart to a village along the way, made arrangements for the morning, and walked the rest of the trip, the sunset colors spilling red, pink and orange over the fields and orchard as he passed, as the ocean to the east darkened, steadily, untouched by the color. By the time he had climbed the last of the hill - by the time he had climbed the stairs - it was dark, already. He had thought to come home to a quiet house, and a covered plate.

Instead Apadha was in the kitchen; Efere was running about her legs, telltale chocolate smeared at the corner of his mouth. Ulofo sat at the table, Tsede talking with him, quiet and intent. Efere came to his legs, laughing, and Tsede laughed too, and scooped him up.

Aremu had thought to slip up the stairs, quietly; he had lost whatever chance he had of that, quickly enough.

Ahura turned at the sight of him, and beamed. “Is that daughter of mine done cooking?” She asked.

“Nearly,” Aremu grinned at her. He sat at the desk, propping his head in his hand for a long moment; his eyes fluttered shut.

Ahura’s hand brushed his shoulder, lightly, and she went downstairs.

It wasn’t long before Aremu followed her down.

It was many hours later that he climbed back up to the top of the empty house once more, full to bursting with the strange combination of spiced lamb and chocolate chip cookies. Outside, the rest were leaving; Efere was asleep in his uncle’s arms, his cheek pressed into Tsede’s shoulder.

There was, Aremu thought, one last thing to do. He lit the lantern on the edge of the desk, and sat down to write.

Dear Aurelie,

I do not wish to forget to tell you that your next letter, if I may hope it will come in the next month and a half, should be send to Thul Ka. It shall take a few day’s longer to reach me there, and I am afraid I will have no stove on which to pretend at an oven, for a little while. My address there is enclosed.

I am glad you had the chance to make the tea cakes, and gladder still that you liked them. You are right; I am very fortunate in Ahura and her family. They are far kinder than they have any need to be, but that too, I think, is friendship.

I enjoyed the making and eating of the chocolate chip cookies very much. After the shortbread and the biscuit they were simple to make, but I enjoyed the doing nonetheless. It was difficult to get either a soft or crispy texture on the stovetop; most of my attempts ended with crispy edges and a softer inside. Nonetheless they were well-received.

Your mention of the candied ginger was well-timed. Ahura made a batch, and we added some to the chocolate chip cookies. You are right that the flavors go well together. Ahura is more hesitant to experiment with the chocolate, so this was my own invention. Efere enjoyed them greatly, so I will count them a success.

It is funny, isn’t it, how much the food one likes as a child and an adult can change. I have never been what is called here a flower eater - I think the term in Estuan is picky eater - but I remember disliking very much a dish made of bitter gourd which I am now very fond of. I had also an enormous appetite for sweets. Perhaps this has not changed, with how many cookies I have eaten these last months.

The linzer cookies were also well-received. In addition to the plain version for the chocolate spread we made one with pepper, cinnamon and ginger; inside this we put tamarind jam. I do not know if you are familiar with tamarind, but it is sour as well as sweet. The taste was very good. However, Efere reports that he preferred the chocolate chip. He wished to help with the cutting, but I am afraid he grew bored rather quickly.

I found the bookmark very pretty indeed. Thank you. I did not know that I needed a bookmark, but I have found it very useful, and am most grateful to you. I am glad that it is lovely as well as useful.

I am sorry only that I will not be able to make any recipes this next short while. I hope you will write regardless. I should be very glad to receive your letters while in the city.

Your friend,
Aremu

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Loshis 12, 2720 - Mid-Day | Brunnhold

Dear Aremu,

Thank you for telling me. This letter should come, I think, while you are still there. I hope it does, at least. I will not send a recipe this time, then, since you have not even a stove while you are there. I hope that is okay. What is it like, in Thul Ka? It is of course very rainy here right now. I expect it to be raining for a few days still. It is my birthday soon, and it always rains on my birthday. Is it rainy there too this time of year? I am sorry if that is a boring question.

The chocolate chip cookies are very simple to make, it is true. Many cookies are, I think, and it is nice. They allow for lots of variety that way. I am glad they were enjoyable, even if the texture did not quite work. It is good to know this, just in case. And I am glad too that I remembered the ginger correctly. It has been a long time. I think that is a success, too. We do not often have candied ginger here, but when next we do, I think I will try that together.

Flower eater sounds like a very nice way to put it. I do not recall ever being one either, but I think that is because Nurse would not allow it. I have also always liked sweet things. Nurse was strict about that too, which is probably good. I do not think I know what bitter gourd is, but it does not sound like something many children would like. Bitter flavors too are something adults grow to enjoy. I wonder why that is.

Chocolate chip cookies are a favorite of all children in Anaxas, I think. I am not familiar with tamarind, but that does sound good. One day I should like to try all of these changes. I have not had too much chance. I think they are starting to wonder at my choices in the kitchen, and I do not think I should invite the question. I am not a good liar, and I would not like if I were not able to write anymore because of it.

I am happy to hear you have use for the bookmark, after all. I had wanted to make something that might get some use. I am not very good at making things that are pretty, but useful is more important to me. That is not very romantic, I guess, but it is true. Sometimes I wonder if I always thought so, or if it is the result of being here.

I am always glad to write, and to hear from you. And it is good, to hear about things far from here. I worry that I am starting to forget, I have been here so long. Or maybe that would be better. I do not know.

I'm sorry, I shouldn't say things like that. It is raining so much it is making me silly. I only meant to say that I am happy to get letters from you, too.

Please let me know when you would like me to send another recipe, and I will be happy to do it.

Your Friend,
Aurelie

[Aremu Ediwo]

Early Evening, Loshis 34, 2720
Koketa’s Hive, Thul Ka

D ear Aurelie,

We call it the flood season here, instead of the rainy season. This should tell you something of what Thul Ka is like these months.

It is a city built at the joining of rivers, and the Turga is the largest. There are floods every year; there are buildings which are all water in their lowest floors this season, where those who live there climb out their windows rather than use their doors.

I would show it you, if I could, Aremu did not write.

It is not in the least a boring question. Though I do not live here any longer, one does not forget Thul Ka. It occupies a large part of me, larger perhaps than I might like. I am glad to share something of it with you, though I know my words are insignificant compared to its splendor.

This time is the worst of the flooding. My guest house is in a neighborhood which does not usually flood, but a clogged waterwork drain means the street outside is a puddle already. As I write it is raining once more; it rains as if buckets upon buckets of water are being overturned on to us, great sheets of water emptying from the sky; it is as if the year saves up all it’s water for this one season. Perhaps by tonight I too shall be climbing out of a window or across a rooftop.

More likely than not your birthday will have passed even by the time I receive this letter. I hope my wishes for your health and happiness are not too delayed. I have enclosed a small packet of tamarind candies. They are very few, but I am told that because they are dried, they will pass the journey unharmed. As I told you, they are sour; I hope you will like them anyway.

I do not know of any place to buy cookies in Thul Ka, so I have had none since leaving the island. I am sure they can be found here; it is said that one can buy anything, in Thul Ka. I find I am missing them; I shall look for some, and report back to you what I find, which types and how they compare to my poor implementation of your recipes.

I have had dzutan. I do not know if you remember that I spoke to you of it. It is a flaky layered pastry with sweetened nuts between thin layers of dough. There are shops here where you can watch the making of them, though they guard the composition of the dough as a fierce secret. Each one has his own traditional recipe, some of them thousands of years old (or so it is told). This is perhaps the best explanation of Thul Ka I can give you, other than to say that the results are very good.

I think you are right that children do not like bitter flavors. I suppose it is that at such an age, one feels one may always only eat sweets. It is only later that we come to understand that there is contentment, too, to be found in bitterness.

Aremu stopped his hand there, looking down at the paper for a moment. He thought of crossing the passage out, of taking out a new sheet of paper and beginning again, with a sense of unease. He rarely rewrote; he never crossed out what he had written, or wasted paper so. He read the passage again, and grimaced, and, unsure, left it there.

I have continued to use the bookmark which you sent. It has been much help to me, as I have tried to do some reading in my travels, but am often interrupted. I worry that by my using it in time the threads will fray, the colors will fade, or worse that I should do some damage to it. I console myself with the belief that you, too, believe in things being useful, and with the hope that perhaps, were it needful, you should consider taking pity on me and sending me another.

I think I may already be back at the islands by your next letter. I do not wish to miss it, so I shall request them to forward any mail which comes here, to be safe. That way, even if it takes time, your words will reach me eventually. If you wish to send another recipe, I would be very glad.

If you do not wish me to write - if it is too painful - I hope that you would tell me.

When I lost my hand, Aremu thought of writing, I could not bear to - he didn’t go that far. He didn’t think she would want to be burdened so; he didn’t wish to be such a burden. There was, anyway, no comparison. He had no hand, but he had his freedom, and he had learned to make do, such as he could. There was no comparison, for all that he understood, now, that she too made do.

Aremu set his pen down and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers, aching and tired. He closed his eyes a long moment, and opened them again.

I hope, selfishly, that you will not find it so.

Your friend,
Aremu