"What do you mean? You're letting Ka go by himself, he might as well go as me!" Uncle Fred was a bit overwhelmed by the reaction, a temporary change of command wasn't out of the question, but leaving it to a five year old didn't seem so reliable.
Singh turned his head and gave Uncle Fred a hard stare with a wrinkled nose, scaring the words out of Fred's mouth. Then pointing at Fred's forehead he said, "I said are you out of your mind, didn't I tell you repeatedly to tell them to dress cleanly, and you, look at this skin you haven't changed since Stan country, look here, the blood is still wet!"
Singh pointed to the unwashed blood under Uncle Fred's ribs and chattered, "How can Miss Seven eat when she sees you like this? I'll take him to wash up later, and you'll be responsible for getting it done first, and he'll just serve it up when we get back."
Singh assigned the task without any further ado. Uncle Fred tried to argue, obviously not thinking I could do the job. It was Kurtz who stepped aside, please, with a sigh of relief, and stole a glance at me. He was not too keen on meeting some of the bigwigs, and although at best he was only a high-class dancer, he was one of the people of some standing in this merchant group.
The kitchen was not very large, less than ten square metres, but it was well stocked and I even saw a jar of olive oil. I could see that the owner was very particular about food, and with all my years of experience as a cook, I couldn't tell what half of the tools in the kitchen were for. There were two cooks in the kitchen working on a fresh piece of lamb, and when they saw Singh walk in they both looked cautiously towards Singh, who stood in the middle of the kitchen with one arm crossed over his waist, frowning as he scanned the room and asked, "Is all the fresh meat ready?"
"As you wish!"
It seemed that Singh was in a very high position in the dance troupe and naturally spoke with the kind of arrogance in his tone that I disliked. At this point he was more like a proud peacock, patrolling his territory with his head held high as he scanned the kitchen, turned to Fred and said, "If there's anything you need from them, just have them do it. They're all cooks brought over from the empire."
I stood behind Fred, and only from my angle could I see Uncle Fred's big, wide, calloused hand rubbing against the side of Singh's beehive waist where it met his hip, while Singh was talking to Uncle Fred in a serious way. Uncle Fred grunted and stammered for half a day before Singh held Uncle Fred's big hand away from me as if nothing had happened, took two steps back and stood in front of me, leaned down and said, "You're a delightful looking little one, sister will take you to the bath.
"Hey!" I sighed secretly, thinking to myself that this wolf's tooth really wasn't that well earned. Stealing a glimpse of a hint of pleading in the eyes of Kurtz looking over at me, I knew this guy must be reluctant to hand over the wolf's tooth again, fearing that I might lift their table in my petty temper and make a mess of things.
It's true that I hate this condescending, self-righteous, hateful look. But it's nothing compared to the faces of the women in my world. What kind of good looks do you expect from a well-paid white woman to give to a little cook who is not yet famous, I said, slightly relieving myself as Singh took my hand and pulled me out of the kitchen.
Her hands looked like they'd been sandpapered, each knuckle smooth and without a single callus. She started to pick me up, and I stood sideways beside her, just in time to avoid her carrying me. Singh had a delicate face, a slender neck and a tall figure, except that this woman was too tall for my taste, at a height of 180 centimetres I had to look up. She wore a white blouse with delicate lace and a long burgundy skirt embroidered with brown flowers in the style of a palace, and she walked with a distinctive rhythm, yes, a rhythm, the kind of lightness that only someone with long training in dance can have, and I had to stride as fast as I could to keep up with her.
From the private kitchen in the corner of the camp, I went straight to the back door of the nearest magical caravan, where a beautiful metal hanging ladder ran down from the iron door at the back of the caravan, covered with a thick, soft wool blanket. hesitated on the step and tried to wrestle Singh's hand away.
"Oh, it's okay, come with me." Singh bent down to take my hand again, unfazed, and I could see that her waist was extremely soft, the only thing unattractive about her was the slight metallic rasp in her voice.
The iron door on the caravan was thrown open and warm light shone from within. It was nearly evening, but it was not quite dark yet and it was somewhat dim outside. A young girl of fourteen or fifteen came out from inside, wearing a simple plain dress. Seeing that it was Singh returning, she hastened to hold the door at one side and greeted her in a docile manner, "Sister Singh!"
"Has Qiniang finished her dance rehearsal?"
"Yes, it's resting upstairs with the sisters, there's some disagreement about the form of the war dance and probably still arguing." The girl said in the lightest of tones as she darted over the edge.
The corner of Singh's mouth quirked upwards and he turned his head, "The boy has been asked to do the cooking for the Seventh Maiden, so I'll take him in for a shower and a change of clean clothes. You go to the props class and ask them for two smaller men's outfits, plain ones will do."
"Okay, Sister Singh, I'm on my way." The girl gave me a bit of a curious glance, I was bored of gawking at her at this point, and when I saw her looking at me, I made a face to scare her, I didn't expect her to be so timid, and I was about to show my apologies when the girl had already darted out with her dress.
Entering the magic caravan confirmed what I had thought. The caravan was indeed made in two tiers, except that the bottom tier limited the height and Singh, at 180cm tall, had to walk bent over all the time. On either side of the doorway, on the carpet, were two rows of beautifully carved shoe cabinets, all covered with brass corners, and their wooden doors inlaid with silver carvings. To the right is a long, narrow aisle and at the far end I see a spiral staircase leading to the first floor. Underneath the staircase were wooden tables and chairs, forming a small resting room. There were two women sitting on small chairs, their hands on the handrail of the spiral staircase, chatting easily.
The rest of the space is divided into four rooms with carved wooden panels painted with red oil, the doors of which are open and from which the chattering and extremely lively chatter and occasional silvery laughter emanate, filling the caravan with the smell of perfume. The ceiling lights on the caravan roof emitted a soft warm glow, about every metre apart. This deluxe version of the caravan did not appear to have a kitchen inside and as I followed Singh inside, Singh pointed to the first room and said, "I'm staying here, remember to come and hang out with me next time you're free."
I said to myself, "Only Uncle Fred would dare ask you to come and play, but hastily replied, "Yes, Sister Singh."
"Drink, you have a sweet mouth, little one!" It was the first time I had seen Singh smile, her mouth was a little too big for her smile, but it was much cuter than always having a scowl.
As I passed a few rooms, I couldn't help but look inside, only to see tables, chairs and even beds filled with all sorts of clothes, not a word that could describe the mess. There were two narrow double beds on either side of each room, with an aisle of less than seventy centimetres between them, and a very narrow wooden cupboard at the far end of the room, which wasn't high enough to be used as a table, with a chair that folded into the wall sticking out and a light purple tank top hanging from it.
I was walking towards the front of the room, when a red-haired woman wearing only tight shorts and a halter top came out of the room, and I was not paying attention when I ran into her long thighs. The woman was also startled, "Oops!" Then, seeing that it was me, she exclaimed with a little surprise, "Where are you from, why are you running around here?
I was knocked back a few steps, but thanks to Singh's help I didn't fall over, looking a bit dumbfounded at the cool redhead in front of me, and at her voice it seemed that all the women in the room were poking their heads out into the corridor, talking and laughing, pushing and shoving and giggling. I was like a monkey in a zoo being watched.
People kept asking, "Sister Singh, where did you bring this child from?"
Someone even reached out and pinched my face.
"This is a child from the caravanserai, isn't it? Why was he brought out at such a young age. Aigoo! Come on, let me give you a hug!"
"It's not your baby, is it? Ha ha."
"It's really the one I gave birth to outside, so hurry up and go back and clean up the house, so you don't ask me to plead for mercy when you are beaten." A bunch of women were tearing each other apart. It was so boring.
I was dragged by Singh to the room opposite the rest room at the end of the caravan, which turned out to have a bathroom hidden in it, and I was pushed in with all hands and feet and stripped naked. I was thrown into the steaming pool like a boiled dumpling. The bathroom was not very large, and after removing a square bath that took up about two thirds of the area, there was no room left for two people to stand and turn around. Perhaps it was because I was still a complete brat in the eyes of the women, and I don't know who was hurting my ears in the confusion, but it was Singh who finally shooed the confused and noisy women out.
"Don't worry, they just don't know how to express their fondness." Singh said with apologetic eyes as he crouched beside me, holding his hands on the wooden edge of the bath and resting his head on it.
I tried to make myself smile, but my face hurt when I grinned and I couldn't. I sat down on the step in the bath and silently ran my hands over my body, "I know, thanks for bringing me to the hot bath, it's so nice to be in it."
These were the words of my heart, except that just a few days earlier I would not have dared to say so. If anyone had dared to venture into the hot tub then, I'm afraid I would have been a boiled shrimp for real. Then looking up, I said with certainty, "I won't mess up dinner!"
Singh saw the solemn look on my face and laughed and laughed.
"Do you want me to rub your back?"
"Oh, thanks, I can do it myself!"
"You're a funny kid, very sweet and polite. Are you sure you don't need it?" Singh's soft hand gently rested on my back and said softly, "Don't be shy, I've never seen anything like it, sister, you're just a kid!"
"Eh!" When she said that, I suddenly felt my face burn a little.
"I'll only rub your back ..."