The harsh suns of Tatooine had barely risen when the door of the small hut rattled loudly, accompanied by a shrill, nasally voice. "Wake up, eh! You think I pay you to sleep all day? Get up! The suns don't wait for anyone!"
Anakin groaned, his stomach growling audibly, the ache from hunger gnawing at him. He sat up, rubbing his tired eyes, while Shmi helped him to his feet. The metallic creak of the door opening heralded Watto's entrance. The Toydarian hovered impatiently, his wings buzzing with irritation.
"You hungry, eh?" he said, eyeing Anakin with a smug grin. "You want food? You work for it, you understand? No work, no food. Now, follow me—let's see if you're good for anything besides taking up space."
Anakin's stomach growled louder, but he nodded silently, following Watto into the cluttered shop alongside his mother. The workshop was crammed with spare parts, droid components, and miscellaneous debris. An oily, metallic smell filled the air, and shafts of early sunlight filtered through the grimy windows. Watto gestured broadly to the room, his small hands making a sweeping motion.
"So, what use are you, eh?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at Shmi.
Shmi hesitated before responding, her voice steady but cautious. "I can read and write," she began. "I also know some basic technical skills. My previous master taught me…" Her voice trailed off as she thought of Pi-Lippa, the kindly woman who had once promised her freedom. That promise had died along with her former owner, leaving Shmi in chains once again.
Watto's wings stopped mid-buzz as he raised an eyebrow. "Oh, a slave who knows more than scrubbing floors and carrying junk, eh? Not bad, not bad." A faint smirk crossed his face as he rubbed his stubby hands together. "You, I can use. And the boy?" He glanced down at Anakin with skeptical eyes.
Anakin stared back, unsure of what to say. Watto didn't wait for a response. He grabbed a small oil can and a rag, shoving them into the boy's hands. "Here! Oil and clean these parts! But listen, eh—if you damage anything, you get nothing! No food, no water, nothing!"
The Toydarian's tone was sharp and dismissive, and Anakin nodded quickly, clutching the tools tightly. He wanted to be helpful, to prove he wasn't useless, but the pit in his stomach reminded him how little strength he had left.
Watto turned to Shmi. "You! Learn the merchandise. Memorize the prices. If a customer comes, you help them, eh? But don't make mistakes, or you'll both regret it!"
Shmi bowed her head slightly, murmuring, "Yes, Master Watto."
As the day wore on, the two worked tirelessly. Anakin crouched by a pile of spare parts, carefully cleaning and oiling them as his mother had shown him. Shmi stood behind the shop counter, scanning the shelves and memorizing the items and their prices. Occasionally, she would pause to point out something to Anakin, explaining the names and functions of various parts. The boy soaked up every word, his curiosity driving him to learn more.
By evening, Watto hovered back into the shop. His sharp eyes scanned the cleaned parts and the tidied counter. He sniffed, fluttering closer for inspection. "Hmm, not bad," he muttered begrudgingly. "At least you're not as useless as you look." He reached into a pouch at his side and dropped a few small coins into Shmi's hand. "Here! Five wupiupi! Get food at the market. And don't waste it, eh!"
Shmi bowed her head again. "Thank you, Master Watto," she said quietly.
Together, she and Anakin left the shop and headed for the bustling market. Mos Espa's marketplace was alive with activity. Vendors shouted over one another to attract customers, while the dry, sweltering air was punctuated by the hum of cooling units placed strategically by the stalls. Each section of the market specialized in different goods—some sold fresh produce, others spare mechanical parts or illegal weapons.
The mother and son weaved through the crowd, passing stalls lined with colorful alien fruits and vegetables. Eventually, they stopped at a small, simple stall manned by an elderly woman. Her face was weathered and wrinkled, her gray hair braided neatly down her back. She wore a worn but clean dress, her kind eyes sparkling with warmth.
"What a sweet little boy," the old woman said as she spotted Anakin, her voice gentle and full of kindness. "You must be hungry, aren't you?"
Before Shmi could respond, the woman picked up a round, orange Pallie fruit from her stall and handed it to Anakin. "Here, it's on me," she said with a warm smile.
Anakin hesitated for only a moment before devouring the fruit, the sweet juice quenching the hunger that had plagued him all day. Shmi smiled faintly but remained guarded, distrustful of such unexpected kindness. The woman seemed to notice, her expression softening.
"Don't worry, dear," she said to Shmi. "It's a gift. My name's Jira. If you ever need fresh fruits or food, you can find me here."
Shmi nodded, embarrassed by her own suspicions. "Thank you, Jira," she said quietly before asking, "What can we buy for five wupiupi?"
Jira considered for a moment before gathering a few items. "Here, take these two Pallie fruits. And this Bloddle root—add it to boiling Poonten grass and mix it with this Puk Puk herb. It'll make a simple but hearty soup."
Shmi accepted the items gratefully, thanking Jira once more before leading Anakin back home. As they walked through the darkening streets, Anakin clutched her hand tightly, comforted by the warmth of her presence.
That evening, as the small pot of soup simmered over their makeshift stove, Anakin and Shmi shared a quiet meal. It wasn't much, but it was enough to sustain them. For the first time in days, Anakin felt a flicker of hope.
In the weeks that followed, their routine solidified. Anakin spent his days cleaning and organizing parts while Shmi worked at the counter, helping customers and managing the inventory. Watto, though harsh and demanding, seemed content with their progress and paid them five wupiupi each week. It wasn't enough for a balanced diet, but it kept them alive.
Anakin's curiosity about mechanical parts grew with each passing day. He asked endless questions, and Shmi answered as best she could. Though their lives were far from easy, they found moments of solace in their shared work and quiet evenings.