Page 29 of Tiger's Curse
I must have drifted off to sleep because when I opened my eyes it was dark in the hut except for a lantern glowing softly in the kitchen. Seated at the table was an old man.
I sat up and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, surprised that I’d slept so long. The shaman was busy picking the leaves off several plants spread out on the table. As I stood up, he beckoned me closer.
“Hallo, little lady. You sleep long time. Very tired. Very, very tired.”
I walked to the table, followed by Ren. He yawned, arched his back, and stretched himself one leg at a time, then sat at my feet.
“You hungry? Eat. Good food, hmmm?” The shaman smacked his lips, “Very tast-ey.” The little man stood up and scooped some aromatic, herby vegetable stew out of a bubbling pot on the wood stove. He added a piece of warm flatbread along the edge of the bowl, and came back to the table. Pushing the bowl toward me, he nodded satisfactorily and then sat down and continued stripping the leaves from the plants.
The stew smelled heavenly, especially after eating energy bars for a day and a half.
The shaman clucked his tongue. “What your name?”
“Kelsey,” I mumbled, as I chewed.
“Kahl-see. You have good name. Strong.”
“Thank you for the food. It’s delicious!”
He grunted in response and waved his hand dismissively.
I asked him, “What’s your name?”
“My name, uh, too immense. You call me Phet.”
Phet was a small, brown, wrinkly man with a crown of wiry gray hair circling the back of his head. His shiny bald patch reflected the light of the lamp. He was dressed in a roughly woven, grayish-green wrap and sandals. The material was wound around his scrawny arms, and his bare legs stuck out below it from his knobby knees down. A sarong was thrown over his shoulder haphazardly, and I was surprised the flimsy garment even stayed on his thin frame.
“Phet, I’m sorry to barge into your home. Ren led me here. You see—”
“Ah, Ren, your tiger. Yes, Phet be acquainted with why you here. Anik say you and Ren coming, so, I go Suki Lake today for . . . preparation.”
I scooped up some more stew as he brought me a cup of water. “Do you mean Mr. Kadam? Did he tell you we were coming?”
“Yes, yes. Kadam tell Phet.” The shaman pushed aside his plants, making room on the corner of the table, and then picked up a little cage that held an exquisite tiny red bird. “Birds at Suki Lake are many, but this bird largely extraordinary.”
He leaned over, clicked his tongue at the bird, and waggled his finger next to the cage. He started humming and spoke to it gaily in his native language. Turning his attention back to me, he said, “Phet linger all day capture. Bird sing be-u-ti-full song.”
“Will he sing for us?”
“Who is knowing? Sometime birdneversing, whole lifetime. Only sing if special parson. Kahl-see is special parson?”
He laughed uproariously as if he’d made a fantastic joke. “Phet, what is the bird called?”
“He is Durga’s hatchling.”
I finished my stew and set the bowl to the side. “Who is Durga?”
He grinned. “Ah. Durga be-u-ti-full goddess, and Phet,” gesturing to himself, “is willing low servant. Bird sing for Durgaandone special woman.” He picked up his leaves again and continued working.
“So you are a priest of Durga?”
“Priest edify other citizen. Phet exist alone. Serve alone.”
“Do you like to be alone?”
“Alone is reasoned mind, hear things, see things. Added people is too many voice.”
He had a good point. I don’t mind being alone either. The only problem is that if you’re always alone, you get lonely.
