Vanessa was standing outside of the makeshift classroom smoking one of the foul local cigarettes. She knew she shouldn't but she needed the fix. The thin mountain air made life as a smoker even harder. She ran her hand through her short nappy hair and along the shaved sides of her head. She took a hard drag on the cigarette and looked back at the school and her former boyfriend.
She met Charlie at Peace Corps training. They were both going to Bhutan to teach math, science and English. She had a flair for languages and picked up Dzhonkha easily. Charlie needed help and they grew close during their after hour study sessions. Now she was pissed at him. One of the girls asked about what it took to please a husband and he said, "
being a good cook
". Fuck him "
good cook
", what about being mature, responsible and independent! What about being intelligent and strong! Fuck cooking.
She strode back into the classroom and flicked the cigarette at his head and started shouting at him hoping the kids wouldn't pick up all the English. "You cocksucking motherfucking bastard. I am not your cook, your slave, your whore and never will be. I came here to teach these poor disadvantaged girls, to give them a leg up in this heartless world and you just want to perpetuate the patriarchy! I did not come all the way from North fucking Chicago so you could lay down your white man's burden on the motherfucking wogs."
She then realized the audience, turned the classroom and held her stomach and said in better Dzhonkha than most of the class spoke, "
Excuse me. I am not feeling well today. Charlie will give you your lessons. I need to see my grandmother far away.
" She bowed her head and walked out of the classroom, scowling at Charlie and flipping him the bird as she walked out.
She went and took the bike that she and Charlie shared for errands and headed north out of the village. They were already in the remote northern stretches of Bhutan and there was nothing between them and China but a few mountains.
She biked hard for 5 minutes then slower to catch her breath and eventually settled at a slow even pace. She didn't turn to look back until she knew she was out of site of the school and the village. She didn't stop until it was starting to get dark. She knew darkness came early in the mountains and the nights were cold even though it was August. She saw a small farm house ahead and rode up to the door. She lay the bike down and knocked.
Hospitality was ingrained in the Bhutanese people and she hoped she could at least get a hot meal and a spot on the flood next to the fire. The man who opened the door looked to be about 50. He was short by American standards and heavy set. He had gray curly hair and a scraggly beard. She looked more closely at him and realized the weight mostly seemed to be in a pot belly.
She bowed her head and asked, "
I am a traveller far from home and would like to need a place to stay the night.
"
He grunted and opened the door fully and moved away from it. The hovel smelled. It smelled like cabbage, goats, shit and she wasn't sure what else. A cold breeze from behind convinced her that out and the open was not a place to spend the night.
"
It is not much.
" The man said and handed her a small bowl of watery cabbage soup with bits of stringy meat floating in it. She took a couple of bites of cabbage and one of the meat, then drank heavily of the broth.
"
You are too generous. It is more than I can possible eat.
" She said handing back the bowl, hoping that her stomach wouldn't growl giving away her lie.
Night fell and the cooking fire died down. The man went to the corner of the house and fell asleep under a pile of furs. She lay down next to the fire on an incredibly soft goat pelt and slept heavily.
She woke up the next morning with several more furs over top of her and the old man tending the fire.
"
Please let me help.
" She said and started to tend the fire as he poured water into a battered metal kettle. Once the kettle was on the fire he set out one cup and put a pinch of some sort of herb into it. He then dug around the refuse and found a smaller cracked cup. He wiped it out with his coarse woolen tunic, spat in it then wiped it some more. Another pinch of the herb went into the mug.