Young Writers Society

She had expected it, had been worried of its coming for years now. If it happened once it could happen again and yet, a small part of her hoped it wouldn’t. Oh but hope was a sad, unsteady little thing. Shambling and deceitful. She had had plans for her life and now she wouldn’t get to see it practiced. Although there was one good thing about this whole ordeal, she knew when it was happening. For weeks after her birthday her parents had been whispering about her, raising her suspicions with every glance and subtle, silent agreement. Of what— she did not know. But then they took her out of school for the day so she could go see the Mada. Mada Riham was a pleasant old woman, until you had to meet with her. She was the midwife, the doctor, the fortuneteller, and worst of all; she was the woman who determined your worth.

On the morning of Korra’s appointment the Mada was the appraiser. Her parents had told her to bathe, even made Kamar heat the water and fill the tub (this was usually her job). Afterwards her mother had raked a comb through her coils for fifteen minutes and then brushed it for another fifteen minutes, Korra was sure she was half bald by then and was surprised to see she wasn’t. And actually, she felt good, after the pain receded that is. It had been a while since her mother had brushed her hair and it gave her a small sense of security, despite the situation. After, her mother rubbed her down in lavender oil. To calm me, Korra had thought. It was for naught though because as soon as Korra realized where the burro cart was taking them she began to cry. Her father smacked her across the face which shut her up; she was conditioned to it, like waking before dawn.

Another good thing: her parents, not even her mother, were allowed in the room. So Korra could openly cry in shame when the Mada pinched her because she refused to disrobe and open her legs for the old woman to stick her fingers up Korra’s cervix. She hated every second of it and was glad that at least she could cry. When the Mada was done she gave Korra a few minutes to console herself. While she washed her hands Korra donned her robe and swiped at her tears.

“Be strong child,” the crone had said. “We’ve not the luxury of weakness.”

Sniffling, Korra nodded. She knew this, all girls did.

“She’s a virgin still, good hips, strong teeth,” the Mada told her parents. “Pity about that scar though. You’ll get less.”

Her father swore, her mother glared at him. Korra blushed trying to hide the scar on her left cheek; normally she wore it with pride for it was proof of a battle she had survived.

Mada Riham shuffled over to her desk, put on her reading glasses and lifted her pencil and ledger book, “What shall I put for the dowry?”

“No dowry,” her father said quickly, “no marriage.”

Her mother looked upset, glancing at her husband, and, Korra noted, clenching her fists.

Mada Riham nodded, “The starting price then? I suggest 500.”

Korra’s mother snorted and moved to place her hands on Korra’s shoulders, pulling her in front of the woman. “Come now Mada she’s worth more than that.”

Mada Riham looked over Korra’s grades; she was a studious child by nature, working her hardest to get straight A’s. Korra wanted to be a doctor, now all her hard work was in vain. Girls did not need to be smart where she lived, just pretty and talented. The Mada asked how she would perform. “Dance,” Korra said quickly, before her parents could decide for her. Dancing kept her focused on the song, unlike singing where she was nervously focused on the audience. The next two hours was spent deciding what song she would dance to, what piece she should dance, what she would wear, and when her auction would take place. There were always auctions; she would have to find a place in one of them. A call was made to Tia Fauve, Korra’s dance instructor at the Academy, to let her know what piece she needed to practice. She’d chosen a hard one, accompanied by a Djembe and performed solely by her.

After leaving the Mada’s her parents took her to buy scents, the powder and creams needed for her feet, and a yard of red silk and gold sequins. For the occasion her mother would lend Korra her gold hoop earrings, the ones that curved into teardrops. Korra was pretty sure she would not be dancing in them. They decided she would not wear beads, instead she would keep the gold chains on her ankles and she would wear wooden bracelets.

They walked around the market without her father, he was waiting with the cart. The shopping was finished rather quickly, but there was something calming about the market. Stall owners called out their wares, there was the constant chatter of people mixed in with the calls of animals. And the scents, Korra loved the mix of sweets and spices fighting to gain dominance of the tang of sweaty people and the animals in their cages. It was somehow comforting.

“Your sister singed,” her mother said suddenly as she considered a basket of strawberries.

Korra’s breath hitched in her throat. They never spoke of Katara, not in the four years since her auction. Oh but Korra thought about her every day. They used to go to market together, braid each other’s hair, and just sit and talk with each other. Katara used to show off her talented younger sister during scout meetings and at the clubhouse. Of course the other girls hated her for it, and the teachers chided her for her excessive pride. Katara loved the attention.

“Oh,” was all Korra said in response.

“I told her she should have played guitar, she refused, decreasing her determined worth.” Her mother sighed, “But a pretty face is a pretty face.”

They decided against the strawberries going instead to the cherries.

“What was her worth?” It was a bold question spoken as meekly as she could since Korra knew never to be bold with her parents.

A look of recognition flickered in her mother’s eyes as if to say That’s where she’s been accompanied by an almost-smile.

“Ten,” she said.

Korra frowned and raised her eyes, looking up at her mother rather than down at her feet like a good girl should, “Ten what?”

“Ten thousand Almar notes, the buyer said she’d grow into a fine young woman.”

That was enough to get them out of their previous debt and keep paying for the Academy and the Ocelot Girl Scouts for at least two more years. They could have waited, postponed her Decision Day. No one would have thought twice if they did.

Sensing her suspicion, her mother explained, “You father wishes to send Kamar to Bagda.”

“He’s not smart enough for Bagda.”

Her mother chuckled, “You know your father doesn’t know that. All the rich boys get sent to Bagda, he wants him to mingle.”

Korra rolled her eyes, Kamar was eight, making friends with money was the last thing on his mind.

They bought a basket of cherries and three green mangoes for chow later. On their way back to the cart they bought curry chicken patties from one of the stalls, bringing back a beef patty for her father. It had been decided that she would attend an auction two weeks from then and if all went well she would be given three days to say goodbye and settle her debts. At least she didn’t have much to settle. School would be letting out soon so the moment she got home Korra changed into a summer dress and sandals biked to the Shack by the river, her camera bouncing on her chest.

No one knew how long the Shack had been there, not even Mada Riham who hung out there as a girl. It had just always been a hangout for the girls in the village. It was a nice shack with two floors, three if you counted the basement. There were bunkbeds and hammocks here and there, along with a kitchen and root cellar. The pantry was stocked full of canned goods, mason jars and preserves, baby formula, and dried foods. Garlic hung in the kitchen doorway. That was always the custom, they no longer remembered exactly why but it was what their mothers and grandmothers taught them, to hang herbs. Not continuing the tradition was unheard of, insane even. Besides, it was a practice their hands knew, a mix of scents their noses took comfort in, a decoration that pleased the eyes.

The place was empty for the moment. Korra parked her bike and went inside. Korra knew the rules. The first one there had to bake the bread and set out snacks. She got to pick the radio station they listened to. First she turned on the radio, tuning it to an Egyptian radio show, one of the murder mysteries she loved. She put three loaves of bread to bake, taking the timer into the dark room with her. Unable to hear her show, she began developing her photos while keeping her eye on the timer. When it went off she left the room carefully, something she had spent years practicing after many over exposed rolls of film and photos. She took the bread out as some of the younger girls started trickling in and setting their bags down. She greeted them quickly, asking them if they could set out snacks in her place so she could get back to her main focus. Luckily they agreed without any bribery or cajoling.

Korra spent the next two to three hours amongst rushing water from the sink, measuring chemicals, and developing photos in a dim red glow. She had done this procedure many times, stashing the negatives in a file box (she kept everything). So in love with the work was she that she developed photos in her dreams sometimes. A teacher had given her first camera, a disposable one way back when she was eight. She had taken her first picture of Katara with that camera and her last.

Of course a family photo of them had been taken with the same camera, when Kharam had just been born and Kamar was four years old, clutching their mother’s skirt. Katara is twelve in the photo, holding her little sister’s hand and grinning fiercely into the camera. They had a neighbor take the first shot, followed by two more so each daughter could get a copy and one could stay in the house. Then Korra got to run around taking off focus, amateur pictures of her brothers, parents, and neighborhood.

Her teacher, Tia Sade (Sha-day), got them all developed and copied for her. Even though it could not be used anymore Korra kept the camera. And on the next holiday her mother gave her a Polaroid and ten rolls of film and photo paper. “Capture it,” the woman had said vaguely—sadly. Korra found more she wanted to capture, more she wanted to remember before she was long gone, never to return. She carried a single picture of her sister, sitting by the river, forcing a smile. It was right after she explained to Korra that she had been bought and would be going away.

“One last picture, before I go,” she had begged.

They had taken three. One of each other and had a friend take one of them together. Katara took the one of them together, wrote the date on the back with a marker and drew hearts on the back of the other two. It was easier than writing ten thousand “I love you’s” and “missing you.”

“Korra!” a bang on the door startled her out of her saudade trance. “Korra, when are you coming out of there?”

“In a few minutes, Sugar,” she snapped.

Someone told her friend to stop banging on the door.

A few minutes later she left the dark room, still needing to develop three more rolls of film. Her friends, neighbors, classmates, and cousins filled the Shack, all of varying ages. The youngest girl there was four and the oldest sixteen. This was a good thing that could be better, signifying that not many girls married in the village or married at all. Sugar, her best friend, looped their arms and led her towards the kitchen for a snack.

“So, how was your Decision Day?”

Twelve was the deciding age for all girls in not just the village, but the country. You either got engaged or bought, nothing else. Mada’s were a different story. Because Korra was not allowed to get married she would not be able to continue school like Yvonne.

Korra sighed, “I do not know the outcome of it yet.”

Sugar grabbed a bowl of pretzels and placed figs on a plate, “You don’t know if you’ll be married right away,” she ventured, doubtful.

Korra shook her head and said with finality, “I am not getting married.”

“Oh,” Sugar said quietly, face falling.

Shrugging, Korra took the pretzels from her and found them a spot at the island.

“But enough about my life, what’s your news,” she asked, popping a pretzel in her mouth.

Sugar stared at her for a moment and then shrugged; deciding to leave what she had to say for later. “Mama is having a new baby, probably another boy.” She had nine brothers, three of them were married and living in cities. She visited them frequently, returning with tales of the city and her nieces and nephews and gifts from the brothers and their wives.

“Well maybe this time it won’t be.”

“I’d rather it was. I don’t want a little sister. I’m the only girl so I’m the princess of the family. Besides, Mama won’t have any idea what to do when I’m gone after having nine boys.”

Korra nodded looking away briefly and spotting Nyaeli, the sixteen year-old mom, walking with her little baby Nyaeli Jr. called Nya by others.

“Maybe Nyaeli can help her, she’s just learning herself.”

“You’re right, Nya,” Sugar called, gesturing to the older girl.

Nyaeli came and sat beside Korra, allowing Nya to sit on the table.

Korra made a face at the infant and then tapped her nose. Nya grabbed her finger and bit it with her gums.

“Nya,” her mother gasped.

Laughing, Korra pulled her finger away and wiped it on her jeans.

“Sorry Korra, she’s teething. Aren’t you my little princess?”

“Nyaeli,” Sugar said, “Mama is having another baby.”

Nyaeli chuckled and said to her daughter, “You might have a husband in the making.”

“Oh that’d be wonderful, I’m sure. However, Korra and I were just wondering what would happen if I got a little sister instead of a little brother. Mama would be lost without me.”

“Well give her some credit, she dealt with you.”

“Oh please, I was wonderful; besides, I always knew what I wanted and how to get it. I just think it’ll be sad if I have a little sister whom I won’t be around to influence.”

“Well you aren’t the best influence,” Korra chimed.

“Oh fuck you; we can’t all be obedient saints. And we both know if it weren’t for me you’d never socialize or be cool.”

“Sure,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Nyaeli shook her head, laughing at them, “The two of you are something else. Oh- Korra, do you mind holding Jr. for a bit, I need to use restroom?”

Korra held the infant, eating pretzels and figs while she and Sugar cooed at how cute the little girl was. They agreed such a beauty would be wasted on the village, even if she did end up with one of Sugar’s brothers. When her mother came back they left, heading for the main room with the radio where Korra changed the channel to another radio show. They sat and listened, her refusing to talk about her Decision Day, hoping that if she didn’t it would cease to have happened and Sugar obliged because she was content to sit in silence with Korra. Eventually though, Korra went back to the dark room and developed another roll of film.

Sugar waited for her, changing the channel to an old station two villages away playing older French songs after the other girls had returned home. Neither of them was actually allowed to be out this late, they weren’t even allowed to spend a night there. But it was clear Korra did not want to leave and Sugar would not leave her. Korra figured her mother would understand, tuck her sons in and go to bed. She thought her father might not notice, or at least, hoped he wouldn’t.

When she was done with developing for the day she and Sugar took a bath together, washing each other’s hair in lukewarm water filled with jasmine petals. They soaked in the bath for a bit, sipping glasses of rum Sugar had stolen from one of her brothers. It burned Korra’s throat as it went down, giving her the impression that she did not like rum. But the imagery of swallowing fire pleased her with its intensity, so she kept drinking. Sugar’s parents did not keep alcohol in the house and her brothers would get in trouble if their stash of rum and whiskey was ever discovered by their folks. Sugar wasn’t going to let either party know, after all it benefited her. She used to sneak thimbles of the stuff for her and Korra two years ago, followed by stealing a bottle of rum and a bottle of whiskey just to prove she could. They were kept in her cubby in the Shack and usually left untouched but tonight— tonight she felt they needed a pain worse than sorrow to drown in and rum was the first bottle she grabbed.

To sober up they ate two lemon candies after the bath, with bacon cheddar sandwiches. Sugar braided her best friend’s hair, singing along to a love song on the radio. Korra smiled as she listened, believing her to be the better singer. Or perhaps that was in part due to their infatuation with the other. She had no idea. She had not planned on how she was going to tell her friend and upon further thought believed she should have waited. Korra wanted to cry and hug and kiss goodbye and yet she had no desire to leave her friend unprepared. And she knew because Sugar was much more affectionate, that they would do that anyways.

Korra would have to take a photo of her and then they would have to take one together. Sugar of course would insist on a picture of Korra, a special one taken just for her before she left. Korra did not really have pictures of herself, she didn’t need to capture a memory of her own being but would oblige if Sugar insisted. She only took pictures of things she knew would not be forever.

“What do you think,” Sugar asked, holding a hand mirror up for her. “I did half sideways but that’s about it,” she explained while Korra turned her head to try and see more. “I know you don’t like too many designs.”

She smiled at her reflection, “I love it.”

Sugar’s smile softened, “Good. Because I would have made you take it out on your own if otherwise.”

Korra laughed although she was not entirely sure if the other girl was kidding.

After tying their hair in blue silk hair ties they lied in a bed by a window together. Unable to fall asleep Sugar took Korra’s camera and asked for a photo shoot. Maybe it was because she came from an affectionately starved family but Korra found her friend very risqué in nature. Especially when she had Korra take her photos. She took six before Sugar coaxed her into it. The other reason might have been that they were going through puberty and starting to explore, which the Tias said was absolutely fine provided they were comfortable, and or alone. And, well, they were perfectly comfortable being alone with each other.

Hours later after Sugar was asleep Korra suddenly realized she would never know what happened to her friend. Sugar would turn twelve in December and would probably be allowed more time at the Academy. Her parents would probably marry her to someone with money if they could because she was their princess and no one expected anything less of her. Korra had always hoped to get engaged to someone in the village so she could continue schooling and she had tried to find someone for herself first but she was young and none of the boys interested her. Her plan was to become a doctor or a teacher so she could hire someone to find Katara. For four years she had worked tirelessly without complaint trying to be the perfect student and daughter so her parents wouldn’t sell her. But it was all in vain. And now she would not even now what would become of her friend. She felt sick and helpless.