Their
parents were mad at them for not returning home the night before. Korra’s father
would have beaten her, as was his usual response to any act of defiance from
his children, but she needed to be able to practice her dance and be bruise
free for the upcoming auction. Damaged goods were worthless and she already had
the scar.
Korra
and Sugar biked to school, followed by Kamar and Atef, their younger brothers.
A few blocks in the boys pulled away, walking their bikes into the elementary
school’s courtyard. None of the schools were co-ed; some city schools were
which Korra supposed was a testament to the life of city kids given more
choices at the expense of village kids. The only good thing was that she did
not know what she was missing.
Girls
filled the Academy courtyard dressed in the uniform that she loved. It
consisted of a white blouse with gray buttons and a navy blue pleated skirt cut
an inch above the knees, a uniform that shaped and defined her. Putting it on
always filled her with glee because she knew it was something that was entirely
hers, made for her, like the Academy. Yes, the Academy’s purpose was to train
girls to be performers, wives, and teachers but it was solely for them in a
world that did not have much for girls. The Academy went above and beyond for
them, teaching more than what they were allowed to do as members of society,
teaching them how society functioned and would continue to function even if
their roles were not what they were.
Korra
looked forward to classes, to the constant learning that would let her forget
the upcoming auction. However, as soon as she stepped in the building her
counselor gave her a new schedule, one that devoted half the school day to
practicing her routine. This left her with only three classes: Mathematics,
History, and Medicine. Well those subjects were all well and good but she would
have preferred to go to all her classes. She and Sugar were supposed to be
painting each other’s portrait that day. There was no arguing with the Tias
though, so she apologized for having to leave her friend without a partner.
Sugar pouted and complained that she’d end up with a poor depiction of her and
would have complained longer if the first block of the day was not starting in
three minutes. School was eight hours long in the summer.
The
dance required easy movement of the legs, so she changed into her gym clothes
consisting of a white top and a pair of red basketball shorts. She stood in the
dance hall, barefoot, windows flung open wide for insulation. Tia Fauve and the
drummer who was also a woman but not a teacher watched her. Korra stood as
straight as she could, feet together, arms at her sides. She stared placidly at
her reflection; skin the color of molasses, a face her mother had once called a
canvas; and the gash on her left cheek from when her father threw a plate at
her in one of his rages. And her eyes, hooded eyes like pools of darkness
stared hard back at her. She smirked at her reflection, took a deep breath, and
nodded to the drummer who hit the base of the Djembe with dry hands.
Slowly,
she slid her left leg back, and lowered herself, bending her right leg so the
knee faced forward while crossing her arms over her chest. With her right hand
she slapped the ground and with her left she slapped her knee and sprang up.
Extending her right arm, palm down, she put her left over it and turned her
head right and then left, stomped her right leg and threw her left arm out as
she walked in place. She did the same with her left and motioned as if she was
twirling a bayonet. She stopped with the drum beat. When the drummer began
again, lower now, she swiped her right arm over her head twisted her torso,
pulling the right leg over the left. Dipping to the ground she swept her finger
tips across the floor and swayed before pushing herself up. The beat got faster
as she moved back, brought down her right elbow, turned her head left and then
right, slapped her chess with her left arm and stomped her left leg. She raised
her right knee and slapped in with her left hand doing it vice versa followed
by more stomping and the slapping of her knees, elbows, and shoulders before
marching in place, turning her head left and right and spinning around. Now
here was the part where she was supposed to have mimed being shot but she
tripped over her own feet and had to start the dance again.
“Remember Korra,” said Tia Fauve,
“the beat of the drum is the beat of your heart, move with it in this dance.”
“Yes Tia,” she said diligently,
rubbing her knee where she caught herself.
She
kept practicing and practicing, matching her movement with the beat of the drum
and trying desperately not to trip. Before the gong rang for lunch Tia Fauve
let her go shower and afterwards she found Sugar waiting in the quad. They
shared fried plantain, brown rice, and Cochinita Pibil
Yucatan style. They couldn’t really talk because there was barely enough time
to eat. Before the gong was rung Korra traded Sugar a handful of cherries for a
handful of almonds, those being the other’s dessert. She ate the almonds on her
way back to the second dance hall, hands sticky from the honey. Tia Fauve scolded
her for not finding the time to wash her hands before letting her wash her
hands and get back to practicing for another hour until her Pre-Calculus class.
School
let out at four which gave her a brief moment of happiness until she remembered
her auction was still two weeks away and she would have to practice every day
at school. Close to regretting her choice she hopped on her bike and rode with
Sugar to pick up their brothers. The boys were arguing about who was the
strongest superhero without super powers, Mr. Avenger or the Dark King. They
argued the entire ride home. Sugar lived a few houses down and so broke off
early. Korra’s mother was in her sewing room making the dress for her
performance while Kharam played at her feet.
Korra popped her head in the room
and smiled at the toddler, “Mommy I’m home.”
Her mother did not look away from
her task and just mumbled “Mhm.”
“Korra, Korra,” Kharam squealed,
running up to her. She opened the door and lifted him into a hug. “Market, les
go to the market.”
“Oh, before you go the Shack I need
you to get a few things from the market. The list is on the table, money in the
jar. Take Kharam, he hasn’t gotten to go outside today.”
“Yes Mommy,” she said before
shutting the door and calling to Kamar.
After
changing out of her school uniform she took her two brothers to the market with
her, carrying a basket on her left wrist and holding the hand of the
hyperactive four-year old in her right hand. Kamar walked two feet behind them,
glowering. He hated going shopping especially with Korra because she never got
him anything yet made him carry everything all because he refused to hold
Kharam. As soon as they entered the market she handed him the basket and
quickly grabbed Kharam when he pulled away.
“What’s first on the list, Akhi?”
Sighing, he looked at the list,
“Cornmeal 2lbs.”
Because
there were a large number of stalls and no order to the market Korra knew she
wasn’t finding it right away and had Kamar read the whole list to her. Cornmeal
2lbs, Brown Sugar 2lbs, six cloves of garlic, bushel of carrots, green bell
peppers 1lb, flour 1lb, vegetable oil, olive oil, a wheel of goat cheese, and
chili peppers. Korra had a budget of 100 Almar notes thought the normal grocery
budget was 200, and wanted to do this as quickly as possible. Except they had
to walk around the market a bit, haggle down prices, and keep Kharam from
running off and grabbing things that he wanted or looked nice to him. And it
did not help that Kamar grumbled and intentionally walked slower to bother her.
To make it worse, each step she took hurt from all the dancing she had to do
earlier.
“Can we get candy,” Kharam asked,
trying to pull himself out of her arms so he could reach for whatever was in
the stall behind her.
They had just gotten the last thing
on their list with 62 notes to spare.
“Sorry, saghirti, but we have to go.”
“But I want,” he cried. Kamar
rolled his eyes.
Ignoring
the outburst she led them out of the market. The toddler cried and squirmed,
kicking at her. She pinched him to make him stop and then set him down for him
to walk. A few steps later he got distracted by a butterfly and Kamar, after
spotting a vendor, said they should get shaved ice. She relented, if only
because she wanted some herself. Their mother wouldn’t mind, she was the one
who counted the money and did all the sums for their way of living.
“So,” Korra started as they walked.
“My auction is in two weeks and since every girl is bought no matter what I’ll
be leaving very soon.”
“Yeah I know, Mommy told me,” Kamar
said unable to decide if he was angry at her bringing this up or sad.
“So you’ll be in charge of taking
care of yourself and Kharam from now on. This also means you’ll have to help
Mommy with the house and the chores so you probably won’t have as much time to
play any—,”
He cut her off, “Why are you being
sold exactly,” he asked shyly.
She gave a small, grateful smile at
his concern and he scowled.
“Not that it matters, you’re still
being sold,” he spat and then added a little less harshly, “But why?”
She chuckled, “Dad wants to send
you to Bagda in September, so you can mingle with the rich.”
“But I’m not smart enough for Bagda!”
“You think Dad wants to hear that.
Mommy said he’s stubbornly sticking to it. I think he either wants you to make
rich friends who’ll help you get a great job, or, he wants you to marry into
money.”
“I have one friend here and that’s
because he’s your best friend’s younger brother. I’m definitely gonna
disappoint him.”
She glanced down at him and
shrugged, “Probably. But look at it this way, you’ll still be going to a great
school and someone is bound to take some positive interest in you.”
He gave her a shocked, slightly
scarred look as he tried not to take offense at her agreement. “I don’t wanna
go.”
“Well neither do I but I don’t have
a fucking choice. Anyhow, you’ll have to get used to shopping by yourself, and with Mommy, and Kharam.”
“Yes,” said the four-year-old, his
face a mess of cherry syrup.
“Nothing, little one, I was just
telling Kamar something.”
“About me!” he gave them hopeful,
ecstatic looks.
“No,” Kamar said flatly so Kharam
kicked him.
Because he wasn’t allowed to hit
his younger brother and Korra would definitely be mad at him for doing so,
Kamar settled for smacking the remains of the snow cone out of Kharam’s hand.
They were on their block now so Korra let his hand go while he cried and chased
Kamar back to their house. Telling Kamar to give their little brother a bath
she put away the food and the money before she heard her father yell.
“Fuck,” she muttered.
Her
intentions had been to be out of the house and at the Shack before he returned.
It was better for her psyche and physical state that she spent as much time away
from him as possible. For whatever reason that she and her family had yet to
figure out Korra seemed to make her father angry the most. The best place to
hide from him in the kitchen was the pantry so she quickly went in that direction
until she realized he wasn’t walking into the kitchen to yell at her. No,
instead he was arguing with her mother upstairs and the walls were just too
thin to block out the noise.
“What is this-this-this mess!? She’s ugly
enough without you dressing her like a whore.”
Korra could only assume that her
mother rolled her eyes, something she did often with her husband. “Why are you
so upset about it, you’re selling her to be a whore anyways.”
“I wouldn’t be if you’d dress her
in a way that might make her look flattering!”
Korra could not hear the next bit
because it was drowned out by Kharam crying. Again she swore and went to go see
what the problem was, unfortunately the children’s bathroom was upstairs and
two doors away from the sewing room.
“Kamar what happened,” she asked
when she got there. Hearing her, her parents stepped out of the sewing room.
“He’s crying over a toy again, it’s
nothing,” Kamar said quickly, glaring at the toddler beside his bubble bath.
“Where’s my boat, I want my boat.”
“Korra,” he father snapped, making
her jump, “what are you doing here, you should be practicing.”
“S-s-sorry,” she stammered,
trembling. “I was j-just checking on them.”
“They’re fine go practice.” He
pushed past her, into the bathroom, and walked up to Kharam. He held his hand
like his was about to strike him and said very seriously, “Stop crying before I
give you something to cry for.”
Problem was that didn’t work on
Kharam yet and just made him cry more so his father did slap him.
Her mother pinched the bridge of
her nose and sighed while the toddler screamed. “Korra go practice, Kamar, go
do your homework, Dear you are making it worse,” she snapped. “Get out, I’ll
give him a bath, go-” she threw her hands out in exasperation, “-oh just go do
something away from here.”
She picked up Kharam as her husband
glared at her. They all obeyed though, so Korra was forced to practice without
music, having to remember the beat in her head.
This
was how she ended up being forced to practice even while she was at home. Eight
hours in school followed by whatever time she spent at home if she was unlucky
enough to be there while her father was and not at the Shack. She was expecting
to have bleeding, blistered feet by the time the auction rolled around but she
regularly did what she could to keep them healed and bandaged when she needed
to. On the day of the auction her feet were bandaged.
Points: 15630
Reviews: 364
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