In spite of her misgivings, no one seemed to notice anything unusual when Rosmerta returned to the party. It appeared that nobody knew about her indiscretion—nobody in her family, that is. To her immense relief, everything seemed to be normal the next day.
Better than normal. Her yogurt was taken out of storage for the mid-day meal. It was a perfect thick curd with a slightly sour taste and smooth, creamy consistency. Rosmerta swelled with pride as Shushawn tasted the yogurt and brought it to the table. Shushawn ate with the men while the other women and children sat quietly against the wall. When the men finished, the women moved to the tonir for their meal.
They ate while the men were off doing whatever important things men do. When they finished, Rosmerta cleaned up the mess, then started mending a torn blanket. Shushawn stopped her. “Get the kettle and put it on the tonir.”
When Shushawn instructed her to fill the kettle half full of water, Rosmerta felt a shudder of excitement. Was today to be the day she learned how to make tanabour?
“Now add two handfuls of the pearl barley.”
Yes, this was tanabour. Rosmerta could feel the rhythmic beating in her chest quicken. She focused her attention on Shushawn.
“Now we wait for the barley to cook.”
Preparing meals for the family was fun, but there sure was a lot of waiting. Waiting for the fire to light, waiting for the tonir to get hot, waiting for the water to boil and waiting for the barley to cook. Rosmerta didn’t like waiting. She watched the grains swell as they absorbed more and more of the water, while her foot tapped rapidly on the floor, as if to keep pace with her heart.
Shushawn peered into the pot. “It’s ready,” she announced. “Put what’s left of your yogurt into the other pot, add about the same amount of water, and stir.”
Rosmerta did as she was told. She was uneasy as her yogurt thinned—she was sure she was ruining it.
“Faster,” chided Shushawn. “Much faster. Pretend you’re mad at it.”
Rosmerta whipped the mixture furiously.
“That’s better,” Shushawn said. “Now set it on the heat and let it come to a boil.”
More waiting, thought Rosmerta.
“Keep it moving. Don’t stop stirring.”
So much for waiting.
By the time the yogurt mixture was finally boiling, Rosmerta’s arms were aching. She added the yogurt to the cooked barely and helped Shushawn remove the heavy pot from the tonir. They added sautéed onions, chopped mint, and parsley. After they’d let it sit for a few minutes, Shushawn grabbed a spoon, dipped it into the hot soup, lifted it to her mouth, and tasted. “A little salt,” she said.
Rosmerta added a pinch of salt to the tanabour and looked up apprehensively towards Shushawn, who nodded encouragement. “A little more.” She added another pinch. “That should do it.”
Shushawn stirred the salt in and took another taste. “Perfect,” she announced. “Next I’ll show you how to make chaimen paste.”
Rosmerta stood a little taller and tried to suppress a smile. Now, she just had to wait for the men to come home to eat the tanabour.
In the meantime, she played Anaguel’s favorite game with her. Rosmerta pointed to the center of her face. “Nose,” she said very deliberately, then she pointed to Anaguel’s nose.
Anaguel giggled. “Rose,” she said.
Rosmerta pointed to her ear, then to Anaguel’s ear. “Ear,” she said.
“Hear,” replied Anaguel.
“Lip,” said Rosmerta.
“Pop,” said Anaguel.
“Pop? Pop doesn’t rhyme with lip. What rhymes with lip?”
“Top,” said Anaguel laughing uproariously.
“No,” chuckled Rosmerta. “Come on, you’re being silly. What rhymes with lip?”
Anaguel got very serious looking. “Lip,” she said. “lip, sip, dip, hip, rip…”
“Okay, okay,” Rosmerta said. “You’re getting too good for this game. What else can we play?”
“Zip, blip, trip…”
“How about numbers? Do you want to play numbers?
“One, two, three, five, nine, eight.”
“No, I think you’re getting tired. Are you ready for bed?”
“Bed, sled, head, tread.”
“Wow, did she come up with that all on her own?” Megerdich asked as he entered the house.
“Yes,” Rosmerta said. “She’s excellent with words. We need to work on numbers, though.”
“That’s okay. She’ll be a famous poet someday. Poets don’t need numbers, do they, Anagueljan?”
Anaguel giggled and reached her arms out to her grandfather. Megerdich picked her up, hugged her close, and whispered in her ear. “You have a gift for words, just like my Anoush.”
“Now don’t you be exciting that child just before bedtime,” said Shushawn. “Rosmerta, let’s bring the food over to the tonir.”
Rosmerta scurried over to help. She couldn’t wait for her father to try her tanabour.