Chapter 19 Robbie
ROBBIE
Gree-Gree was acting weird, and whatever the reason for it was, I knew it had to do with whatever that older dude had said to him.
Grishk was definitely some kind of big wig by the way he was deferred to by Gree-Gree and the others that were there.
His house was fancier too, with a large reception type area in front of a much bigger stove that warmed the place up and lots of seating in a semi circle facing a big ass chair which wasn’t quite a throne per se, but gave off “boss chair” vibes.
He placed our mugs of tea on the table, sitting next to me this time instead of across from me as usual.
He reached for the book, and I let him have it.
It was obviously a children’s book, with lots of pictures of everyday objects like a cup, a triangular knife like the one Gree-Gree had worn the day we first met, various animals and types of food, and items of clothing.
A blocky script beneath each picture identified the items. I felt a shiver of anticipation as Gree-Gree flipped to the first page.
Yes! I’d been correct in my assumptions - he was going to teach me more of their language!
Was this what he’d been nervous about? Had his chief or king or whatever given him a deadline for me to be able to talk to them or something?
Or cast doubt on his ability to teach me?
If so, fuck ‘em. We’d show him just how wrong he was, and then he’d have to apologize to Gree-Gree and praise him, maybe offer him a step up in position or whatever.
Gree-Gree tapped the picture of a shirt with the tip of his nail.
“Hrabah,” he said. Then slower, “Hraaa bah.”
I tried to repeat it exactly as he said it, but it kept coming out more like ‘hurrah buh’.
He finally accepted it was simply my damned Southern accent getting in the way.
I’d tried for years to shed it, as folks hearing it outside of the South would hear it and automatically assume I was an ill educated yokel of some kind, and in the South, outside of the state I’d spent just over half of my childhood, they’d cock their heads and ask, “Where are you from?” in an often suspicious tone.
“Hrabah,” he said one final time with a satisfied sort of nod, if I was reading his body language correctly. So far, I’d not had any indication that I wasn’t, so I was going to go with that. He turned the page. Great! Pants! “Krohkange.”
Oh, boy. This one was even harder to say.
“Krohhhhh kanjjjjuh,” he drew it out.
Okay, maybe not. “Kroh-kanjuh,” I tried. Then I thought about how that ‘juh’ sound the first time had been more like a soft g, like at the end of the word orange. “Krohkange.”
Gree-Gree’s eyes lit up.
“Sa!” And now it was onto a pair of boots. We did a total of ten pictures before he was ready for us to quit. I found myself wishing for some index cards and pen, so I could make myself some flash cards that I could study these on my own while he cooked or whatever.
Not that he was cooking now. No, he’d gotten up and taken out some bread and berries and strips of dried meat, arranged it all on two plates, refilled our mugs of tea, and presented it to me for our lunch.
I didn’t mind that at all, if I was honest. I was a big fan of beef jerky, and the meat was similar in texture to the homemade stuff my mom used to make in her food dehydrator, though it was spicier and gamier.
Still, it was tasty and it filled the hole in my belly, which was the most important part.
It wasn’t like I could stroll out the front door and go wandering back to what passed as downtown for the village, walk into a convenience store, and buy one of the sandwiches my company sold to them.
There weren’t any Denny’s or Burger Kings, or anything else, either.
Okay, there were a few food vendors I’d seen, but I had no way to pay them myself, or the words to order any if I did, and the food was still alien.
I suddenly really missed my mom’s meatloaf and wondered if I’d be able to get across the idea of ground meat and if they had anything like tomatoes.
Probably not, as tomatoes were a warm weather crop.
I finished my last bite, head down, blinking back tears.
My mom… I’d spent years trying to distance myself, prove I could be somebody, and utterly failed to do any better than she had.
I’d had it all planned - go back there and show off and have her regret telling me at eighteen that she couldn’t provide for me on her own anymore or pay for college.
Hell, now that I was being completely honest with myself, she had been measurably more successful because at least she’d kept her one job all those years as a waitress at our local IHOP.
Ohhh…pancakes…bacon…
A sob tore out of my throat.
“Rah-bee?” Gree-Gree’s voice was unusually soft and gentle as he touched my shoulder lightly.
His kindness undid me, and I began to cry in earnest, hating myself all the while for wanting my mama like a small, abandoned child.
Not the best way to impress the guy I wanted to fall for me, and boy, that fact made me cry even harder.
“Rah-bee,” he said again, sounding distressed. Great. Now I’d upset him too, and I didn’t have the words to tell him what was going on with me, so we could kinda laugh about it shakily and get back to how things had been.