By Deborah Rodriguez
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Extra info for A Cup of Friendship
Yazmina felt her sister take her hand and hold it tightly. “If I cannot get the money you owe me from this one, I’ll be back for the little one after the snows have melted. Now come,” he commanded Yazmina. Her uncle stood, and as he looked from the man to Yazmina, his strong jaw worked hard to keep his mouth closed against the curses he was struggling not to utter. He brushed the dust from his knees and escorted her to the car. He told her not to worry, but his face revealed what Yazmina already knew in her heart.
You will see” in the Koran meant “to know”; “thine heart and thine eyes” referred to your feelings and your thoughts, as Ahmet had been taught since he was a young boy in school. After the busy mornings, the café quieted down until the afternoons, when people came for business meetings or just to talk politics, war, and the latest game of buzkashi before going home for dinner. On Fridays, the day of rest, when nobody went to work, the café was open and busy all day. No matter how hard Ahmet tried, he wasn’t interested in his people’s version of polo, played with a dead calf instead of a ball.
She looked at him closely, this lovely, trustworthy man, with his large, slanted dark eyes and warm face, his narrow frame and immaculate clothing. And, of course, his hard work that had saved her and the café more times than she could remember. Besides his running the place, and besides his dealing with the damage from last month’s explosion, there was the time, last winter, when the pipes burst. The time when a power surge had killed a coffee machine because they had had only one overworked generator and had relied on the city’s electricity.
A Cup of Friendship by Deborah Rodriguez