My head was pounding. I found that I was lying on what felt like grass or something, covered in cloth. At least the pillow was soft.
Wait, pillow?
I slowly opened my eyes. Above me was a ceiling made from straw, which confirmed that I was indeed indoors. The air was warm and dry, and there was a dull flickering quality to the light. This told me that there was a fire, and that it was night.
Well, there goes my plan of not letting anyone see me. At least I still had my clothes on. And, thankfully, I could feel my handbag next to me.
I tried to sit up. Suddenly I heard furniture scraping, and a person approached me. I rubbed my eyes, and found that it was that same woman from earlier.
“Oh, hey,” I said. “Is this your house?”
The woman nodded.
“Slow.”
“Yeah, gotcha.”
With her help, I was able to sit upright. Through my headache I could see what this cottage looked like. The main source of light and heat was a nearby hearth, where she’d also kept a large cauldron for cooking. In front of it was an old table with some old stools surrounding it. Behind that was the front door, where a collection of woolen jackets and cloaks were hung up. At the foot of the rather large bed I was on was a chest, and at the other end of the cottage was another bed upon a loft.
So this is what “ye olde cottages” looked like.
“Uh-oh…”
The woman turned to me. I needed to relieve myself, but this being 1637 toilets didn’t exist yet. I was afraid of this…
“Um, I need to… you know…”
I rather inelegantly pointed at my crotch area, and tried to gesture something coming out. The woman understood immediately and pulled out a clay pot from under the bed. I looked at her with horror.
“Oh no no no, this won’t do. Listen, is there a place outside where I can do my business?”
She looked at me with bewilderment and confusion, put the pot away, and led me outside.
As it turned out, her cottage was at the edge of a forest, a slight distance away from the rest of the town. She led me to the back, and pointed out a ditch that was just barely visible in the residual firelight from inside. I thanked her, and she left me to my privacy. It was dark, but doing my thing out here was much better for both my and her sake. Using that chamber pot would’ve exposed her to… well, things she wouldn’t expect a woman to have.
After finishing my business, and lamenting the lack of a sink and soap, I groped my way through the darkness back into the cottage. Inside I found the woman pouring out some vegetable stew into a pair of wooden bowls.
“Eat,” she said, beckoning me to the table. I mean, I was hungry, but… is it safe? I don’t think quality control is a thing here…
Evidently, the woman sensed my hesitation, and beckoned again.
“Eat, p-please.”
Okay, fine, I decided. I’ve had all my shots. Nothing should happen. Probably.
I sat at the table. She handed me a crudely hand-carved wooden spoon, and some round cakes of hard bread. She then sat down in front of me and started eating without saying a word, but kept glancing at me as if waiting to see if I would eat it. I poked at the thick stew with the spoon, and recoiled a little.
“Hey, aren’t you gonna say ‘grace’ or something?” I said. “Isn’t that a thing that you guys do?”
She stared at me, a bit surprised.
“... No?”
“Huh, okay. Interesting.”
“Them… yes,” she said, pointing outside. “I… n-no.”
“Oh okay,” I said, nodding with a smile. “Nothing wrong with that. I don’t do it either, honestly.”
“Please eat,” said the woman, now insistent. “You… weak. Af– af-ter fall.”
I nodded. That's all I could do to buy time, I guess. Though I could see that her expression had softened a little. I picked up the spoon, scooped up some stew, hesitated, then finally put it in my mouth. It was kinda, well, tasteless, but that’s probably just me. I am Indian after all, I’m used to more intense flavors.
“It’s… interesting,” I said. “Could definitely use some spice though, like pepper, or chili flakes.”
“Pep-per…?”
“It’s… ah, never mind. Maybe later.”
“Have bread,” she said. I tried to bite some of the round bread cake.
“Ow! This is really tough!”
The woman stared at me, then showed me how she dipped it into the stew before biting it. Okay, so that’s how they eat it. The stew softens the bread enough to bite it!
I copied her, and found that the bread actually wasn’t that bad. She finally looked satisfied now, and I swear, I thought I even spotted a slight smile.
After a while I asked for something to drink. But then I realized that it might not be safe… though this was only after she got up, found a wooden cup, and took it to a barrel.
“Drink,” she said, putting the cup in front of me. It definitely didn’t smell like water, it actually kinda smelled like–
“Beer?!”
“Ale,” she said. “More… s-safe.”
Fair enough, I thought. I took a swig. Yeah, this tasted like diluted beer. It makes complete sense, to be honest. I shudder to think what horrors might be living in the water here.
After dinner the woman washed the dishes using some smelly, paste-like soap. Once that was done, she sat on one of the stools by the fire and mended her cloak. Not knowing what else to do, I sat on the bed. We kept glancing at each other, waiting for the other to speak first. Finally, I broke the silence.
“So, uh, where’s your husband?”
“Hus-band…?”
“Yeah, I mean, aren’t you married?”
I lifted my left hand with the palm facing me, and pointed at my ring finger. She seemed to have understood that, and shook her head vigorously.
“No. No… husband.”
“Oh, okay,” I said. I thought for sure that she might be married, I figured that girls were married off at like, 14 or something here. But those jackets at the front door though…
“Whose are those then?”
She hesitated.
“Tadhg. Brother. Gone now… one month.”
“Oh. I’m so sorry.”
She went back to her sewing. But I wanted to continue the conversation.
“Did you have only one brother?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Two sister, t-two brother. Seán, Bríd, Mairéad, Tadhg. All gone. Mam gone. Da gone. Only me now.”
Silence fell upon the cottage again. I looked around, finding myself suddenly aware of an… atmosphere. I looked back at the woman, she actually didn’t seem all that saddened by the loss. Maybe premature deaths were so common here that she’s used to it.
A few minutes later she seemed to have finished her work with the cloak. She made a quick glance at me before turning to the chest at the foot of the bed. She then removed some dresses, pulled out some bits of parchment and charcoal, put the dresses back in, and took the parchment and charcoal back to the table. Intrigued, I got out of the bed to see what she was up to. What I saw blew my mind.
Some of the parchment pieces had prayers written on them, in both English and in Latin. Some of the others seemed to be from some sort of registry, with baptismal records and such. The woman was examining the letters carefully, before sounding them out and copying them on a blank parchment with the charcoal. Incredible, I thought. She was actually teaching herself how to read and write.
“So this is how you learned English!” I said, picking up a prayer sheet with the words to Ave Maria written on it.
“Y-yes,” she said, a little alarmed.
“Where did you get these?” I asked, putting down the prayer sheet. She seemed nervous.
“Ch-church...” she said. “You… do you r-read?”
I chuckled, then sat down next to her. Somehow I got the feeling that she didn't obtain these documents with permission.
“Yeah, of course. In my– er, where I’m from, most people know how to read.”
“Women?”
“Including women.”
She stared at me with shock. I could tell she was a little jealous.
“Where… you from?” she asked.
“What?”
“Your s-skin… dark,” she said, pointing at my hand. “My skin, no dark. You speak English good, but not like… them. Your–”
She pointed at my hair.
“Like peat, but soft. Your teeth white, my teeth…”
She bared her teeth at me. Indeed, they were quite, well, bad. I recoiled at the smell, too. I knew dental hygiene wasn’t a thing yet, but I never imagined it would be this bad.
“Well,” I began. “My teeth are so white because I brush twice a day with toothpaste. My hair is soft and shiny because I wash it with shampoo and conditioner every three days. They also leave my hair smelling like coconut and vanilla.”
She stared at me with confusion, but also intrigue. I could tell she was trying to translate and make sense of everything I just said, although I don’t think she has any context for what coconut or vanilla is. Or shampoo. Or conditioner.
“As for my black hair and… ah, milk-choco skin, well, that’s because I’m from a place called India. Or, originally, anyway.”
“India…” she said, her tone half-whimsical. “Far-away land.”
“Oh, from here, definitely,” I said. “We introduced the world to wonders like base-ten mathematics, pepper, and sugar.”
“I know sugar,” she said. “But… never eat before. No silver.”
“That’s unfortunate. You’re really missing out on everything… sweet… in this world.”
“Sweet… I wish to t-try one day.”
Huh, interesting.
“Hey, maybe you will. You never know, you know?”
“Okay.”
She got back to her writing practice. Hearing her use the word “okay” suddenly made me realize something: her English was already improving, just from listening to me speak. I really hoped this didn’t open up some nasty paradox or something...
“Wait,” I said. She turned to me. “Watch this.”
I took a piece of charcoal and wrote a word on a bit of parchment.
RADHA
“R-raa-duh-ha,” she said, trying to sound out the letters. “What is this?”
“That’s my name,” I said, smiling. “Radha.”
“Rah-dah,” she tried again. “You write good. My write… not good.”
“Still, I want to see it. Write your name!”
Excited, I watched her slowly write out the letters of her name. Her handwriting reminded me of my own when I was a kid, but that’s to be expected I guess.
“My name,” the woman said. She handed me the parchment.
SAOIRSE
“Interesting,” I said, failing to suppress a grin. “Okay, so your name is Saoirse!”
Saoirse seemed more startled than happy upon hearing her name.
“Not… s-strange name?”
“Not at all!” I said, laughing. “It’s pretty common where I’m from. There’s at least two famous actresses with that name.”
“Ac-tress-es…?”
“Ah…” I said. “Never mind that now. But anyway…”
I held my hand out.
“It’s really nice to meet you, Saoirse.”
Saoirse looked right into my eyes for a few seconds before slowly gripping my hand. Though her grip was soft, her hand itself felt rough and calloused.
“Nice to m-meet you… Rah-dah.”
