They began seeing what they had refused to see. Yes, his speech was rough. Yes, his clothes were plain.
Yes, he still looked like a simple village boy. But he was also tall, strong, handsome in a quiet way.
And the more they saw him, the harder it became to keep calling him ugly.
That was the irony of it all. The daughters who had mocked him first were the first to begin noticing him most.
The change did not happen openly. It happened in pieces. Sandra came into the kitchen one evening and said, “That soup from yesterday, keep some for me.”
Ben nodded. Yes, my princess. She stayed there instead of leaving. Ben waited. Finally, he asked.
Is there anything else? Sandra lifted her chin. >> I don’t need another reason to stand in my father’s kitchen.
>> No, you do not. He glanced at the pot. Tasted first before serving me.
Last time it was too hot. >> This one was too hot. >> Ben looked at the soup.
It was barely boiling. But he only said, “Yes, my princess.” Sandra remained there another full minute before walking away.
The next afternoon, Linda came in smiling in a strange way. >> “I came to talk.”
>> “Talk? >> Must I stop talking entirely?” >> “Yes. Must I not talk again?”
Ben said nothing. Linda moved closer. >> “Your English is bad.” >> “Sorry? >> I didn’t tell you to say sorry, only that your English is bad.”
Yes. >> Who taught you? >> He nodded that way. >> Yes. Linda tilted her head.
Who taught you to speak like that? Ben answered simply. Life. She laughed. That is not an answer.
Ben did not respond. Linda stayed a little longer asking pointless questions and correcting words he had not even said wrong.
When she finally left, she looked slightly annoyed with herself. Rita found her own excuse, too.
She started bringing him unnecessary instructions. Mother said the tea should not be too sweet.
Father wants more pepper in his soup. Don’t forget to wash that tray. Half the time those messages were either not important or not even true.
Still, she kept coming. Only Nenah remained the same. She still came mostly in the mornings.
Sometimes in the evenings if the kitchen was quiet, she asked about cooking in a real way.
How do you know when the oil is ready? Why do you fry this first?
What makes rice smell better? Ben answered her when he could. At times they washed plates side by side after the workers had gone.
At times they stood near the fire in silence. Once while peeling yam together, Nah asked, “Did you always cook?”
