Read Everything Under the Heavens (Silk and Song) for Free Online Page B

Kashgar!”
    Johanna beamed at him. “Well met, Ahmed! Yes, we have returned, and we are here to trade.”
    He refilled their cups without charge, trading Kashgar gossip for the gossip of the Road, and Jaufre was impressed by Johanna’s knowledge and confidence, and the ease with which she slipped from Mandarin, the language spoken among members of the caravan, and Persian, the lingua franca of Kashgar. He was even more impressed by the respect Ahmed accorded Johanna, and the gravity with which he listened to her replies to his questions. Fifty years Ahmed’s junior, she barely came up to his waist, and yet he attended her conversation with a serious frown that didn’t look as if he were indulging a child.
    Next to Ahmed’s stall green-glazed earthenware jars of olive oil, big enough to hold both Johanna and Jaufre with room to spare, were stacked against bales of hay. The vendor had set up a crude wooden table with a bowl of the oil available for tasting. Placed conveniently next door was a naan stall. A woman in a colorful scarf tied low on her forehead, her sleeves turned back to her elbows, was kneading a mass of dough in a large open bowl. Her husband presided over the oven, a tall earthenware pot larger than the oil urns, buried in glowing coals. He tore off chunks of dough to pat them into rounds and slap them against the inside surface of the pot. When that side had browned he peeled them off and slapped them down again on the other, uncooked side. The smell of baking bread made Johanna’s stomach growl and the baker’s wife smile. She gave them two rounds each, saying with a twinkle, “Still the finest bread in all of Kashgar, yes, young miss?”
    “Oh, yes, thank you, Malala! Is Fatima here?”
    “She is, young miss,” Malala said. “She is on an errand for me at present, but doubtless you will see her while you are here. Inshalla.” She waved them off so she could serve a growing line of hungry customers. Half of them called out greetings to Johanna and inquiries after the goods her father would be selling.
    “Who’s Fatima?” Jaufre said.
    “Malala and Ahmed’s daughter,” Johanna said. “I’ve known her forever.”
    They stood next to the olive oil stall, tearing off chunks of warm naan to dip into the sample bowl and wolf it down. The olive oil man topped off the bowl and continued his pitch to the crowd. “The very finest olive oil to be had within a thousand leagues! The first pressing of the season, from the vineyards of Messenia! A delicate flavor and a sturdy body, perfect for both cooking and dressing!” He smiled benignly down at the two urchins with his product dripping off their chins. “And, ladies and gentlemen, the best prices this side of the Levant!” He leaned forward and said to Johanna, “Young miss, you will tell your father, the honorable Wu Li, that Yusuf the Levantine says this is the best press of oil in a generation, yes? The cooks of Cambaluc will pay any price for it.”
    Johanna nodded, her solemnity belied somewhat by the smearing of the best press of oil in a generation across her face with the back of her hand. “Be sure I will tell him so this evening, Yusuf.”
    He bowed, his hand on his heart. “Then I am content. Approach, good sirs, approach! Oil of Messenia, the first pressing! The taste, ah, the taste!” He kissed his fingers to the sky. “The taste will make you swoon!”
    He winked at Johanna and she fainted dead away into the arms of a startled Jaufre, to the chuckles of the surrounding crowd.
    After that they went to wool sheds to watch the sheep being shorn, where the shearer gave Johanna samples of this year’s wool clip with an adjuration that she hand them over to Wu Li as soon as possible because everyone knew how fine was the wool harvested from the flocks of Ibrahim the Berber and his supply was already dangerously low. They proceeded to the cow barns to watch the auction, and then to the horse yard, where they spent the rest of the