MARICAYANA: The Beginning [ONC 2021]

7: MANIA & NOSTALGIA

"For Tataka's sake! Quail Guy's daughter, what are you doing here?"

The man with the caterpillar moustache was openly staring at Wening now, a genuine surprise painted all over his face. What caught her off guard, however, was the subtle but unmistakable delight tingeing his throaty voice.

"Y-you recognize me?" Wening could almost taste how each word stumbled clumsily out of her mouth. She almost winced at how rude they probably sounded. If Father were here, he would have scolded her for talking so disrespectfully towards someone at least twice her age.

The man, however, didn't seem the slightest bit ruffled, let alone offended. Instead, he pulled a giant teasing grin, his moustache a squirming fat caterpillar.

"Ay, how could I not recognize you, dear? I don't forget people's faces, especially the handsome ones like yours and your daddy's!" the man chattered merrily, "yes, even with quail feathers stuck all over the place. Gotta love those wild-looks eh?"

The man winked and Wening felt the corner of her mouth twitch. How was she supposed to react to that exactly?

"Seriously, it's past a full moon already and your daddy hasn't showed up even once at my shop," the man jutted out his lower lip, pulling a dramatic sad face, "I've even brewed his favorite persimmon wine, you know!"

"Persimmon wine, you said..."

A piece of memory sprung up rather aggressively in Wening's mind.

It must have been sometime during Mangsa Karo period, because the earth had been equally dry and the sun equally scorching and Wening absolutely miserable. Demands had been unusually high that time of the year. Since early dawn, Father had been busying himself prepping the transport of goods on their beat-up ox-cart, all the while letting Wening enjoy her beauty sleep and sit idly by.

As if.

So, accompanying Father to the market Wening went, despite her deep-seated aversion towards the exhausting rite that was interacting with people. Besides, it was a study in filial duty and all that.

At least the trade had gone well. By the time they were ready to wrap up and go home—empty cages stacked neatly on the back of their ox-cart—Father was in a very good mood. A celebratory mood, in fact.

Halfway home, Father made an impromptu stop at a rather dubious establishment just outside of the marketplace. Wening thought it was a den of iniquity of some sorts, but Father quickly dismissed the idea with a rare laugh, claiming it to be his favorite drinking hole in the entire Jaladara area.

That late afternoon, Wening had witnessed a bizarre sight of the shop owner thirstily eyeing Father who was thirstily eyeing a jug of persimmon wine.

Said shop owner had not been sporting a lush growth above his lips, then.

"Tuak Master!" Wening gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"Took you long enough," quipped the caterpillar-moustached man—Tuak Master—with a playful eye roll. "No no, no need to apologize. It's really fine. You know I'm not someone who holds grudges, even if you clearly couldn't tell who I was the first time. Upsetting, yes, but understandable. Was it the moustache? I know, I know, it's pretty impressive. I'm wondering what your daddy might think about it, which begs the question, what are you doing here? Isn't it still too early to trade the quails? Or maybe you've changed profession? Is that why you're wearing your daddy's clothes? Though I've got to admit, it really looks good on you by the way..."