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‘T’shombe,’ he announced with a ringing voice. ‘Bridget,’ I replied, touching myself on the chest. He turned and walked towards the village proper and the fire in its center. I could smell roasting meat. With a gesture he indicated I should follow him. I did and the rest of the villagers fell in behind me. I sensed no threat from them. T’shombe laid his weapon against a frame by the central hut. Instinctively I doffed the baldric supporting my katana and leaned it beside the axe. From the nod and grunts of approval around me I knew I had done the right thing. Peace had been offered and peace had been accepted. T’shombe and I and a young warrior I took to be his son sat on a bench that appeared to be the only place other than the sand to rest. The three of us strove to talk. We discovered that we shared a number of Arabic words and managed to make ourselves understood to each other in a broken version of that tongue. I learned that Arabic traders often stopped here. They had thought. It might sound strange to you, but one of the core tenants we were taught in school was obedience to our elders, and like I said, my high school still punished students with paddling. I’d also occasionally been spanked by my best friend’s mother before and was sometimes still spanked by my parents, so getting a few swats from an older lady was not new to me at all. And of course there was also the fact that I hadn’t practiced piano in two weeks so I really had no room to argue anyway. I knelt on the piano bench and raised my skirt like I was told, waiting for a couple of slaps on the behind and a quick scolding. When after several seconds nothing happened I glanced over and saw her rummaging through a drawer. I was confused for a second until I saw her pull out an old wooden paddle. Realizing that she meant business I stammered something like “Oh no, Mrs. P, you don’t have to do that,” to which she replied that clearly she did, since not only had I skipped two weeks of practice, I’d.
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