Cynthia Kadohata - The Thing About Luck

Obaachan nodded her head and said, “You great cook. I know that. But your school no teach you about tang.”

I was stunned that Obaachan would talk back to Mrs. Parker.

“In future I follow all your recipe exactly,” Obaachan continued. “But I have very strong feeling about tang. But you pay me, I leave the tang out. I give you my promise.”

I’d never even heard Obaachan use the word “tang” before.

Obaachan and I sat down and began eating with the others. It really wasn’t half bad. Yes, it had more tang than the usual lasagna, but it still tasted good. Everybody scarfed down their food. All the guys even went for seconds. Then it was brownie time. Nobody commented as they ate their brownies, so I guess that was good. Personally, I thought they were excellent brownies.

Then Robbie suddenly said, “Good brownies.”

“I made them,” I said. And I had to admit, they were excellent .

I wanted to make him brownies every day for the rest of the harvest.

The next morning I woke up first to cook. It was Sunday, so that made it a full-breakfast day, with all twelve of us looking forward to our weekly treat. I was still in a happy mood because Robbie had liked my brownies. In fact, I started to think that perhaps they were the best brownies I had ever tasted. And to tell the truth, I mistakenly put in a little more sugar than the recipe called for.

Jiichan walked into the kitchen and stared at the pan I planned to use to scramble thirty eggs. It was made of Teflon. We didn’t have anything made of Teflon at home because Jiichan refused to eat anything cooked on weird pots and pans that were coated with who knew what kind of chemicals. Jiichan stumbled backward with a hand on his heart. I knew it was because of the Teflon. I waited for him to recover. “Don’t worry,” I said. I took out a smaller stainless-steel pan to cook his three sunny-side-up eggs in, using the special oil we’d brought for him—a mix of butter from grass-fed cows, organic coconut oil, and organic extra-virgin olive oil. Jiichan ate as much junk food as anyone, but he balanced it with this magical oil.

Unfortunately, dishwashing was one of my chores both at home and on harvest, so I had scraped quite a few pans in my life and pretty much thought that whoever had invented Teflon had done the world a big favor. I wondered if the inventor of Teflon was someone like Jaz, some brainy dude locked up in a lab twelve hours a day while he chewed gum and blew bubbles exactly the same size, over and over.

“I got very bad feel about Teflon,” Jiichan said. “Teflon invented by someone who care more about easy than about good.”

I cooked everyone else’s eggs at the same time and toasted and buttered a loaf of wheat bread. I fried thirty sausages and started the coffee and the hot water for tea. I radioed the Parkers. “Breakfast is ready,” I said. Then I felt kind of shy about going over to the drivers’ quarters. Finally, I crept forward and peered into their room. “Breakfast,” I said, but not loudly enough to wake anyone. I took a big breath. “Breakfast!” I said, even more loudly than I’d meant to.

“Girl, we’re not deaf,” Mick said. The guys started getting out of bed, some of them in their underwear. For half a second I stared, but then I hurried from the room. There was hair all over their chests! A lot!

Obaachan was setting the kitchen table. Breakfast was always indoors, I didn’t know why. I guess that was just the way Mrs. Parker liked it. No harvesting operation I had ever heard of cooked a hot breakfast for the workers, even on Sundays. But like I said, the Parkers had started out as drivers themselves, so they really liked to take good care of their team.

Rory, Sean, and Mick came into the kitchen at the same time. I sat down with my plate and slid to the very end of one of the benches. I didn’t know whether I wanted Robbie to sit next to me or not. It was kind of stressful sitting next to him. On the other hand, it was also fun and exciting. Mick took some eggs and five sausages and slid in next to me. He hadn’t bothered brushing his hair, and tufts of it stood up on his head.

“Summer. What’s the craic?” he said.

But I couldn’t stop staring at his plate. Who eats five sausages? I thought. Now there were only twenty-five left for everyone else. But I could make that work by not eating any until after everyone else had eaten theirs.

“Summer?” Mick asked.

“The usual,” I replied. “Got up at six.”

“Summer, is there milk in it?” Rory asked.

“Yes, in the fridge.” I forgot what exactly “in it” meant to Irish people, but it didn’t exactly mean “in it” like we thought.

“Jaykers! Ya want milk? The amount of milk ya drink, ya’re going to turn into a cow,” Mick exclaimed.

“What’s that? I like milk, all right? My ma always gave me a lot.”

“Ah, still a mama’s boy, are ya, then?” Mick teased.

“I like milk, sure. It doesn’t make me a mama’s boy,” Rory retorted, slipping in next to Mick.

“Well, these long days’ll make a man out of ya.”

“If it doesn’t break him,” Sean said, thumping his plate on the table. Sean had taken four sausages. Well, the sausage situation wasn’t my fault. I had made exactly as many sausages as Mrs. Parker had said to in her binder.

Obaachan poured a glass of milk for Rory and passed it down to him.

I felt more comfortable with them than with the two American drivers. I wasn’t sure why, but maybe it was because I felt closer in the pecking order to the Irish guys. The Americans were older, so I had to show them more respect.

Mrs. Parker swept into the camper, her chin rising a bit as she sniffed the air, a lot like Thunder would do.

I looked over at Jiichan and saw him closing his eyes the way he often did when eating. It was like he was savoring his magic oil.

I didn’t know what to say, so I kept it basic. “So what’s it like where you guys live?” I asked the Irishmen.

“Oh, it’s lovely, beautiful countryside,” Mick replied, his voice suddenly catching fire. He was the most talkative of the three.

“Tell her about yer crop circles, then,” Rory said, elbowing him with a laugh.

“Ya can make fun about it, but it’s an honest day’s work,” Mick shot back, returning the elbow.

“Last year, and the year before that, he took people on tours of crop circles all over Ireland,” Rory explained, setting down his fork. “Mostly Americans, and he charges them a thousand euro a tour. He probably makes the circles by himself!”

Mick chewed on a sausage, unperturbed. He swallowed and turned toward me. “It’s a mystery, and they want to see a mystery. I join together a mystery and someone who wants to see a mystery. That’s all it is.” He spoke wearily, as if he had said this many times before. It struck me that he was basically a salesman, selling a mystery to Americans. He then speared another sausage and put the whole thing in his mouth at once.

Rory laughed loudly. “He can talk for an hour about nothing but crop circles. But don’t get him started, because he might bore ya to death.”

“I don’t even know what a crop circle is,” I said.

Rory groaned. “Now ya’re going to get him started.” Rory was a skinny guy with curly red hair—on his head and his chest!

Robbie entered the kitchen next, asking, “Is there coffee?” Obaachan said I couldn’t drink coffee because it would stunt my growth. I wondered if she was taking note of how tall Robbie was. Although, I have to say that once, Obaachan had let me taste some, and it was so awful I had no plans to ever drink any again. I had been looking forward to drinking coffee my whole life, but after that I had to cross it off my list of things I wanted to do one day. Actually, I didn’t really have a list. It was more like things I made mental notes of. Right then I made a mental note to start keeping a list of things I wanted to do one day. Honestly, I would be happy if I could just visit the Badlands once a month or so. I think that would help me settle my personality.