Misunderstood
"Let Da be, girl. Ye can't be askin' him about that. It's man's work."
Neela looked up at her father, her eyes wide as she pleaded silently for him to over ride her mother. In the past he'd have done it without hesitation, but since her bleeding started it was as if every word he spoke to her had to be weighed and considered. Most often she came up wanting. He told her nothing anymore about his business in town.
It wasn't just the matter of the town elder's meeting. He'd barely ever told her much about that. He'd mentioned they discussed fixing a road or helping rebuild a barn, but nothing about how the decision was reached. In the past, though, he'd told her about the haggling that got him the best price for their chickens.
He sat her in the front garden one day, while her mother was off doing wash, and told her all about watching a salesman from Galway try to sell Mrs. O' Shea a new stove, sight unseen. He talked it up and down, making it sound like the most magical thing. Neela could almost see it glowing in front of her. Her father said the men could see Mrs. O' Shea was giving in and one stepped forward. Softly, without a hint of malice, he reminded the woman that she already made the best pies in the county on the stove she had. Did she really need to put the other women to shame with the shiny, magic stove?
The salesman was incensed. How dare the man queer his deal that way? Her father shook his head. That wasn't the point at all. It was his job, as it was the job of all the men of their village, to look after the women and children. She'd been proud of her da that day, for being part of it. She'd been proud of the men of her village for looking after them all and wished she could be a part of it.
Months later, when her world fell apart, she remembered that feeling and felt sick. It was men's work and they were welcome to it. She didn't even want to understand it.
370
Neela looked up at her father, her eyes wide as she pleaded silently for him to over ride her mother. In the past he'd have done it without hesitation, but since her bleeding started it was as if every word he spoke to her had to be weighed and considered. Most often she came up wanting. He told her nothing anymore about his business in town.
It wasn't just the matter of the town elder's meeting. He'd barely ever told her much about that. He'd mentioned they discussed fixing a road or helping rebuild a barn, but nothing about how the decision was reached. In the past, though, he'd told her about the haggling that got him the best price for their chickens.
He sat her in the front garden one day, while her mother was off doing wash, and told her all about watching a salesman from Galway try to sell Mrs. O' Shea a new stove, sight unseen. He talked it up and down, making it sound like the most magical thing. Neela could almost see it glowing in front of her. Her father said the men could see Mrs. O' Shea was giving in and one stepped forward. Softly, without a hint of malice, he reminded the woman that she already made the best pies in the county on the stove she had. Did she really need to put the other women to shame with the shiny, magic stove?
The salesman was incensed. How dare the man queer his deal that way? Her father shook his head. That wasn't the point at all. It was his job, as it was the job of all the men of their village, to look after the women and children. She'd been proud of her da that day, for being part of it. She'd been proud of the men of her village for looking after them all and wished she could be a part of it.
Months later, when her world fell apart, she remembered that feeling and felt sick. It was men's work and they were welcome to it. She didn't even want to understand it.
370