Trials of a Teenage Hedge-Witch

Barley Sugar Twists

The meal turns out to be less awkward than Maya had thought it might. The food is unusual but very tasty, even the Tahdig, which it turns out is supposed to be crispy and ever- so-slightly burned.

Maya watches Mr. Jahanpour across the table. There is a ridiculous layer of baby-fuzz covering the crown of his usually shiny, bald head. Honora's cream must be working, but perhaps not quite as fast as he required. Sally doesn't seem to mind though as her eyes are trained on him in constant adoration. The clover seems to have done its trick.

Mrs. Lee's eyes, on the other hand, are trained with hawk-like ruthlessness on Sally herself, transforming into sweetness whenever Sally looks her way.

''You never told me your uncle is Mr. Jahanpour the pharmacist!'' Maya hisses at Truman while the adults are chatting.

He shrugs. "Why does it matter?''

''Well, it doesn't, I guess. It's just weird is all. He has known me since I was a baby.''

''You could say the same of everyone around here though.'' He has a point.

"So, you are going to become a pharmacist then? That's what you were talking about in class when you said you were expected to take over your uncle's business.''

He sighs.

"Yeah. My mom is a chemistry teacher, and my uncle is a pharmacist. My dad is actually a mechanic, he runs an auto shop but that won't cut it with my mother. She keeps on going on about how important a high education is. How her people were denied it in their home country. How they left, in part, for the freedom to learn.''

Maya nods sagely, pretending to know what he is talking about and then, as the main meal comes to an end, she excuses herself to the bathroom and googles furiously, staggered by what she finds. Arbitrary arrests, executions, imprisonment. The prevention of Bahá'is from attending universities or even school and the prevention of the establishment of Bahá'i places of learning. She is shaking slightly when she returns to the table.

"Did you use the special bathroom slippers, Maya dear?'' Mrs. Lee asks. Oh bugger! Was that what that other bucket of slippers was for in the bathroom?

"Mm-hmm.'' She nods vaguely.

''You ok?'' Truman asks, looking concerned at Maya's obvious pallor.

''Yip. I'm good. Thanks,'' she replies, taking her seat once more. While she was gone, a huge brass samovar has appeared on the table. It has ornate, scrolled handles and a pretty porcelain teapot painted with pink roses balanced unexpectedly on the top. Mrs. Lee is pouring out cut-glass mugs of the clear, brown brew, tossing in a dried rosebud and a cardamom pod before handing each one out.

"How do you take your tea, Maya?'' she asks. "I know most English people prefer it with milk and find the rose and cardamom a bit odd.'' She shoots a scalding glance across at Sally, who is sipping her milky concoction with oblivious content.

"Um, thanks Mrs. Lee, but I am very happy with the rose and cardamom. We drink a lot of herbal blends at my home.''

''Maya's mummy is an excellent cook!'' chuckles Mr. Jahanpour amiably, stroking the bum-fluff on his dome rather fondly. "Did you say she made these sweets Azita?'' Honora's old-fashioned sweets have been served alongside the tea in little silver dishes: coconut ice, barley sugar twists, toffee and mint-humbugs

Mr. Jahanpour pops a barley sugar twist in his mouth.

"Oh, this takes me back Azita! Try one!'' Mrs. Lee takes a delicate bite of the twisted, orange confection and her expression becomes wistful. She too, has been transported.