TCB: Beneath My Skin

by Madrigal Baroque

It's Like I'm Paranoid

2 & ½ cups (315g) all-purpose flour
1 tbsp (13g) baking powder
1 tsp (5g) baking soda
½ tsp (2.5g) salt
½ cup (114g) unsalted butter, melted and cooled
1 cup (200g) granulated sugar
2 large eggs
1 cup (250ml) buttermilk
1 tbsp (15ml) vanilla extract
1 & ½ cups (275g) semi-sweet chocolate chips

Preheat oven and sift dry ingredients

A footstep in the hall made Trevinder shut the book and slip it under his pillow, concealing it with practiced ease. By the time the knock came at the door, he was plugged into the teaching port, having the history of the Punjabi riots implanted into his memory. With a light tap of his fingertip he paused the feed. "Yes?"

The open door revealed Acharjeet Singh, a tall man with a generous beard and a forbiddingly stern expression. His face belied his habitually calm nature, although as a teacher he certainly exploited his reputation as being a man you would not wish to antagonize. He nodded approvingly at his first and only son. "In passing I took note of the light under your door. It pleases me greatly to see your renewed devotion to your studies, Trevinder. Still, the hour is late. A wise man properly manages his time so that none might be wasted…and allows sufficient periods to rest."

With an abashed nod Trevinder unpacked and powered down the teaching unit. "Forgive me, father. It was not my intention to disobey your wishes."

"I lay no blame, my son. Often and often have I lost myself in my own studies." Acharjeet chuckled. "Many times your mother threatened to set fire to my dastār did I not leave my 'moldy old tomes'." He winked as he gestured to the head wrap he wore. "To protect both my tomes and my safety, I now retire to bed. My advice is that you do likewise."

"Thank you, Father. Rest well." When the door closed and his father's footsteps faded, Trevinder breathed a sigh of relief. He'd forgotten to stuff the towel against the bottom of the door again. He could never forget how perceptive his father was. As any of his students could attest, nothing escaped Acharjeet Singh's notice.

Trev reached for his pillow–and stopped. No. While his father had said he was retiring, he might yet pass by in the hall again. Just to be certain his "studious" son had indeed gone to bed as he had been desired to do.

As he turned out the light and settled down, he heard his father's voice softly reciting his evening prayers. It was an oddly comforting sound, and Trev was lulled to sleep.

Trev felt uncommonly guilty about hiding his obsession from his father. He'd found the old book on a forgotten shelf right before the old library had been torn down. The books had been carried out, most of them destined for the recycling plant, but this one had caught Trev's eye and he'd stashed it in his shoulder bag without telling anyone. It was probably stealing, but no one had said he couldn't take just one book in return for helping cart all those heavy boxes.

He didn't know it was a book of old recipes until he'd actually settled down to read it. The dishes displayed in the faded illustrations were lavish, the sort of fare you'd expect to see on one of the Good Family's tables for a special occasion. Not that he would fault his dear mother's cooking; it wasn't like they were subsisting on ration bars, and Mother was surprisingly innovative in the kitchen. But she had no access to exotic ingredients like fresh eggs or vanilla extract or buttermilk (the last of which he'd never even heard of). He found himself reading the entries over and over again, perusing the instructions, letting his imagination fill in the gaps of his knowledge.

As the days passed, he began to assist his mother in her kitchen duties. Bimal was both grateful for the help and amazed at what seemed to be a natural talent for cookery. She had no clue that Trevinder's expertise came from careful perusal of the techniques studied in a book from many generations past, applied to practical use on the lesser ingredients to which they had access. Acharjeet noticed the improvement in the daily fare, and mildly teased his son that he would make someone a good wife someday.

Of course, since he was checking the recipe book almost daily to refresh and augment his newfound knowledge, it was inevitable that sooner or later his secret would be discovered.

It was his carelessness, of course. He had been trying to mix the coarse flour and precious salt into something that could be properly sifted, when he heard his mother at the door with the groceries and he rushed to help her. He'd finished putting the stores in the pantry and returned to his room. He was hurrying to finish his schoolwork when he heard a light tap on his door. "Come in."

His father did so, carrying a book. Trev's book, his precious secret book.

Idiot! He'd taken the book into the kitchen to make sure he was doing the correct portions, that the failure of his last attempt at baking had been the lack of ingredients and not a fault in his technique. Talking with his mother he'd completely forgotten and left the book on the counter, open, in plain view!

"Your mother found this in her kitchen. It isn't hers, and she asked if it might be mine." Acharjeet Singh chuckled warmly, amused at the very notion. "I would not shun such a book from my collection, but it is admittedly in a less than pristine condition. I believe this is how you received this volume, since my son knows how to treat printed books."

"Y-yes, Father." Trev's stomach was a heavy ball of guilt and misery. He had taken the book without permission. He had kept it a secret from his parents. He had presented his newfound expertise as a natural skill. Three transgressions, none with any valid excuse. His father should be furious, or at least gravely disappointed.

Yet Acharjeet's dark eyes were kind, his tone careful and calm. "How did you come by this book, Trevinder?"

Trev's heart pounded dully in his chest, but he kept his head up and met his father's steady gaze with his own. "My class was elected to help clear out the books in the old library before they tore it down. I saw that book on a shelf, and it caught my interest. I took it with me because at that point it was no one else's property. It was my intention to deliver it to the recycling plant once I had read it…" He trailed off, because the recycling had happened almost a year ago.

"But you found this book far more useful than you had thought?"

Trev nodded. He dropped his gaze, acknowledging his shame.

"The rescue of a useful book from destruction is no transgression in my eyes, nor in God's," Acharjeet said. Trev looked at him, startled, and he smiled upon his son. So troubled he was! Though not without reason. Acharjeet's smile faded. "However, you did this in secret, and you maintained this secret, withholding information even from your mother and myself." He raised one thick eyebrow, a facial gesture which had struck fear in the hearts of many a pupil. "Moreover, you were deliberately deceitful, passing off the fruits of your covert study as some kind of natural aptitude."

Trev nodded slowly, accepting his father's judgment, and whatever punishment awaited.

Acharjeet paged through the recipe book, looking at the faded photographs, glancing over the detailed instructions. "It would have been a pity to allow the destruction of this book. Such books are rare these days, cast aside long ago when most people ceased making their own meals. Most rely now on food printers and corporate rations."

He closed the book and held it out. Trev took it with a respectfully grateful nod.

Acharjeet looked at his son for a long moment. "You are an obedient son, Trevinder. Your mother and I have done our best to set a good example for you, to teach you right from wrong, to show you how to show respect and consideration for others."

Trev set down the book and stood up. "I should have told you, Father. And I should never have hidden anything from you, whether I thought it was the right thing to do or not."

Acharjeet smiled and nodded approval. "You have learned a valuable lesson, my son, and without the need for any reprisals. May all your life lessons be so easy to learn." He turned and left the room.

Trev fell back on his bed with an explosive sigh of relief. But he never forgot his father's wisdom.

***

Author's Note:

I seem to be pushing a lot of envelopes in these stories, don't I?

I have nothing but respect for the religious beliefs of others even when I don't share them. On the other hand, I have nothing but contempt for the fanatics and fundamentalists who consider themselves the "chosen ones" and twist the tenets of their proclaimed faith to scorn, ridicule, torment and murder those who don't share their beliefs.

I am not religious. I am a woman of faith, and I do my best not to force my views on anyone else. In that, I have a great deal in common with Acharjeet. (I also share his resting b!tch face.)

Comments

[Chatoyance]

This is an interesting take. I don't think anyone has done anything quite
like this before. Cool!