NOT INVITED

By Ben Greenman

from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled

The window shows us a world full of children, all expecting the adult world to intrude at any minute, some anxious, a few humming with excitement, all agog. It is a world where everything is new. One child is cooking, working from a recipe given to him by his mother, and her mother before her. Neither of them is among the adults outside the window. All the ingredients required for this recipe are easily obtained and the process of making it well within the capabilities of even the most ordinary cook. This child is that, at best. Required for proof: one dozen prawns, the yolks of three hardboiled eggs, three ounces of butter or margarine, two teaspoonfuls of curry powder, two teaspoonfuls of mayonnaise, two tablespoonfuls of well boiled rice or couscous, a dash of lemon juice, two dashes of cayenne, six pitted olives, two slices of stale bread. The child, the cook, cuts both slices of bread into cubes. The child, the cook, melts two ounces of the butter or margarine in a frying pan so that the cubes of bread are fried a golden brown. The child, the cook, puts the egg-yolks in a shallow bowl with the curry powder and the butter and beats them together until they are a paste. The child, the cook, dices both the prawns and olives, at which point they are mixed in with the rice or couscous and the curry paste. The child, the cook, seasons with lemon juice and cayenne. Those at the window, a group of adults representing various professions in town, watch this entire process playing out, right up through the end of the preparations, at which point the child, the cook, turns to another child and asks her to try what he has made. She shrieks with laughter and runs away. It is left to a third child, a quiet type, to sample the dish. She approves of it and tells the others, who trust her, that they should come to the kitchen to eat. The child who has shrieked and run away draws the blinds so that we adults can see no more.