Soft Rain Read Online Free Page B

bread for your supper.”
    Soft Rain opened her eyes. Soldiers she had never seen were handing Mother a bag and a piece of fatty meat.
    Mother dipped water from a nearby bucket into her pan. She poured in the white powder from the bag, trying to make dough. The sticky mixture clung to her pan, her fingers, and her spoon. She put the pan over a fire the people next to them had made. But before the bread had fully baked, it blackened on the outside.
    Soft Rain wouldn’t eat it. She took small bites of the fatty, salty meat until her stomach refused any more. Suddenly she vomited all that she had eaten onto herself and her dress.
    She heard a soldier laughing. When she looked at him, he held out a piece of foul meat to her. “Want more?” he asked. Then he crammed the meat into his mouth.
    Mother did her best to clean Soft Rain’s dress. “Drink some water now. Tomorrow, when our hunger is greater, we will eat from our own meat.”
    When darkness came, they huddled together under their blankets. “Be strong, Soft Rain,” Mother whispered over and over until Soft Rain fell asleep.
    Flies were crawling on her face when she awakened. The sun felt warm, too warm. Under her blanket she was sweating. “I smell sour. When can we bathe?” Soft Rain asked Mother.
    “I hope that later the soldiers will let us,” Mother answered. She was busy, once more trying to mix the white man’s flour into dough for bread.
    Soft Rain wanted to ask why they didn’t have corn flour. Perhaps the white soldiers didn’t know how to make it. She wrinkled her nose. The heat, smoke, grease, and cooking odors made her stomach feel weak again.
    “This dough looks better; maybe it will cook properly,” Mother said, placing her pan over the fire.
    Soft Rain watched, wondering how her mother could stand being so near the hot coals. “Shall I look for Old Roving Man?” she asked. “Maybe he will eat with us.”
    Mother nodded, never looking up from the bread.
    The pen was not large, but larger than the one at home that protected their animals.
Are the soldiers protecting the Real People?
Soft Rain wondered. From
what?
She walked twice around the pen and saw several people with white hair, but she didn’t find Old Roving Man.
    Some of the people were coughing, and babies were crying. Everyone looked hot and unwashed. Soft Rain remembered passing a river just before they were herded inside. She peeked through the cracks between the logs and saw that the river was close. A soldier walked near, blocking her view. She could see his shiny belt buckle. Putting her mouth close to a crack, she said, “Soldier man, can you hear me? We need to go to the river to bathe and cool ourselves.”
    When he bent down, squinting at her throughthe crack, she could see his blue eyes. “Go back to your mother, little girl. No one gets to bathe.”
    Soft Rain turned away. Salty, gritty tears ran into her mouth.
    Mother was removing the hot pan from the coals. “Look, Soft Rain, the bread has not burned. Come and eat.” She bit into a piece.
    The bread hadn’t burned, but it still wasn’t like bread made from corn and beans. It was dry, crumbly, and tasteless. Soft Rain managed to eat a small piece; she could swallow none of the salty meat.
    “Here is water,” a soldier yelled, leaving a full bucket and taking away the empty one. People quickly crowded around, dipping into the bucket until the water was gone. Mother filled their cups, but Soft Rain was still thirsty when hers was empty. She looked at her cup—Grandmother’s cup. For a moment she saw herself at home, running to the creek and trudging back, bringing the family’s water supply. No one was ever thirsty at home. Would the soldiers let her bring water from the river? She knew they would not.
    Mother kept chewing the bread. “It’s best to eat slowly,” she said.
    An old man shuffled by, staring at the bread left in the pan. Soft Rain nodded when Mother looked at her. She gave the man the last of