The Challenger, The King, and the Cook
Liana Vrajitoru Andreasen
 “How are you going to win that contest if you don’t train for it at all?” said the sturdy woman who had been her cooking teacher for years. “Go right away to the Castle and ask for ingredients, and go home and start your practice. If you need any help and advice, you know where to find me.”
That was the turning point for Benya, the talented, rebellious ten-year old. Even though she had pushed the thoughts of the upcoming contest to the dark recesses of her mind, she realized that it was time she took her cooking seriously. From then on, she was the only cook in her family, and she made daily trips to the school to practice at the big ovens. The children always gathered around her when she cooked, and she became the schoolyard star. She learned to make bread filled with sweet cheese, and she even cooked meat once a week. She learned new tricks with spicing the meat, and with making it juicier by stuffing it with duduk fruit, then wrapping it in duduk leaves.
She cooked furiously, all day long, for her own family and for the school. She seldom had thoughts of the King, her long lost friend, as if their last encounter had killed the warm place in her heart where their friendship used to be. Still, deep down she made a secret vow: the contest would decide how she felt about him. Heavy with her burden, she could have sworn she had grown older by years, not months, awaiting the contest. She never questioned her decision, although she was painfully aware that the fate of her new family was in her hands. Their lives would change forever: either they would live a life of luxury at the Castle for the rest of their lives, or they would be banished from the Diamond Town forever.
Hours went by. Days and weeks passed in the blink of an eye, and there was no going back.
On the day before the great challenge, unspoken fears swirled above the quiet houses, for no one was indifferent to the fate of young Benya and her family. To keep worries at bay, the town looked for little things to do even when all the work was done in the late afternoon. After all, when the sun set and rose again, five destinies would change forever, and no one could foresee which way the wind would blow.
In the early evening, the town was alive with dances and feasts, as was the custom before a big contest. After the performances, everybody shared the food they had brought, and the hours snuck away into the evening. As the festival went on, Benya’s blue eyes watched from behind untamed locks of short, dark hair. The dancers and singers came and went, but she could not bring herself to smile at their joy. Finally, she retreated to the schoolyard – now empty, since every carefree soul in town was at the festival.
Only the two guards who had watched her every move all day long followed her to the school kitchen. They settled at a respectful distance so they could observe without standing in her way. Benya carefully started a fire in the oven, then gathered around the ingredients she was going to need. She had mixed some of the juices and had made some of the dough the day before, and other guards had watched over them at night, to make sure nobody would temper with them. Strangely, the girl was not afraid, as if, were she to think about it, she would be crushed by the enormity of her task, so being brave was a choice she had made. She started chopping and rolling, mixing and boiling, as if she was born doing that. For a fluttering moment, she wondered if the King was watching the festival from afar, although she had the feeling that, quiet and distant, he was watching her instead, from a nearby window.
Somehow, she pondered, her first two months of freedom had been two months of torture. She had felt ready to prove herself, but what drove her crazy was not even the contest itself, but seeing everybody whisper when they saw her, and people bowing to her, as if concerned for her fate, but watching her every move and ready to laugh if she fell. It would all be over soon, however. She watched her own hands sprinkling grain powders on the meat, adding spices to the broth, cutting and piling, and a feeling of emptiness came over her. She barely cared about the outcome anymore. Away from the cheering crowd, she was all alone again, in the kitchen that had seen her mistakes and her successes year after year, and she could not even bring herself to think that that was the most important moment in her life.
As she was taking a pan out of the oven, and hurrying to get another pan in, Benya saw three figures approaching. It was her cooking teacher, who had brought her brother and sister to give due encouragement. For a while, the three watched quietly as Benya rolled the dough with expert jerks of her hands, but then the big woman came closer and said:
“Well, my child, I can’t really ask you about what you’re making, but I want you to know that whatever happens at the contest, you will always be my favorite, and you’re a marvelous cook. I’ll let you talk to your brother and sister now.”
She gave Benya a hearty embrace and walked away, shaking her head and mumbling. Soell and Aluna drew closer to their adopted sister, under the careful eyes of the guards.
“Benya, don’t be scared,” said Soell, her twelve year-old brother, shaking his long locks of hair away from his eyes. “We will be happy, no matter what happens after the contest.”
It was the first time that either Soell or Aluna mentioned the “after the contest,” which Benay had always assumed to be too terrible for them to talk about. She looked at him sideways and didn’t respond.
“Yes,” added Aluna, the wiser, older sister. “Don’t be too worried about losing, because... because we’re ready for anything and we’re not really scared of... of what will happen if you don’t win.”
Benya’s eyes widened:
“Why are you saying this to me?” she asked, almost burning her hand at the oven. “You know, it can happen, too! I can cook, but the King’s cook knows much more about meat, and about bread, and... and I burned this dish...”
Soell and Aluna looked at each other as if they were sole possessors of some mysterious knowledge.
“Maybe we should have taken her to see the edge before the contest,” said Aluna.
“No, she could have gotten scared. She shouldn’t think about it. Let’s go, we shouldn’t upset her right before the contest.”
“Yes, right. And they’re probably starting to roast the meat – we shouldn’t miss that! Benya, we’re sorry that you can’t come...”
Benya looked at them again. She did not understand why they would say such disturbing words. Maybe they only wanted her to be calm, but their words had the opposite effect. She watched the two disappear through the gate, then returned to her frantic cooking.
A few more hours passed, and she finally heard the signal to stop. She had a little time to go change her clothes and clean up, and then she would face her challenge – and not a moment too soon! She placed the dishes on wooden platters and covered them with warm clean sheets, then ran home, leaving the guards with the food.
When she came out of the house, her family was waiting for her outside, along with a few of her friends, and her teacher. They gave her words of encouragement and walked her to the Castle. When they reached it, the parents waved good-bye, all the color gone from their cheeks. Soell and Aluna watched her with tense expectation, and no one else knew that in their thoughts were wishes for their sister to lose. The sun was going down, and the diamond rocks surrounding the town were subdued to the flickering soft shades of dusk. Benya wanted to run and hide, but she said nothing: she kept a steady pace, and her frown made her look as if she knew exactly what she was doing. In her heart, she was less sure than ever.
She left everybody at the gate, and only the guards came with her into the Castle. They led her through many corridors and she walked silently behind them, until they reached a huge room. Its walls were adorned with green branches and luxurious oil lamps made of diamond bowls, glittering with a secret light. In the middle of the room, King Alidor was seated at a large table, watching in deep solemnity as the newcomers arrived. He was dressed in yellow, with a red cloak falling on his back. Benya had never seen such clothes before. For a while, all she could do was stare at the bright colors. The King did not look her in the eye, but signaled to the guards and then motioned for her to sit to his right. Across the table from Benya was a young man in his late teens: the royal cook. He seemed self-possessed, except that now and then he glanced behind, as if something frightening might enter the room. When he looked at Benya, she saw scorn in his eyes. She could not know that his heart was beating fast, for he, too, had to cook dishes that he had never cooked before, and he knew how particular the King was.
“All right, everybody is here, so let the contest begin!” said the King, too pompously for his young voice. He tried to sound deep and low, but his youth betrayed him and he finished the sentence in a squeal. He cleared his throat and went on:
“The rules of the contest are simple: each cook will present ten dishes to me, and I will taste them and decide whose dishes are the best. If the challenger wins, she will immediately become my personal cook, and her family will move into the Castle within three days. If the challenger loses, she and her family have ten days to prepare for their banishment, and then they will be escorted out of the Diamond Town forever.”
Benya looked at him, trying to find a flicker in his eyes, to let her know, “It’s me, Alidor! I’m just playing a game. We’ll laugh so hard at this later.” But he simply would not look at her, even now that they were close at the table.
One by one, more guards entered the room from the opposite side. The guards dressed in green brought the royal cook’s dishes, while the guards dressed in brown brought Benya’s dishes. Her food looked pretty now, carried glamorously to the King’s table on the wooden platters that she had arranged with her own hands. A wave of pride came over her as she watched busy hands placing them on the table. Her platters were lined up on her side of the table, while the other dishes sat on the royal cook’s side.
“You will take turns. Introduce your dishes to the King, one dish at a time,” said a woman standing behind the King. “Benya, let the King taste your first dish.”
Benya stood up. She chose one of the platters, and walked with it to the King. The dish was round, reddish-brown, and sprinkled with green. The outside looked floury and had a soft filling on the inside, with floating slices of vegetables.
“I call this meat-and-rumbi pudding,” she said and placed the dish in front of the King.
With a wooden fork, the King cut a piece and placed it in his mouth. He closed his eyes and chewed with infinite gusto, as if extracting all the tastes from the very core of the food. He put the fork back on the table. Benya had invented this dish, inspired by the younger children. Every time the meat that had cooked for a long time was left to cool, there were sweet gelatinous bits that the babies always stuck their fingers into. Benya’s pudding had gelatin in the middle, sweet and sour, with spicy sprinkles from the rumbi herb. The taste was divine, but the King said nothing about it.
“Next,” he thundered, with no explanation.
The royal cook rose and picked one of his own platters, taking it to the King.
“Meat bits with baked cheese sauce and candied breading,” he announced. This newly invented dish was thick and chewy from the baked cheese, while the sweet breading and the meat bits were flavorful surprises among the smooth sauce. The cook had added a touch of powdered tree bark, which made the sauce very slightly bitter – a perfect combination, given the more expected sweetness of the breading.
The King ate the second dish in the same ritual as before, and then placed the fork by his side. Everybody was watching with great interest, licking their lips as if they could taste the food. The tension grew.
“Mushroom balls in berry sauce, with marinated salcheek tree marrow,” said Benya, touching her moist forehead. The berries were sweet and sour, and they changed the taste of the mushrooms in such a way that their usual bland sweetness became a burst of flavor. The King, however, was still hard to read, and that seemed to give the guards and other Castle people new impetus to whisper speculatively. With one look, the King stopped them.
Then followed a green, round dish; its taste was delicately spicy, while the tripe gave it a fatty texture, to complement the grafi vegetable: “Sweet grafi and tripe soup with duduk leaf brine,” said the royal cook, his voice less and less controlled.
As the contest progressed, the royal cook, Benya, and the King became more intense in their countenance, as if the King played equal part in the protracted battle. Their fists were clenched and their gestures were abrupt. Their tireless eyes watched the dishes make their way to the table and out of the room. One would have thought that the King was also being judged, for, even though he was careful to control his moves, sudden jerks of his hands betrayed his fears.
Finally, he tasted the last two dishes: the royal cook brought a beautiful loaf of bread shaped to resemble the Castle itself. He had built walls out of carefully rolled dough, and had sprinkled the bread with seeds from the aloola flower, which gave the bread a sharp taste, invading the taster’s mouth with wild colors. Benya announced her last food as “the greatest ball of energy.” It was a ball of grains much bigger than the ones that people ate in the morning, and to make it she she had combined not just grains, but countless ingredients, as if she had tried to contain in it all the foods that she could think of. Its taste was so rich, seeping mysterious combinations, that one bite satisfied like an entire meal.
When all the foods had left the room, the King rose. Benya and the other cook rose too, and were ushered into an adjacent small room, where they could see through the window: the King was pacing in dreadful silence, while the others murmured around him. After an agonizing quarter of an hour, the woman-aid waved the two cooks to come in. Benya’s feet were giving away. All she hoped was to be strong enough to make it into the great hall. Everything was a blur. She wondered if she was dreaming, for it was as in a dream that several hands pushed her further when she stopped without awareness, and it was as in a dream that she sat on the chair. As in a dream, she saw the King’s intense eyes on her but saw nothing behind them, not the Alidor that she once knew. As in a dream, she heard his words pour out into the room:
“I have made my decision, and it is final. I have decided that the winner of the contest is the royal cook!”
He looked at her again, and she thought she saw in his eyes a singular flicker that was meant for her only: was it pity, or was it triumph? Was it sadness? She could not tell. She rose from the table and, as required, she slowly went to the King and touched his hand and then her own chest. Her heart was still beating, although she was certain it had stopped. Among the blurred noises of the heartless room, she walked out, followed by the same two guards, and she found her way to the front gates, where a thick darkness greeted her.
Ten days later, the family was ready early in the morning. They had spent the time before their banishment amongst those dearest to them, with countless tears shed by the parents, by the nurses and the cooks, by friends, and by the three children. On the fated day of their departure, the King came out of the Castle to bow to them, and he left as quickly as he had come. Benya could not even look at him. A small procession was formed: the family and the friends who were to walk with them to the forbidden forest, where they would begin their journey into the unknown. They circled the entire town, and then those closest to the family held hands to form a circle around them, while walking and singing the song of the departed friend. Everybody had known the song ever since they could remember, but they had hoped never to sing it in the ritual of departure:
“Oh diamonds full of light and life
I came into your world
I came to share the joy and strife
Of people young and old.
I thought I’d spend a lifetime here
But little did I know
My joy was short, my time was near
When I would have to go.
Don’t cry for me, my lovely friend.
My neighbor, wipe your tears.
I wish more time with you I’d spend
Until my old age years.
Now these green trees and town of sun
I’ll leave into your hand.
Be kind, be happy when I’m gone
And think of me, my friend.
Some could not sing along, choked by sorrow. The song rose in the solemn morning, while the whole town hid their tears as they watched and waved at the small procession. The procession walked past the salcheek trees, past the school gate, then past the fruit trees, and finally they were in front of the Castle again.
Here, the family picked the few belongings that they were taking – not much to speak of. Sadly, what had been most precious to them were the people and the trees; those, they had to leave behind. Their friends had convinced them to take enough food, wrapped in cloth, to last them for a week.
Everybody had gathered to see the twenty guards take them away to the forbidden forest: all the school children, most of them crying, all the nurses and cooks, and families holding their children close to them. Suddenly, an old woman in rags came out of her house, limping forward in great haste: the town knew her well, for she always spoke in riddles and gave nightmares to the children. Gathering her rags around her, she shouted hoarsely through the others’ gasping silence:
“Yes! Go see where all the stories are made!” she waved her cane in the air. “Don’t ever return to this town where a mad child rules, and there’s nothing but diamonds everywhere you look! You’re going to see all the mysteries of the world, and we” – she pointed her cane at everyone – “we are going to rot here on this rock!”
Her words sounded like sacrilege on that doomed day. Somebody gently took the old woman by the shoulders and led her back to her house, while the procession resumed their ill-fated journey into the frightful woods where the townspeople never went. At the edge of the woods, it was time for the family’s friends to turn around.
“All right,” said one of the guards. “Let’s move, let’s get it over with. Enough goodbyes. What is done is done.”
The mournful family quietly embraced their friends and followed the guards to the trail that snuck into the heart of the most hated of all the trees. Led by the twenty guards, they walked for an agonizing half hour, until they reached an entrance to a small crevasse shaped like a natural tunnel. It slanted abruptly, leading them downward on a treacherous path. They descended for another hour, zigzagging and turning through sharp rocks, until they finally came out on a platform. A blue trail glistened in the sun, right at the bottom of the rock, and one could see even from that distance that it was moving: the blue trail was a river.
The raft was waiting for them, so the family and their provisions were placed on it, and the lowering began. The ropes were finally relieved of their weight, and the guards watched the raft take off rapidly and begin moving down the river. Soon, it became a mere dot and disappeared into the mysteries of the world below. The guards pulled up the ropes and, one by one, they started to climb the rough rocks. Not a single word was said about what had happened, although the guards, and everybody else in the Diamond Town, would always remember this day as one of the saddest in their lives.
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