Chapter 34: Charcoal-Roasted Bumpfish
THE Callisto district was a lot more relaxed than Bertine could have ever imagined. Seemingly as wide as the ocean, the river wound through the region, bird feathers floating on the surface drifting ever so slowly.
All of the bungalows built near the shoreline appeared much airier than the houses in the hinterlands. The windows were large. They sported shutters on the outside that allowed inhabitants to shade themselves from the sun. Each house had a large terrace-like area by the entrance with awnings overhead. Elderly people sat in the shade and chatted while gazing upon the sea.
“What a wonderful place!” Bertine exclaimed. “The blue ocean looks just like a painting.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” Dorothée said. “And the snow-white sand on the beach. This is my first time seeing a coastline made of white sand.”
Bertine blocked the sun’s rays with her right arm as she surveyed the landscape. Dorothée’s eyes were wide as she took it all in. Using gestures, Diego spoke to a local who happened to be near the harbor. Since his arrival, Diego participated in every one of Bertine’s imperial language classes. Unlike her other students though, he was in the process of learning the Federation’s tongue. He had recently absorbed enough of the language to be able to communicate, albeit brokenly.
“My lady, it seems there is no inn here,” he informed her. “Neither travelers nor laborers visit this region apparently.”
“Oh, dear. Then we must find a place to stay. Ignacio told me to head for the chief’s residence, so let’s do that and introduce ourselves.”
Bertine approached the elderly folks sitting on a nearby terrace. They kindly gave her directions to the chief’s house. It was the large bungalow closest to the forest. They told her she might find the former chief there as well, so the three of them started walking.
“Diego, our luggage must be heavy because of all the glass jars, yes? Share the load with us then,” Bertine said.
“My lady, if Diego isn’t able to carry it, he should retire from serving in my lord’s private army,” Dorothée quipped.
“She’s exactly right. Should the occasion call for it, I am more than fit enough to run while carrying you on my shoulder, my lady.”
“Oh, stop it, Diego. Should the occasion call for it, I am more than fit enough to run myself, thank you,” Bertine said.
They finally arrived at the chief’s large bungalow.
“Hello! We come from Ybit. Is anyone home?”
“Hail!”
A slender but energetic old man responded to Diego’s call. He looked to be just past seventy.
“Well met, well met. What can I do ya for?”
“I’m here on Ignacio’s recommendation. I work for Cecilio and my name is Bertine.”
“Oh ho, ya work for Ceci? Ya don’t say?”
“Yes.”
Technically speaking, rather than working directly for Cecilio, he had entrusted her with a specific task. But Ignacio had mentioned it would be best if she told folks here that she worked for him because it would make it easier for her to conduct business.
“Huh. So ya work for Ceci. Must be right tough, on ’count o’ that boy bein’ a real slave driver. Come in, come in. Ya must be dead on yer feet. I’ll pour some tea for ya lot. I’m Emilio, Ceci’s grandpa.”
“Thank you very much for hosting us, Emilio.”
She had just learned Cecilio’s nickname in his hometown. Fascinating.
Emilio seemed to be the only one currently in the house. With his slightly stooped shoulders, he shuffled into the kitchen. She could hear the clink clink as he arranged a tea set. Dorothée immediately stood up and briskly headed his way, calling out to him that she would assist. A few minutes later, she walked out holding a tea tray.
“Ahhh, sure is nice havin’ a talented young lady help. ’Preciate it.” Emilio followed behind her, beaming happily.
A faint citrus scent wafted from the tea. When Bertine raised the cup to her lips and sipped, she found she quite enjoyed the mellow flavor.
“Now then. Tell me what business ya have here,” Emilio said.
“My job working for His Excellency is to package delicious goods for sale to the Empire,” Bertine began. “I heard that the Callisto district has quite a variety of tasty foodstuffs, so I’m here now to learn more myself.”
“That right? Tasty foodstuffs, eh? I really don’ think you’ll find anythin’ special in this area though.”
“But I was told about grilled air-dried bumpfish and fried giant clams?”
“Ahahaha! Little lady, we eat that stuff e’ry day. I doubt any of those high-faultin’ imperials will buy it.” The old man grinned like she had just told him a funny joke.
“No, no, you’re wrong,” she insisted. “Vast stretches of the Empire are both far from the sea and bitterly cold as well, so I believe the imperials will very much prize the bounties that come from the southern ocean.”
“Hm, I wonder. How ’bout I grill ya up some bumpfish then? Just happen to have an air-dried batch on hand.” So saying, Emilio placed charcoal on the cook stove in the garden, then layered twigs on top before lighting the whole thing. “Be patient for a bit, eh? Takes some time for the charcoal to catch.”
“Would it be all right if I observed you up close?” Bertine asked.
“Whatever floats yer boat, girl.”
Soon, the coals crackled merrily, the surface covered in white ash while burning red-hot inside.
“Hokay, that should do it.”
Emilio went into the kitchen and came back out holding a colander with a large filet placed on top.
“Is that bumpfish?” Bertine asked.
“Right in one. My son caught it fresh yesterday. He’d been lookin’ forward to retiring, but then Ceci went and hied off to Ybit, so he’s still working hard as the chief. How’s Ceci doing? Good, I hope.”
“He is indeed. He told me what a wonderful place the Callisto district is and how much he loves it.”
“Haha! Gud, gud.”
The old man’s dialect was so strong that Bertine had to pay close attention to him when he spoke. Otherwise she never would have understood him, despite her proficiency in the Federation’s official language.
Emilio placed the bumpfish filet on the heated iron grill. With a loud crackling noise, the skin sizzled and shriveled up. He prodded at the coals and the fish using the same pair of long, iron tongs. Meticulous to a fault about everything including the proper use of cooking implements, Dorothée watched him anxiously, doing her best to swallow her objection to his handling. Fat dripped down onto the coals from the bumpfish filet, causing smoke to rise.
“What an appetizing scent,” Bertine said.
“Innit? Bumpfish is right fatty, so it tastes better if ya drain off some o’ the fat like this.”
The elderly man flipped the filet with the same tongs from earlier, letting the other side of the fish roast through slowly. Then he ground some sort of white seeds using a stone pestle and mortar. Dorothée continued staring at the tongs in frustration. Bertine was sure she desperately wanted to wash them right away.
At long last, the bumpfish filet finished roasting, the flesh beginning to fall off. Emilio transferred the filet to a plate, then he took a small knife he’d brought from the kitchen and cut off a still-green lemon from a tree in the garden. He cut it in half, rubbing the lemon halves on the steaming filet. Finally, he finished it off by sprinkling the white powder he had ground earlier.
“Chow down, chow down.”
“Gladly!”
The air-dried, charcoal-roasted bumpfish was piping hot and the freshly squeezed lemon juice gave it a refreshing edge. It tasted of charcoal and the smoke that rose from the coals from the dripping fat. The thick, plump white meat tasted sweeter thanks to the salt. When she chewed, the white powdered seeds would occasionally make itself felt in the tingles it created in her mouth. All the flavors made the fish taste incredible.
“This is…”
“My lady, it’s fantastic!” Dorothée exclaimed.
“She’s right. I grew up eating fish in San Luenne, but this is amazing. The fish itself is delicious, though I find myself partial to this white substance.”
Grinning, the old man watched them as they dreamily devoured the bumpfish.
“Dorothée, I’m not sure how we can bottle or package this. I’m afraid it will rot,” Bertine said.
“We have no choice but to try. Look, even Diego is obsessed with it.”
“I would very much like to take as much as I can of this fish. It’s absurdly delicious,” Diego said.
After finishing the charcoal-roasted bumpfish, they helped themselves to more of the citrus-scented tea. While drinking it, a man who strongly resembled Cecilio returned to the house. He dragged a net holding game behind him. Age-wise, he appeared to be in his mid-fifties.
“Father, I’m back,” he said. “We have guests, eh?”
“Right ya are, Delio. They work for Ceci.”
The man turned out to be Cecilio’s father.
“A pleasure to meet you. My name is Bertine du Jeanne. In my role on His Excellency’s staff, I’m responsible for procuring and selling the Federation’s specialty goods to the Empire.”
“Specialty products, you say? Unfortunately, you won’t find much ’round these parts.”
“Oh, that’s not the case at all! The bumpfish your father made for us was absolutely scrumptious.”
“Well, everyone here’s mighty tired o’ bumpfish, considering it’s regular fare for us.”
“Then what do you say to jarring and selling it?” Bertine proposed.
“Will it sell though is the question, innit? You’ll be in a right pickle if it doesn’t.”
“It will sell. I’m sure of it. In fact, we’ll buy it all, so no one here will lose anything!”
Cecilio’s father, Delio, looked troubled.
“As ya can see, miss, it’s just us two men in this house. No women to help us, y’see. I’ll ask the women in the neighborhood if they’re keen, but if they’re not, I’d like you to give up on the idea.”
“Of course. I too will take the chance to explain and demonstrate the process to them. If they’re still unwilling after that, I’ll give up,” Bertine conceded.
“Understood. We’ll try it your way then. How’s Ceci doing, by the by?”
“Very well. He’s working hard every day for the sake of the Federation.”
“Is he now? Good enough, I s’pose. So, then, Bertine, from the looks of ya, can I assume you’re from the Empire?”
Bertine realized telling them about the reparations wouldn’t be a good idea. She chose to go the safe route instead with her reply.
“I migrated from the Kingdom of San Luenne because I love this country.”
“Didja now? And here I thought Ceci finally got himself a woman. Guess I was wrong, eh? I can’t make heads or tails of why that boy won’t marry. He passed thirty years ago, don’t’cha know. At this rate, makes me wonder if he’s plannin’ on going down with the country.”
“Well, it’s really not my place to comment on that.”
She knew she couldn’t speak carelessly, so Bertine accompanied her non-committal reply with a polite smile.