Time Corps 23

Next morning, I watch Fatima in action, cooking flat round bread with an easy confidence, with deft motions. I observe the level of cleanliness. Considering it's so old and shacky, she's doing a remarkable job. All the clothes hanging up, hers and now-mine, clean.
We sit and I taste the best bread I've had in a donkey's age.
We set out on our jaunt, "look mum," she says proudly, "water's clean, much as you want, no need to boil, no need to line up."
By this, I deduce she refers to refugee camp.
"Come mum, show you where the water comes from." We arrive at the glacier. Tasting it, you'd spend a fair bit in the western world for bottled water that good.
That's much of our day, sit together on an old blanket, admire the scenery.
Home again, she explains the kitchen canisters.
"See mum, every few days, everything fills up at night. Kero bottle, cooking oil bottle. Flour, salt, tea. That, the mussels, wild cabbages, how we live."
Seeing her healthy look, she's doing lots better than most refugee camp denizens.
"Tomorrow mum, show you the shore, where I catch mussels."
When the sun sets, we go to bed, nothing to sit up for, like Guyana days. She wraps an arm around me, but relaxed this time, knowing I won't vanish.
Our mussel jaunt is short, with no refrigeration it's pointless to catch too many.
We return, examine the mini-library of books. These were there when Fatima and her mother arrived. Half-dozen in Dari, half-dozen in English. The English ones are published in the 2050 to 2060 year range. Given the wear on bindings and the obvious old age of paper, I probably am still in 2100, the year I crashed. These books are my only clue to time, Fatima owning neither calendar nor watch.
And so I become both teacher and student. Fatima got some verbal English from the refugee camp school but no written, so I start with her ABC's. She does remarkably well on reading Dari and starts in teaching me.
Neither of us speaks of the past. We talk of housekeeping and education, but don't feel a need to fill up time with idle chat. By the end of a week, it's like she's always been my daughter.
Without a calendar, we lack the concept of weekend. We'll study for several days, then picnic for one, either glacier or several different spots by the shore.
We're that relaxed around each other, we can spend a whole day, say nothing.
Gradually, I realize it's my first experience of love. Never a romance in Canada. As for parents, they weren't abusive, but didn't notice I was alive.
Months slide by without us counting. There really is not a lot to say. It may sound monotonous compared to Time Corps, but it's immensely fulfilling. I feel a lot of pride in Fatima's scholastic achievements and she feels the same about mine.
Funny, in all this time we've never argued. Some say mother-daughter relationships are stormy.