REBEL GRAINED

BEANS

Lars expected anything except what followed at the truck's counter.

"Do you have a menu?" Lars lowered his eyes, searching for a board or poster with the list of drinks.

"We serve coffee. Do you want a dumpling with it?"

"Don't I get to choose the type?"

The woman gave him a side glance of annoyance, "do we look like Starbucks? What do you want a laai-t té, a moo-cha?" the woman said, feigning a posh English accent before adding, "she knows the grains you need."

"She?" Lars repeated and looked over the woman at the counter as she took up most of the space width-wise.

Another woman literally standing back to back with her made the coffee. Their buttocks bumped like bumper cars with one another every time they moved. The only notable difference between the two women was the waist size; the one behind was thin. Perhaps she was younger.

Not once did she turn to look at what went on at the front. She worked with her cap hiding her face. Lars understood why it took so long. The woman at the counter did the sandwiches while the other worked on the beans. She opened different bags and placed some grains in a coffee grinder while beating others in bamboo mortar. She then mixed them and proceeded to make the actual coffee.

The process was long, but it made the desire to taste the strange brew mount.

"Here, wait for it to cool," the woman at the counter advised when she posed his Salomie and coffee.

Lars paid and stepped aside. He began to walk until he found a free seat at a bus stop. The South African heat blew him away, the man roasted in his white tee. His hair lubricated with sweat looked dirty blonde. He sat and ate his Salomie; he was halfway through when he took a sip of the coffee.

He walked a least six minutes, and if he added the time it took him to eat, one could say the coffee was at least twelve minutes old, yet it burned.

Different aromas began to hit spots on his tongue as the drink flowed down. The blend was rich and thick. Each flavor mustered moments of the past year in the man's mind. Images of acts he regretted surfaced, and the one that almost had him shed a tear showed his older brother Ulrich holding him by his shirt's collar.

Lars took the lid of the coffee and discovered the black ink type brew. He examined the cup and noticed ghut-foll [gat vol] written on the side.

What did it mean?

He drank, gulp after gulp until he was at the bottom. The thirsty man even drank to the last drop, which included some unprocessed grains. He crunched them before swallowing.

Lars got up and ran back; what did she do to him?

When he arrived, the truck was closing.

"Hey, wait, what was in the coffee?"

"Excuse me?"

"The coffee," Lars yelled while trying to see behind the woman, but she was alone.

"Where's the girl who makes the coffee?"

"Oh, coffee will be here tomorrow. She'll work tomorrow," the woman shut the window trap to the truck, leaving Lars holding his empty cup. He was full, and the feeling was unexplainable. The anxiety that kept him on edge diminished. His thoughts were clear, and an appeasing sensation swept over his body like a wave.

"Hi there, eh, can you help me out with something?"

The hostel clerk frowned. Lars was one of those foreigners who didn't acknowledge people. He was polite and said hello, but one knew the man didn't care about his interlocutor unless he could provide him with something. Here, he needed the clerk; thus, Lars regulated his tone and displayed a friendly expression.