Homework

The sun had set and the room became dark except for the glow of the small metal stove. Candles flickered with every draft that seeped into the room. At one end was the Tea House owner’s small son.  He was slumped over a worn manuscript, his fingers wrapped tightly around a pencil. One candle illuminated his homework as he would slowly copy a character, then pause and look at the text.  I watched and drank, my black tea cupped between my two hands. Monjo, Nepal