— an archive excerpt —
Berihun’s Terms
An agreement sealed without hospitality, where the coffee is left to grow cold.
Berihun looked toward the men behind him, then toward the fields.
Berihun looked toward the men behind him, then toward the fields. He remained silent long enough for one elder to shift his weight and another to lower his eyes.
At last, Berihun straightened and agreed to move forward.
“Understand this,” he said, stepping closer, ensuring Irwin saw the fire that still burned beneath the capitulation. “They work for the coin, to feed their families. Do not mistake their labor for loyalty.”
The woman at the low table began to pour the first round of coffee into the small ceramic cups, the steam rising in thin, fragrant plumes. An elder reached out, his fingers trembling with the anticipation of the ritual — and the relief of the deal.
But Berihun did not reach for a cup. He didn’t even look at it.
“We start at dawn,” he said, his voice flat and final.
Before the first sip could be taken, before the hospitality was sealed, Berihun turned his back and walked into the shadows of his home. He dismissed Irwin before Irwin could dismiss him, leaving the coffee to grow cold on the table.
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