Prajata

I'm Kadoorie. Uncle Ratha calls me “little flower” and winks funny when I get embarrassed. Sometimes he adds: “prajata” - night jasmine. Uncle Ratha is good. When dad died at a construction site, he took custody of us - me, my three brothers and my mother. I'm the oldest - I'm almost seven. After the birth of the younger twins, my mother hardly walks, something happened to her joints, and if Uncle Ratha had not found me a job, we would have had nothing to live on. So my mother always tells me: “The first prayer to the gods is for Uncle Ratha, and obey him in everything.” I don’t like my job, but who even likes his job if he’s not a gentleman from a bank or a movie star? Dad worked without rest at a construction site. Mom, while she could walk, cleaned without straightening up in the houses of wealthy gentlemen, and now she can only weave multi-colored mats, but they cost just a pittance. And who in our poor village might need to buy mats, the weaving of which is usually done by the youngest daughters in each family? Uncle Ratha spoils me. Sometimes he brings bright bracelets, colorful scarves and even real cosmetics, like those of adult movie stars. He says that the flower should be beautiful and pleasing to the eye. I am embarrassed again, and my mother sternly points at me and thanks my uncle. We usually leave for work with him before dark, before the garlands of lanterns come on. At work, even though I don’t like it, sometimes it’s fun. Last week Lali recounted the new American series in person. We laughed until our stomachs hurt as Lali alternated between portraying the Big Boss, his unlucky employee and the girl they were both in love with. Lali's father was in a good mood after receiving her earnings for the week and allowed her to watch a few episodes from his phone. Her father is very strict, he says that Western television and series are a complete sin, but Lali was lucky this week. Uncle Ratha unloads me from his tuk-tuk and leaves until the morning. I light a garland of lanterns above the entrance, say a quick prayer to the gods for good luck, and sit down on my mother’s colorful mat laid out at the entrance to wait. I am Kaduri, prajata, night jasmine, the little flower destined to bloom at night. With the first rays of dawn my petals will fall. Uncle Ratha will come to pick me up and count the proceeds