She walked on. Never had she felt so alone. At home there weren't many people, just her mother and father, but this merciless loneliness in the midst of so many people was a new feeling for Dianelopa. Maybe it was a mistake to leave home, she thought. The people walked past their eyes averted and she felt as if she were invisible. She had no idea where to go either. There were so many houses and stores, but it was all a meaningless blurr to her.
It was getting later, the sun was low in the West and Dianelopa was getting very hungry. I could sit down, I suppose, she thought and see what mother has put in my bag to eat. But when she looked for a good spot to sit, she noticed that the only people sitting there were ragged, dirty, and some of them were missing limbs or had oozing sores. So she walked on, slowly and aimlessly
It was then that she heard music coming from one of the rather shabby places near by. Dianelopa walked over to the door which was open, as it had been a rather warm day, and peered inside. There were a few people sitting at tables, most just drinking. And toward the back she saw a man sitting on a stool and playing a guitar. The music was pleasant, so Dianelopa stood there, outside, listening.
She didn't particularly notice when one and then another person swished past her. But the third person, a young man with masses of curly black hair and a full beard who had already swished past, stopped suddenly and turned back to look at her. "Why are you standing there?" he said. "If you want ot hear the music go in and sit down."
Dianelopa felt the blood rush to her head which happened when she was embarrassed and ill at ease. She said nothing.
"Cat got your tongue?" he asked in a rather neutral voice that Dianelopa couldn't interpret. But she didn't know what he was talking about anyway, so she just grunted quietly.
He laughed. "Funny girl," he said. "I bet you just came from the country."
Dianelopa nodded.
"OK, so you speak our language. I guess you're not from far away?"
Dianelopa shook her head. "Shim," she whispered. That was all she could get out, just a whisper.
"Ah hah," he said. "I've been there. Dreary place. Well, come in. See there's plenty of room. People not come yet, still at work."
"Is it your house?" asked Dianelopa in a squeaky whisper?
"What?"
"Your house," she said a little louder and pointed.
He laughed. "It's an inn. You know. The Drunken Rat. Get some beer? Listen to good music. Talk to your friends? Get drunk! He laughed even more.
"Oh," said Dianelopa withdrawing into herself again.
"Come on in," he said and grabbed her hand, dragging her to a table. "Now sit." He pointed to the bench and Dianelopa who felt her legs being a little weak anyway, sat. He placed himself across from her. "So," he said. "What's your name?"
Dianelopa was staring at the table top, nervous about looking at him in the face. "Dianelopa," she managed to whisper.
"Diane huh?"
"No, LOPA, she said. The LOPA was loud enough that he heard.
"Lopa," he repeated.
She nodded.
"I'm...But just then the musician strummed a loud chord instead of the soft music he'd been playing, so Dianelopa heard nothing more than something like Mumble. She was too embarrassed to ask again, so he became Mumble in her mind.
Julian, the musician, played as he always did, lost in his own world. There were no lyrics, just music, as his finger's memories manipulated the tense strings of the guitar to develop the music which filled the Rat. As he played, he drifted in his mind's eye, rolling over hills and lush grash somewhere... somewhere...
People began drifting in and the inn got fuller and fuller. A woman came to their table and sat down beside Mumble. "Who's that?" she said pointed at Dianelopa.
"Farm girl from Shim, Lopa's her name," said Mumble.
"New huh?" said the girl and eyed Dianelopa critically.
Dianelopa looked down again and let this scan go over her without letting the girl see her face. Her stomach was rumbling, now she noticed that, and remembered that she'd been wanting to eat for a long time. "Can I eat my food here?" she asked looking at Mumble.
"Well, it's fine with me," he said.
So Dianelopa took out two big slices of rye bread spread thick with butter and began munching on them. That made her feel better.
When she'd devoured them, she looked in the bag again. There were a lot of little cakes. "Hmmm," she said, more to herself than to her table companions. "I've never seen cakes like these before." She took one out and studied it, then took a bite. It was delicious. Her mother had never made these cakes as far as Dianelopa could remember. "Mmmm", she said and took another one out. "Do you want one?" she asked Mumble.
He shook his head, "no cakes for me, just a good beer."
"Do you?" Dianelopa asked the girl.
"Sure," said the girl who took the cake and bit into it. "Hey, that's really good. Hey, what's your name again?"
"Her name's Lopa!" said Mumble.
"I'm Masha," she said. "I like your cakes."
"My mother made them," said Dianelopa shyly.
Mumble and Masha then started talking about things Dianelopa knew nothing about, so her mind wandered a bit, until she noticed that she was very thirsty. But there was nothing to drink in the bag. Dianelopa looked at the glasses of beer that Mumble and Masha were drinking.
"Do you think I could get one?" she said.
"What?" said Mumble.
"To drink."
"Of course, just go to the bar and order."
"But I don't have have.. have..."
"Bishani?" said Masha.
Dianelopa nodded as was her wont. "Would he trade for a cake?" she asked hopefully.
"Sure," said Masha. "I'm sure he would. He's an OK guy."
It worked. "This time only," said the bartender. He filled a mug for Dianelopa and then popped the cake in his mouth. "Ooooo," he said. "That's really good. Maybe not just this time only." He grinned at Dianelopa.
By the time Dianelopa had finished the beer she felt so tired that she didn't think she could hold her head up any longer. She allowed herself simply to slide down on the bench and then put her legs up and her head down on the seat. Within a couple minutes she was fast asleep.