Moonshine

By C. J. Persson

There it is again. The white thing breaches the shimmering surface of my tea. One glance at the bulbous lump and the word tumor springs to mind unbidden. I raise the mug to my nose ostensibly to smell it, but really, I’m trying to sneak a closer look. What is that? Steam rises from the cup, and my eyes water. Why does tea make my eyes water?

Four smiling faces nod in encouragement. The father of the family sits opposite me, another cup of tea in his hand.

His two daughters are cozied up to either side of me on the couch. Their mother minds the register of this small convenience store, which also doubles as a living room. The couch has been jammed into a corner, shelves of snacks to either side. If a customer came in wanting prawn crackers, they’d have to lean across me. Oh! Maybe then I could accidentally on purpose spill my tea? But there are no other customers in the store, so I’m out of luck.

Thimphu University—where I’m an exchange student—is around the corner. I’ve bought snacks in this store twice, and now, apparently, I’m a regular. I’ve been in Bhutan for about ten days and have been invited into people’s homes roughly as many times.

The kindness that has been shown to me is, frankly, unbelievable. Which is why I have to drink this concoction down.

I take another peek at the mystery, eye-stinging tea. Yup. White shapeless blobs swim around in what I’m now thinking might not be tea.

The oldest daughter, who is about seven and speaks the most English, hasn’t stopped smiling since I sat down. Her hand is on my leg, as if to keep me from running…

“What are the—the white bits?” I ask her.

“Egg.” She makes a very convincing chicken sound.

Right. Now that I know, I can recognize the chopped-up pieces of a fried egg. I nod and smile as if that’s just what I wanted to hear. Here goes.

I take a sip and make the mistake of breathing in. I splutter. I cough. The tea is about fifty-percent alcohol. The fumes go up my nose and give my brain a slap.

Moonshine. Tea. Fried egg.

“Mm,” I say, hoping the eye-watering might be mistaken for tears of joy. “It’s good.”

Bits of egg bump against my lips as I slowly take another sip. How much will I have to drink to be polite? How much can I survive?

The youngest daughter is drawing with crayons. She holds up the paper for me to see.

“That’s amazing,” I say, since I might as well keep lying to be polite. She hands it to me and says something to her older sister.

“For you. Gift,” the older sister interprets.

“Thank you,” I say, and even though I can’t tell what the drawing is supposed to be, I take it gingerly and beam at the squiggled lines. Each tiny kindness makes me feel less like an outsider. I come to a decision.

My grandma used to say that if you’re going to eat a turd-sandwich, don’t nibble.

I gulp down the rest of the tea. It burns—both because it’s hot and because it’s strong. Bits of egg interrupt the flow, but I chew them down and keep going until the cup is empty. The father nods, clearly impressed.

Afterward, I sit for an hour and trade drawings with the two sisters. We paint ugly portraits of one another and laugh. When I can trust my legs again, I say goodbye, and head back to my dorm.

I’m twenty, I’ve never been this far from home, and I feel completely accepted. If the price is that I have to drink eye-watering egg tea moonshine occasionally, it’s one I’ll happily pay.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

C. J. Persson is a Swedish writer who can usually be found scaling the south face of his laundry pile or explaining to his children how come bats are real when ghosts aren’t. His debut novel is titled Alice and the Golden Egg.

---

Author Website | Facebook