The lounge is quiet, people relaxing with coffee and tea before their children return from the gym. There are many things to do in the morning, from spending time in the art studio to courses in the English language and cultural studies classes. Loki follows Magda to the art studio where she works with a few students on potter's wheels. He is fascinated at how easily the clay takes shape, at how effortless she makes this craft look. One of her students leaves and she brings over a new slab of clay.
She hands it to Loki, "Here. See what it feels like."
"I have no idea how to work this device."
"First, give the clay a good hard drop onto the wheel. Yes, yes, that way. Now sit. This is a kick wheel. You can keep it quite slow." She places his hands on the clay as he gets the wheel moving, "Start simple. Shape the mound. The see what you can do. And remember you can always smash what you make back down into a lump and start over." She shows him his tools, makes sure he has water, and returns to her own wheel where she is growing the sides of what appears to be a vase. It takes him a few tries to get the clay to take any sort of shape. He watches Magda when he is frustrated, then tries again. By lunch, he has a small bowl sitting on the wheel and he is incredibly proud of it, even of it's uneven top edge. She shows him how to remove it from the wheel and they place it on the tray of items ready for the kiln.
The cafeteria is loud and the sounds of so many voices echo off the high ceilings. While the sound is disorienting, the smells delight, the spices exotic, unfamiliar, and tantalizing. Magda sits at a small round table where Shelly has already settled in with her tray.
"Hey! How'd circle go?"
"Fair."
"It went well. Loki shared a bit of his own history."
"Yeah, I heard about it in the boxing ring. Josef wouldn't shut up. He was trying to use it to distract me, but I'm sharper than that."
"Oh. I am surprised you still want to sit with me."
"You think that's the worst I've heard? Come on, I get kids in here who were recruited for armies when they were eight. One teenager shared his part in sacking a village and mutilating women, girls, even, with whatever broken glass they could find. Some seriously messed up shit. And I've had kids who were being brainwashed to blow themselves up in the name of god. And oh, listen to this one. We had one guy in here who was some kind of secret police guy in one of the Soviet Bloc nations. He had some scary stories to tell. It's actually kind of nice to know you didn't do it out of some weird hate for Earth."
"I am surprised you are so kind in your reaction."
"Everybody does dumb shit. Yours was just what I'd call the Big Dumb Shit."
"Perhaps. I know there will be others who are harsh, but I am grateful that you are both so kind. It has helped immensely."
"So how long have you been around? A few months?"
"Far less. Not even a few weeks."
"Holy shit. You're adapting pretty well then."
"I have not yet starved or gotten myself killed, so I assume yes."
Shelly laughs, "You set the bar pretty low there. I guess it means you've got a high success rate, eh?"
"Indeed."
A little girl inches over to the table and tugs on Loki's sleeves. He recognizes her from before the circle. Large almond eyes, skin the colour of wam caramel. Long dark hair in curls cascading down her back. A long length of fabric wrapped around her as a skirt and shawl with a matching blouse. A beautiful child. He smiles at her. She smiles back. She gestures to her own hair, then to his.
"My hair, little one?"
There are eyes on the interaction all around the cafeteria. The girl nods.
"She does not speak much English. Her family is new here," Magda says. She speaks to the girl in clipped phrases, herself not fluent in the child's native tongue, "She likes your hair. It looks like hers. Dark and long. She wonders if you are from where she is from."
Loki shakes his head, "No, child, I am not." Magda translates.
The girl mimes brushing her hair and then quickly braids a lock, then points to his hair, "She wonders if she might play with your hair."
"Of course. If her family allows, that is." Again, Magda translates. Giddy, the girl runs back to her table, grabs her bag, and runs back to Loki. She pulls a comb from her bag- a finely made wooden one. She climbs up on the chair beside Loki's and she begins to work through his hair, chattering happily as she does.
"She says she loves your hair. It is soft, and it is heavy, like hers. And she is grateful someone will let her play. Her father has short hair, and so do her brothers. Her mother is dead, and her sisters married at home. She says she is the last girl in her family now. And she has no other hair to play with."
He speaks to the girl, even though he knows she cannot understand him, "I am honoured, my lady, to be able to help you in this manner."
Magda translates; the girl responds slowly, "You are welcome. My name is Padma."
"My name is Loki."
"It is nice to meet you." Her words are precise, cautious, but her smile is anything but, her eyes bright. She braids little locks of his hair until her father calls her back to lunch. "I thank you." She bounds back to her family.
Loki is still smiling when he gets into Magda's car after her shift at the refugee centre.