(part two)

The dining hall is empty. I tap the heel of my shoe against the chair leg, waiting. My plate, food untouched and surely cold by now, sits before me. I push at the plate, shove it away, watch it glide easily over the polished surface of the table before stuttering to a stop in a puddle of tomato sauce.

Bits of food, grease-smeared glasses, platters with sauce and noodles slopping over their rims litter four tables of six. Four by six. How many for dinner tonight? 24. 24 settings of dinnerware, flatware, and tumblers. Eight oval platters and eight serving spoons. Eight water pitchers. Four tables of six.

"Shall we begin?"

I jump, bang my knee into the underside of the table, turn in my seat.

Amelia leans against one of the many pillars that support the ceiling of our basement dining hall. "Well?" she asks, raising both eyebrows at me.

"Yeah, okay," I say, standing up. "I've never..."

"Yes, I know. Pam told me this is your first night on dishes." She shrugs, crosses the room, appraising the damage. "Okay," she says after a moment, "I'll tell you how dishes usually go down. You'll start out here," she waves a hand at the diningroom. "Dump the plates and stuff in the pre-wash tubs first, so they can soak. Pull the chairs away, wiping each seat as you do, and stack them against the wall. Wipe off the tables, and don't worry about the crumbs because you're going to sweep, anyway, but save the sweeping and mopping for last or else it streaks." Amelia pauses, looks at me sternly.

"Okay," I nod.

"Good. Now, you move to the kitchen." She motions for me to follow. "In here, you'll work like you do on crew, but alone. Take the stuff from the pre-wash," she points at an empty plastic tub at our feet, "wash it and rinse it," she cocks her thumb at the deep, double sink, "dry it and put it away," she waves her index finger back and forth at the cabinets above us. "Then, change the water in all the tubs." She glares at me as though I were intent on doing otherwise. "And do the pots, pans, platters, and serving utensils in the fresh water."

"Got it," I murmur.

"After everything's dried and put away, wipe the counters, walls, splash boards, and appliances." Again, she pauses for a moment, looks around the kitchen. "Yeah, then you're ready to sweep and mop. Do the entire kitchen, and the whole dining room."

"Even the area we didn't use?" I ask.

"What did I just say?"

"The whole thing."

"Then that's what I meant. The whole thing." She rolls her eyes and starts for the door. "I'll be upstairs. Come and get me when you're through so I can check your work and release you."

"Okay," I say.

"Oh," she says, resting one hand on the doorframe, "one last thing..."

"Hmm?"

"There is no talking while you're on dishes. I don't care if God himself shows up down here. You're invisible and mute." She stares hard at me again. "I hear a peep out of you, and believe me, I'll hear it, and you'll be down here tomorrow night, too."

I nod.