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"
Just
wait
till
I
brew
it
.
You
ain
’
t
smelled
nothin
’
yet
.
"
I
didn
’
t
know
there
were
any
natural
coffee
beans
left
in
the
world
.
That
is
,
I
suspected
real
coffee
still
existed
,
somewhere
,
but
I
didn
’
t
know
there
was
anyone
still
in
the
habit
of
drinking
it
.
The
beverage
that
passed
for
coffee
these
days
was
made
from
lab
-
grown
beans
with
artificial
flavoring
added
for
taste
and
aroma
.
Substitute
grounds
didn
’
t
smell
as
strong
as
the
beans
Rita
was
grinding
,
and
they
didn
’
t
fight
their
way
into
your
nose
and
down
your
entire
respiratory
tract
like
these
did
,
either
.
I
suppose
you
could
extrapolate
the
smell
of
the
artificial
stuff
and
eventually
approach
the
real
thing
,
but
the
difference
in
impact
was
like
the
difference
between
a
9mm
hand
gun
and
a
120mm
tank
shell
.
"
That
must
be
worth
a
small
fortune
,
"
I
said
.
"
I
told
you
we
were
on
the
line
in
North
Africa
before
we
came
here
.
It
was
a
gift
from
one
of
the
villages
we
freed
.
"
"
Some
gift
.
"
"
Being
queen
isn
’
t
all
bad
,
you
know
.
"
A
hand
-
cranked
coffee
grinder
sat
in
the
middle
of
the
glass
table
.
A
uniquely
shaped
little
device
-
I
’
d
seen
one
once
in
an
antique
shop
.
Beside
it
was
some
kind
of
ceramic
funnel
covered
with
a
brown
-
stained
cloth
.
I
guessed
you
were
supposed
to
put
the
ground
-
up
coffee
beans
in
the
middle
and
strain
the
water
through
them
.
An
army
-
issued
portable
gas
stove
and
heavy
-
duty
frying
pan
dominated
the
center
of
the
table
.
A
clear
liquid
bubbled
noisily
in
the
frying
pan
.
Two
mugs
sat
nearby
,
one
chipped
with
cracked
paint
,
and
one
that
looked
brand
new
.
At
the
very
edge
of
the
table
sat
a
resealable
plastic
bag
filled
with
dark
brown
coffee
beans
.
