Zedeck Siew's Writing Hours

POTTER WASP

A trader selling herbal medicine, her beautiful children, and a trail of empty cribs.

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A DAY FROM TOWN, BY A MUDDY BANK

Auntie Sa is breaking camp. Her four daughters douse the fire pit; her two sons load fist-sized jars and child-sized urns onto handcarts.

Her youngest boy sits on a log. Auntie Sa towels his head dry. He sits hunched, staring into space, arms pressed to his chest like a rat, like an insect.

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AUNTIE SA’S MIRACLE MIX

Auntie Sa sells medicine, not pottery—jars of paste thick as marmite and bitter as soap. “Good for pains, good for pregnancy!”

Eat a jar, sleep, dream you are being buried alive. The next day all injuries on you are healed. “Secret formula. Don’t ask, okay?” She winks.

The chief ingredient is Auntie Sa’s own eggs, mashed. Eat her miracle mix once: now it tastes delicious. Eat her miracle mix thrice: now you obey her every word.

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AUNTIE SA, MEDICINE PEDDLER
Sensitive, steady, wilful. Healing arts, pot-making, hovering.
Sting. Protective amulet, false flesh. 4 spirit.

Flowing clothes, wagging finger. “Drink enough water. Don’t skip breakfast, or afternoon naps. Eat more ginger.”

“All kinds of ill winds, nowadays,” she says. She hands you a free sample of her miracle mix. “Prevention is better than cure!” Her children never fall sick.

If forced to violence, Auntie Sa reveals her wings, the abdomen between her legs. Her sting is a scorching electrocution; you are paralysed for an hour.

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SA FAMILY VALUES

While travelling they camp by sources of clay. They shape large urns, coil by coil. These are placed in a pit, covered with wood and excreta, and fired.

They turn up on market days. Here they brew medicine, with pot lids open. The herbal stink is advertisement enough.

Auntie Sa ingratiates herself to mothers of small children. Her family will pay these mothers a house call—before skipping town the same night.

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A VICTIM

The husband Prias spends his days in the orchard and his evenings at the wine stall. He sleeps on a bench there, now.

The wife Naria hides in her house. “They say that medicine seller stole the baby. That’s not what her husband is saying. He’s saying she gave the baby away.”

It is true. Naria gave her baby away. She couldn’t tell you why. Maybe she was not fit to be a mother. Maybe she should die.

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HOW SA CHILDREN ARE BORN

A prepubescent child is stung then placed foetal into an urn filled with miracle mix. Sealed within, nourished by paste: they change.

Auntie Sa cracks the urn open a year later. The child appears outwardly the same. A year older, perhaps? But they have forgotten speech, and do not need to blink.

They relearn these things. They learn how to make miracle mix. It is all they eat, now. They cannot survive on anything else.

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SA CHILD
Strong, steady, wilful. Herb craft, foraging, defending.
Boning knife. False flesh. 2 spirit.

Cinched waist, perfect complexion—if you break their skin, you see black-and-yellow chitin. Staring eyes, brows that don’t stop twitching.

Immune to all disease. Naifs, they have no memory of their previous life. Auntie is their mother. They look to her for answers. They never disobey.

Should Auntie Sa die her daughters develop wings, stinging abdomens; start to lay eggs. They split up to mother new families.

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( Image sources:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Mar%C3%ADa_and_Juli%C3%A1n_Martinez_pit_firing_blackware_pottery_(c.1920).jpg
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guilinggao
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Wasp_Woman
https://www.globalsistersreport.org/news/ministry/nuns-produce-traditional-medicines-their-livelihood-and-ministries-13766
https://www.meisterdrucke.us/fine-art-prints/C-Bisschop/1155712/The-Empty-Cradle.html
https://siraplimau.com/sarang-angkut-angkut/
https://vogue.ph/runway/balenciaga-fall-2025-couture/ )

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We get a lot of potter-wasp nests in the nooks and crannies of our house.