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“All the ingredients came from the kitchen.” I begin the defense that I prepared and rehearsed to speak perfectly. “And all the cooks saw me prepare it. I swear it's safe,SignoraLuigia.” She turns to me, and I stop walking. “My sister...” I begin, but the pain of simply thinking about Raquel forces me to squint my eyes.
The greatest of all feelings in my Pandora's box vibrates, desperate to be released: longing. But with a deep exhale I ignore its demand and continue speaking.
“My sister...” I repeat when I open my eyes and find Luigia waiting for my answer without the impatience that I imagined I would find on her face. “She suffered from an illness that caused her to be in a lot of pain. Pain in the joints and articulations, like theSignora's, sometimes the medications didn't work, but this tea did.”
I finish the memorized speech that I only know means what I want to say because I studied it throughout my lunch break.SignoraAnna has been suffering from joint pain for the past three days. She is diagnosed with arthritis and, even though the doctor is visiting her daily and she is being medicated, the crisis simply doesn’t go away.
It could be that the tea won't do anything, after all, I didn't have all the herbs I used to use at home, but I needed to try. There's no point in letting a woman suffer if I can help to ease it.
The pain my sister felt was intense enough to make her scream in pain in the early hours of the morning. It was one of our neighbors, an elderly woman of indigenous[65] descent, who taught me the recipe. This helped Raquel so much.
“I just want to help,” I reinforce the request when it seems like Luigia has been considering my words for an eternity. “It's just tea.”
“Do you know what will happen to you if this tea harms thesignora?” she asks, and I frown when I don't understand every word she says. But after thinking a bit, the general meaning of the question hits me, and I widen my eyes before shaking my head. “You don't want to find out,” she adds, and I understand that perfectly.
I'm still dealing with the unspoken and implicit threat when Luigia makes her way out of the kitchen, stopping at the entry counter only to pick up the cup and saucer I've placed there. I swallow hard.
The day passes without me hearing any news from thesignoraor Luigia, and when the housekeeper returns to the kitchen to take me to my room at the end of Italian class, she says nothing. I open my mouth to ask as we walk through the familiar hallways, but I decide against it, afraid of giving the wrong impression.
That night, when Luigia leaves me in my room, she doesn't lock the door.
***
“It won't hurt to ask her!” Rafaella insists for the thousandth time.
“I'm not going to do that,” I also respond for the thousandth time.
“Don't you want to leave the room? At least on Sundays?”
“I want it,” I admit. “But you know what I also want? To continue working with you instead of alone, in another ward,” I say and, when I finish, I smile, just like every time I manage to say an overly long sentence entirely in Italian.
Rafa rolls her eyes, but then smiles, proud of herself, after all, it's her classes that are making this possible. It's not like I'm perfectly fluent, far from it, but I can communicate, even if sometimes I invent words that don't exist in an attempt to say something very long or complex. So, when I succeed, it's a big victory.
I can also understand almost everything Rafaella says, because in addition to her doing it slowly, my friend is careful to use words that she knows I know. Although, every now and then, she uses one I've never heard on purpose so I can learn.
“Alright, alright,” she agrees. “SignoraAnna has been brand new for two weeks, which must be worth more thanSignoraLuigia stopping locking your bedroom door and letting us work together. You healed the woman!” She exclaims, and I snort.
“I didn't cure anyone, Rafa. It was the tea.”
“Fine. But it was you who prepared the tea.”
“Only the first few times.”
“Because you were stupid and taughtSignoraLuigia how to do it.”
“Rafaella!” She laughs and shrugs, saying she's not sorry, and I shake my head as I walk to the other side of the bed.
Rafa shakes the sheet she has in her hands, and I grab the end that floats to me. We stretched the fabric over the bed and tucked the excess under the mattress.
“I can ask for you,” she suggests, and I purse my lips.
Rafaella spent the entire last week talking about the village’s fair. Next week, the grape harvest begins and, every week, the hundreds of workers who arrive at the Cantina to work hold an open-air market on Sundays. From what I understand, it's a big fair where food, crafts and a multitude of other things are sold. Rafaella says that this is the best time of the year here, because the fair always ends with a party, music, and dancing. She is excited about the next few weeks and is determined to take me along.
“Are we five years old now?”
“You sure are behaving like a child.”
“Come again?”
