A Polish nanny who didn't know English, the first to see through my secret hidden in the food.-5
First Kitchen Handover
Officially briefing Marta on the kitchen. Marta leans in to look. Checks the vegetable drawer. Reaches to touch the egg carton. Checks the date. I open the freezer. "Meat," she says. "Yes." Point to the stove. Demonstrate the knobs. "Fire," she states. "Yes." Open the dishwasher. "Clean dishes go here." Nod. She walks to the sink, Turns it on. She adjusts the temperature. Hot, Cold. "Know." Then she begins inspecting every drawer. I explain buttons; she repeats names. The handover lasts twenty-five minutes. At the end, she asks, "I work now?" "Yes." She pulls on rubber gloves.
She Observes Everything
Marta begins by observing. She lingers in each room. The kitchen gets the longest look. She opens every drawer, noting utensil organization, container storage, which way spice jar labels face. She is quiet throughout, occasionally emitting a low "Hmm," as if confirming something. Once, I see her standing at the sink, staring at the faucet spout for a full minute. Then she reaches out, touches the surface, feeling its temperature and material. She turns and sees me. "Water pressure," she states. "Yes," I say. "Good." She continues observing. This lasts a week.
My Ritual Continues
9 PM. My body tenses. I close the book, stand, walk towards the kitchen. Marta is usually in the living room, mopping or wiping tables. I close the kitchen door, Listen for a few seconds, confirming she hasn't followed. The pill bottle hides behind the flour bag. It's heavy; I need both hands to move it. Thud as it hits the counter. White against dark stone. I crushed with a credit card ,sweep the powder into the mug. Swallowing, I feel the temperature, the bitterness tracing down my throat. Open the door, Marta is across the room. Her back is to me, but since sometime, I've noticed she pauses when I enter or leave the kitchen. Only after I leave does she resume.
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Officially briefing Marta on the kitchen. Marta leans in to look. Checks the vegetable drawer. Reaches to touch the egg carton. Checks the date. I open the freezer. "Meat," she says. "Yes." Point to the stove. Demonstrate the knobs. "Fire," she states. "Yes." Open the dishwasher. "Clean dishes go here." Nod. She walks to the sink, Turns it on. She adjusts the temperature. Hot, Cold. "Know." Then she begins inspecting every drawer. I explain buttons; she repeats names. The handover lasts twenty-five minutes. At the end, she asks, "I work now?" "Yes." She pulls on rubber gloves.
She Observes Everything
Marta begins by observing. She lingers in each room. The kitchen gets the longest look. She opens every drawer, noting utensil organization, container storage, which way spice jar labels face. She is quiet throughout, occasionally emitting a low "Hmm," as if confirming something. Once, I see her standing at the sink, staring at the faucet spout for a full minute. Then she reaches out, touches the surface, feeling its temperature and material. She turns and sees me. "Water pressure," she states. "Yes," I say. "Good." She continues observing. This lasts a week.
My Ritual Continues
9 PM. My body tenses. I close the book, stand, walk towards the kitchen. Marta is usually in the living room, mopping or wiping tables. I close the kitchen door, Listen for a few seconds, confirming she hasn't followed. The pill bottle hides behind the flour bag. It's heavy; I need both hands to move it. Thud as it hits the counter. White against dark stone. I crushed with a credit card ,sweep the powder into the mug. Swallowing, I feel the temperature, the bitterness tracing down my throat. Open the door, Marta is across the room. Her back is to me, but since sometime, I've noticed she pauses when I enter or leave the kitchen. Only after I leave does she resume.
NEXT >>