A Polish nanny who didn't know English, the first to see through my secret hidden in the food.-9
Change in the Cupboard
Friday morning. Needed a new prescription bottle. The old one empty. Went to the cupboard. Moved aside the pasta bag. Behind it: empty space. No bottle. Heart skipped. Searched the entire cupboard. Left to right. Gone. Marta? Moved it? Checked the neighboring cupboard. Gone. Checked the drawer below. Gone. Stood up straight.
Felt sweat on my back. Then remembered the backup bottle. In my study desk drawer. Fetched it. Half full. Took it back to the kitchen. Needed a new hiding spot. Chose the narrow cabinet beside the oven. Held baking sheets. Rarely used. Opened the door. Placed the bottle deep inside, behind the stack of pans. Closed the door. That afternoon, watching Marta. Cleaning the kitchen, she opened the narrow cabinet. Looked inside. Looked at the pans. Didn't move them. Just looked. Then closed the door. Continued cleaning.
She Leaves an Item
Saturday morning, mid-coffee, I spot the booklet on the corner of the dining table. Title in Polish – letters adorned with little hooks and slashes. Flipping through: tissue-thin pages filled with hand-drawn botanical illustrations – roots, leaves, flowers, Polish descriptions beneath each.
One page corner bent. Drawn plant with small yellow flowers, lengthy Polish title. Blue ink handwritten in the margin: words I don't recognize. But one thing I do: 200mg. Below the number, a simple line drawing of a cup, three steam wisps rising. Close the book. Return it. Marta washes a cup in the kitchen. I pick it up, walk over: "This is...?" She glances back, nods. "Polish herb book." "For me?" "You look." Wet finger gestures from book to me. "Thank you." She dries her hands, says nothing more. The book remains on the table.
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Friday morning. Needed a new prescription bottle. The old one empty. Went to the cupboard. Moved aside the pasta bag. Behind it: empty space. No bottle. Heart skipped. Searched the entire cupboard. Left to right. Gone. Marta? Moved it? Checked the neighboring cupboard. Gone. Checked the drawer below. Gone. Stood up straight.
Felt sweat on my back. Then remembered the backup bottle. In my study desk drawer. Fetched it. Half full. Took it back to the kitchen. Needed a new hiding spot. Chose the narrow cabinet beside the oven. Held baking sheets. Rarely used. Opened the door. Placed the bottle deep inside, behind the stack of pans. Closed the door. That afternoon, watching Marta. Cleaning the kitchen, she opened the narrow cabinet. Looked inside. Looked at the pans. Didn't move them. Just looked. Then closed the door. Continued cleaning.
She Leaves an Item
Saturday morning, mid-coffee, I spot the booklet on the corner of the dining table. Title in Polish – letters adorned with little hooks and slashes. Flipping through: tissue-thin pages filled with hand-drawn botanical illustrations – roots, leaves, flowers, Polish descriptions beneath each.
One page corner bent. Drawn plant with small yellow flowers, lengthy Polish title. Blue ink handwritten in the margin: words I don't recognize. But one thing I do: 200mg. Below the number, a simple line drawing of a cup, three steam wisps rising. Close the book. Return it. Marta washes a cup in the kitchen. I pick it up, walk over: "This is...?" She glances back, nods. "Polish herb book." "For me?" "You look." Wet finger gestures from book to me. "Thank you." She dries her hands, says nothing more. The book remains on the table.
NEXT >>