Chapter 17. A Boiling Pot

On her walk home, Nisreen’s breath was a small white cloud before her. Inside she ached. Malik was gone. She felt the absence of his presence. Over the last weeks he had been her shelter. An unbearable weariness settled over her. Between the trees she could see glimmers of light. When she stepped into the yard, she looked through the front window of her house and saw her family gathered at the table. It looked like all kith and kin must had taken their leave. She stepped onto the rickety front porch, but could not bring herself to go inside. Papa’s voice penetrated the closed door. Though she couldn’t make out what he was saying, his voice was agitated. Papa agitated was not a good thing, nor a thing she wanted to face. Careful not to creak a board, she backed off the porch.

The wind had caught the smell of mint. Uncle Possim must be at work. Always, Uncle Possim was good company. What she need now was good company. She walked to the shed. The smell was stronger, but there was also a peculiar aroma she could’t name. The shed door was slightly open. A white cloud puffed out the door. Steam. She stepped inside the shed. It was like stepping into a cloud. What was Uncle Possim doing? She went to the trap door knocked. From below, Uncle Possim asked, “Who’s there?” This was merely a rhetorical question. Her kind could recognize the scents of others from great distances.

She called down, “It’s me, are you busy?”

“Yes, but I would enjoy some company.”

Grateful he wasn’t too busy to spend time with her, Nisreen opened the trap door. Warmth swelled up and met her. She gathered her cloak and skirts and climbed down. Bent over a large pot on the brazier, Uncle Possim was stirring some concoction with a slotted spoon. His nostrils flared and he breathed in the aroma of the pot. He looked like a tiny misshapen wizard. Littered on the table behind him were small piles dried herbs, flowers, weeds, shells and bones. Uncle Possim looked up from the pot and asked, “How are you doing?”

To the rest of her family, Nisreen would have told a half truth, pretended she was okay, but with Uncle Possim, this wasn’t necessary. “I miss Malik so much it hurts and he just left.”

“That pain is a sign of the depth of your love. If you were fine right now, I would be worried.”

His words helped smooth over some of the rumples in her mind and heart. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned his attention back to the pot. The contents were now thickening and the color was changing. With his good hand Uncle Possim grabbed a vial. Inside of it was a gold colored liquid. He held it toward her and asked, “Could you open this, my fingers are a bit stiff this evening.

She took the vial and pulled the cork. A sweet floral smell filled her nostrils. As she handed him the vial, she asked, “What’s in there?”

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“Essence of the fragrant flowers.” With care he measured a few drops into the pot, and then gave her back the vial. A little of the liquid was on the top rim. It felt oily, like rose oil.

Nisreen securely pushed the stopped back into the vial. Pointing at the pot she asked, “What are you making?”

“Salve.”

“Is that the same salve you put on Atticus?”

Uncle Possim grunted, “Mmm, yes.” With a consistent motion, he stirred the pot and continued, “It may have cleared up Atticus pustules, and maybe it didn’t, but it did soothe his burning skin. I wish it was a cure. I’m hoping this might be some gateway to treat others. If it is a gateway, maybe if it did clear up his skin, I might be onto something that maybe, maybe could be the path to a cure.” He sighed and said, “My medicine can alleviate, but so far nothing has stopped Contagion. Perhaps I’m a fool, but I’d really like to find a cure so death wouldn’t be the final victor.”

Nisreen hoped he was right. She hoped in time he could find a cure, for his own sake as much as everyone else’s. If he could, all his hard years of study and research would be given meaning. She told him, “If anyone can do it, you can.”

He glanced up from the pot and said, “Thank you my sweet.” With his eyes back on the pot, he asked, “Have you ever thought of going into medicine?”

Had she? No, but in this moment she felt something stir inside of her brain like it had realized a hunger it didn’t know it possessed. She said, “I haven’t thought of it before, but I am thinking of it now. Would you teach me?”

He gave her his cooked smile. His eyes shown with gratitude and relief. “I would love that. You are an answer to my prayer. If all goes well I could pass my work onto you.”

Unable to speak, she nodded. Inside Nisreen chest, she felt her heart beat faster. This time, this now was a rare moment, and she felt the weight of it. If she was to work with Uncle Possim, her future would have a very specific course and she couldn’t be miles away from him in some burned out house. Also, what would Malik think? Often in Malik’s presence she had enjoyed a sense of freedom she never felt with Papa. Malik’s views were more open, at least so far they seemed so. But, what of the future? Granny said, no one knew the future and it was best to make choices as they came. A choice had come to Nisreen and she met it.

Uncle Possim turned his attention back to the pot. His nose sniffed and sniffed as if he were testing the air, which he was. Their kind’s sense of smell was very keen. It could separate one aroma from another. As Nisreen watched him, she sniffed the air and tried to identify all the smells. Besides the ones she had already identified, there was trace of dandelion, winter mug and bone dust, but the rest she could’t make out. This was a multi layered concoction. The unidentifiable ingredients had been created by secret or had been changed by heat and the overall mixture.

Under his breath, Uncle Possim began to hum, not that their kind could hum, it was more like a low hiss, still it signified that Uncle Possim was pleased. He took the pot off the brazier and begin to pour the goo into a jar. Several more jars were lined up. It occurred to Nisreen that Uncle Possim was stocking up to treat…others. She asked, “Do you think the Contagion will thrive this time around?”

He nodded.

Everything inside of Nisreen got very still. She wanted to cry aloud, NO! He had to be wrong. He must be wrong.

Sensing her mood shift he said, “Nisreen, I am not some soothsayer, but odds are against us. Contagion is spreading in the North and Atticus brought it here.”

The word, here, echoed in her ears and thumped around in her head. No, this must not be! It must not!