Tourmaline by Joanna Scott

Author:Joanna Scott
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: FIC014000
ISBN: 9780316028868
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2007-09-02T21:00:00+00:00

Then the body decides to return us to reality — the reality of stomach cramps, sore throats, swollen glands. The fact of pain. The necessity of food, oxygen, and water. The fact of fever.

It was Meena the cat who got sick first, though our parents hardly noticed. We noticed, but we couldn’t do anything but watch her ribs pulse beneath her fur and her tongue twitch as she panted. She lay on Nat’s bed for three days without eating or drinking. Her nose was hot. The insides of her velvety ears were hot. And then on the fourth day she dragged herself to her water bowl and drank until the bowl was empty. By the fifth day she was as sly and quick and aloof as ever.

Harry was the next one to fall ill. He complained of a headache, and when Francesca felt his forehead her hand jerked away from the shock of heat. She put him to bed and sent a neighbor, Marco Scozzi, to fetch our parents, who had gone into Portoferraio to have lunch.

Our mother came home with Marco; she left Murray in Porto-ferraio to shop for presents for Harry, whose birthday was the following Wednesday. She gave Harry half an aspirin, coaxed him to take a few sips of water, and let him sleep for the rest of the day. In the evening she put cotton balls soaked in warm olive oil in his ears. If he wasn’t better in a couple of days, she told herself, she’d check with the pharmacist. If he took a turn for the worse, she’d call a doctor.

Patrick woke up with a fever the next morning. He and Harry stayed in their bedroom with the shutters closed because the light hurt their eyes. They weren’t even interested in the comic books Murray brought them. Nat mixed dish soap with water and blew bubbles in the room, but Patrick mumbled for him to stop, and when he didn’t, Harry called him an idiot. Nat left the room crying.

The first cause for alarm was Harry’s complaint that the back of his neck hurt. Claire immediately called Lorenzo, who gave her the name of a local doctor. The doctor was in Pisa for the day, but his wife booked a home visit for the following afternoon.

By the evening I was sick. This was not like any kind of sickness I had ever known. My gut ached, my head ached, my ears throbbed with pain, I couldn’t swallow or speak, and I didn’t have the strength to squeeze my fingers into a fist.

In our Marciana house I shared a room with Nat. When I fell ill my parents moved a cot into Harry and Patrick’s room for me — “the sick room” it was called, Nat announced. He wasn’t sick — hahah! He didn’t have to stay in bed — hahah! His voice hurt my ears. Someday, I knew, Patrick would beat him up for this.

Damp washcloths were draped over my forehead. Warm cotton plugged my ears.

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