Breath
by Rina Palumbo
Marta sat in a grey metal chair. At her side, on a beige padded lounger, lay her friend. She was asleep in a twilight haze, her eyelids twitching in counterpoint to the ticking of the industrial clock on the wall behind her. A clear plastic tube, a port they called it, jutted out from under her left shoulder. The pipe ran into a clear bottle filled with pale yellow liquid attached to a machine.
Atillo blew into the wand, and an amber globe erupted suddenly from the molten glass. He turned it carefully to trim its shape and then blew again. He repeated this process slowly and carefully until a perfect sphere emerged, sitting like a golden bubble on the hot tip of the metal pipe.
Jillian stepped carefully on the path, the cobblestones slate gray against the muddy earth, lifting her long skirts with both hands. Arriving at the door of the old house, she knocked and waited. "Come in," said a voice from inside. She stepped into the dimly lit room, closing the door behind her. "Come to me," a flare erupted in the fireplace, illuminating an old lady sitting on a low stool.
"Come closer. Let me hold your hands."
Jillian stepped towards her. The older woman took her outstretched hands and held them briefly.
"How can I help you child."
"I want to know my future."
"My eyes see far, but they cannot see all."
"Does Liam love me?"
The woman went to the fire and pulled out a kettle. She took down an old glass jar from the mantle, uncorked it, and took out a handful of dried leaves. She threw them into a cup and poured the hot water over them.
"Drink all of this."
Jillian took the cup and sipped the liquid slowly and then quickly.
The woman took the empty cup and blew into it. She looked down at the yellowed leaves, their pattern a language only she could read.
"No," she said, not looking up at Jillian.
The young woman straightened.
"Here is your payment."
The woman took the coin. "Come back with another question, child."
Jillian looked at her, turned around, and went out the door and down the path.
Attilo plunged a hot red needle into the semi-molten bead and dipped it into the cool water beside his workbench. He pulled the needle through and lifted the amber bead, placing it carefully in a box lined with velvet. He had more to do.
Marta looked at her friend's sleeping face while holding a square of red paper patterned with gold swirls. She began to fold it with practiced fingers. The drip of the life-saving amber poison made its way into her friend's veins, and the clock kept time.
Atillo blew into the wand, and another perfect globe emerged. He stabbed the hot needle into the new bead, cooled it in water, and placed it next to the others.
Jillian returned to the woman's house. Once again, she followed the path, knocked on the door, and stepped inside. She was still there, almost as if she had never moved.
The young woman walked towards the warmth of the fire and put her hands out. Once again, the older woman took them into hers. Jillian held her breath as she stood there, letting her heartbeat fill her ears.
"Do I love Liam?"
The older woman looked up at Jillian as she let go of her hands. Once again, she went to the fireplace, took the jar from the mantle, put some dried leaves into a cup, and poured hot water. She offered it to the other woman.
Jillian blew on the amber liquid and drank it. She returned the vessel to the older woman, who blew into the empty cup and looked down at the red-tinged leaves.
"Yes."
Jillian handed a gold coin to the woman and left through the door and down the path.
Atillo made his pale yellow beads, one after another until the box was almost full. He picked up a spool of gold thread, carefully measured it, and then cut a length of it. He carefully strung the amber beads and laid the glass necklace on the grey metal bench individually.
Marta shaped her swan from the red paper with gold swirls. As she worked, she watched her friend, eyelids still, breath shallow, and Marta noted that the drips of pale liquid fire were slowing down. It was almost time.
Atillo blew into the wand, and a red bubble emerged. Letting the clock pace him, he blew and shaped this last bead into a perfect ruby sphere. He lanced it, let it cool in the cup of water, and then strung it with the amber beads. He closed the circle.
Marta worked; the red and gold swan was almost finished. She folded the wings into that precise moment when the bird lifted itself from the water and into the air.
Her friend stirred.
She placed the swan, wings ready for flight, on the pillow so it would be the first thing her friend saw when she came back from dreaming.
The pale yellow fluid stopped dripping; her friend opened her eyes and drew a breath.
Atillo blew into the wand, and an amber globe erupted suddenly from the molten glass. He turned it carefully to trim its shape and then blew again. He repeated this process slowly and carefully until a perfect sphere emerged, sitting like a golden bubble on the hot tip of the metal pipe.
Jillian stepped carefully on the path, the cobblestones slate gray against the muddy earth, lifting her long skirts with both hands. Arriving at the door of the old house, she knocked and waited. "Come in," said a voice from inside. She stepped into the dimly lit room, closing the door behind her. "Come to me," a flare erupted in the fireplace, illuminating an old lady sitting on a low stool.
"Come closer. Let me hold your hands."
Jillian stepped towards her. The older woman took her outstretched hands and held them briefly.
"How can I help you child."
"I want to know my future."
"My eyes see far, but they cannot see all."
"Does Liam love me?"
The woman went to the fire and pulled out a kettle. She took down an old glass jar from the mantle, uncorked it, and took out a handful of dried leaves. She threw them into a cup and poured the hot water over them.
"Drink all of this."
Jillian took the cup and sipped the liquid slowly and then quickly.
The woman took the empty cup and blew into it. She looked down at the yellowed leaves, their pattern a language only she could read.
"No," she said, not looking up at Jillian.
The young woman straightened.
"Here is your payment."
The woman took the coin. "Come back with another question, child."
Jillian looked at her, turned around, and went out the door and down the path.
Attilo plunged a hot red needle into the semi-molten bead and dipped it into the cool water beside his workbench. He pulled the needle through and lifted the amber bead, placing it carefully in a box lined with velvet. He had more to do.
Marta looked at her friend's sleeping face while holding a square of red paper patterned with gold swirls. She began to fold it with practiced fingers. The drip of the life-saving amber poison made its way into her friend's veins, and the clock kept time.
Atillo blew into the wand, and another perfect globe emerged. He stabbed the hot needle into the new bead, cooled it in water, and placed it next to the others.
Jillian returned to the woman's house. Once again, she followed the path, knocked on the door, and stepped inside. She was still there, almost as if she had never moved.
The young woman walked towards the warmth of the fire and put her hands out. Once again, the older woman took them into hers. Jillian held her breath as she stood there, letting her heartbeat fill her ears.
"Do I love Liam?"
The older woman looked up at Jillian as she let go of her hands. Once again, she went to the fireplace, took the jar from the mantle, put some dried leaves into a cup, and poured hot water. She offered it to the other woman.
Jillian blew on the amber liquid and drank it. She returned the vessel to the older woman, who blew into the empty cup and looked down at the red-tinged leaves.
"Yes."
Jillian handed a gold coin to the woman and left through the door and down the path.
Atillo made his pale yellow beads, one after another until the box was almost full. He picked up a spool of gold thread, carefully measured it, and then cut a length of it. He carefully strung the amber beads and laid the glass necklace on the grey metal bench individually.
Marta shaped her swan from the red paper with gold swirls. As she worked, she watched her friend, eyelids still, breath shallow, and Marta noted that the drips of pale liquid fire were slowing down. It was almost time.
Atillo blew into the wand, and a red bubble emerged. Letting the clock pace him, he blew and shaped this last bead into a perfect ruby sphere. He lanced it, let it cool in the cup of water, and then strung it with the amber beads. He closed the circle.
Marta worked; the red and gold swan was almost finished. She folded the wings into that precise moment when the bird lifted itself from the water and into the air.
Her friend stirred.
She placed the swan, wings ready for flight, on the pillow so it would be the first thing her friend saw when she came back from dreaming.
The pale yellow fluid stopped dripping; her friend opened her eyes and drew a breath.