Rain Village - Carolyn Turgeon [28]
Next, she lifted my skirt and rubbed the oil into my left thigh, where a long bruise trailed to my knee, and into my calves. She pulled my skirt back down, turned to the pot of hot water, and sprinkled in handfuls of herbs from two of the jars on the shelf above, ones I did not recognize. A few minutes later she drained the herbs through a strainer and wrapped them in a cloth that she pressed down over my right arm, where she had rubbed in the oil. The arm went from hot to cool immediately, and suddenly I felt no pain at all. She repeated the process all over, on my back and legs. Finally, she leaned down and patted the cloth over my face, my closed eyelids, my forehead and chin. She sat back, gently pulled my top back over my head. “There,” she said, kissing my forehead. “Now I’m going to show you something. Come on.”
I slipped off the stool and was astonished at how different I felt. My skin tingled and buzzed; almost all the pain was gone. I pulled up my sleeve and glanced down at the bruise on my right arm, saw that it had already faded from purple to pale pink. “How did you do that?” I asked. Suddenly I felt more alive, back in the world.
“Herbs,” she said, smiling. “Magic.”
“But I thought you said they didn’t work.”
“I said that the herbs have a mind of their own,” she said. “That’s all.” She winked mysteriously, then grabbed my hand and pulled me deeper into the library, all the way to the back of the stacks where there was extra space. I saw a long ladder propped against the shelves, a stool, and a small box filled with hardware. It slowly dawned on me what was happening.
“The trapeze,” I breathed. A shimmer of happiness rippled through me.
Mary smiled, climbed up the ladder, and fastened the rigging to a ceiling beam. “Watch what I’m doing,” she said. “You may have to do it yourself.” At her command, I passed the chains up to her and watched her throw them over the beam, fastening the trapeze ropes to the shackles. Two pieces of rope hung down and the bar stretched between them, about eight feet from the floor. The final effect was so clean, perfect: a perfect shape, a perfect confluence of lines cutting through the air.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked, turning to her. “Are you sure you want to show me?” Guilt came over me; I felt so bad for pressuring her, for calling her names. I felt bad about everything.
“Yes,” she said. “I’ll teach you to swing on the trapeze in a few days, when you’re done healing. Okay? But for now I wanted you to see it, feel the bar. Get comfortable with it.”
I nodded eagerly, stretched up to touch it.
“Here,” Mary said, pulling up the stool. “Stand on this.”
I climbed up on the stool and then stood, reaching out my arms. Mary’s hand pressed on my back to balance me.
I closed my palms around the bar, felt the cold metal of it against my skin. It was thinner than the bar in the window at home, and smoother, easier to grasp. I looked at Mary and smiled.
“Can I do it now?” I asked.
“You’re not ready,” she said. “You need to heal.”
“I’m okay, though. I don’t feel anything. Just once?”
She sighed, pretending to be exasperated. “Well, then, you’ll need to chalk up your hands, and you might as well change into a leotard so I can fix it up for you.” She made a face as I grabbed her hands and then jumped from the stool to the floor.
“Here,” she said, reaching into a small box on the floor, next to the rigging. “Put on this leotard. I’ll put one on, too.” I took the leotard she handed me and, with my back turned, slipped out of my clothes and into it. It hung from my body like a sheet. Once Mary was changed, she pinned mine up on the sides.
“Now chalk up your hands,” she said, gesturing to the canister she’d set out. “Dip your hands in and rub the chalk onto your palms. Like this.”
I pressed my hands in and was surprised by the cool powderiness,