State of Wonder - Ann Patchett [52]
“We’re going to the opera! Annick keeps a box and the season opens tomorrow. We have her tickets!”
“She keeps a box at the opera?” Marina didn’t have the energy for indignation but really, was there no end to this?
“Apparently there was a season several years ago when the rains got so bad she had to come into the city for a long time. She said the opera saved her.”
“Well, I don’t think it’s going to save me. I’m sick. I need to stay where I am.”
“Did you eat something?” Barbara asked. It was the logical question. The market stalls were filled with things that would kill anyone who didn’t have several generations of the proper bacteria in their gut.
“It’s just a fever,” Marina said.
“High or low?”
“I don’t have a thermometer.” She was bored. She wanted to get off the phone.
“Alright,” Barbara said. “I’ll be over in about an hour. And I’m bringing some dresses for you to look at.”
“I don’t want company and I don’t want dresses. I appreciate the gesture but trust me, I’m a doctor. I know what I’m doing.”
“You have no idea,” Barbara said lightly.
Tomo, the concierge, in an act of dogged perseverance and faith that far outreached anything Marina herself was capable of, had continued to call the airport every day regarding her luggage. It had been located momentarily in Spain and then lost again. He was also the hotel employee who was sent up to her room whenever someone called about the screaming, and now he was looking after her because she was sick. He brought her bottles of syrupy cane juice and carbonated soft drinks and hard, dry crackers that stood in for meals. The truth was that Marina, stranded and in decline, elicited the sympathy of the entire hotel staff, but they all recognized that Tomo was in charge of her.
So when there was knocking on her door, how much later she couldn’t say (sleep was like an anesthetic she broke out of and then slipped into again), Marina assumed it was Tomo. She put on the extra bed sheet that was her robe and answered the door.
Barbara gave her a hard stare up and down before speaking. “Oh, you are rough,” she said with her long, flat vowels. “Why didn’t you call me?”
Marina, disappointed that now she wouldn’t be able to go right back to sleep, retreated into her room, which was dark and stale. The Australian followed her.
“I’ve brought you things.” Barbara held up a small, dirty paper sack and a tapestry overnight bag as if they were enticing offers. The housekeepers hadn’t been in for a couple of days because Marina could not stop sleeping. Bits of crackers were scattered over the floor like sand. Mrs. Bovender turned on the light switch by the door and then opened the blinds. “You shouldn’t be living like this,” was all she had to say.
“My standards have changed.” Marina burrowed down into the bed. One would think it would be difficult to fall asleep in front of someone you barely knew but in fact it was the simplest thing in the world.
Barbara took a paper cup out of the bag and pried off the lid. “Here,” she said, and held it out to her. “Sit up. You’re supposed to drink it while it’s hot.”
Marina leaned forward and sniffed the contents of the cup. It was the river, boiled down to its foulest essence. It was even the color of the river. The steam that rolled off the surface was like the heavy morning mist. “Where did you get that?”
“From the shaman stand in the market, and don’t say anything dismissive about the shaman until you’ve given him a try. I’ve been bitten by half the insects in this country. I’ve had some awful fevers, some sores I wouldn’t even