Chương 122: Tea Sent to Rome

Kichan looked first at his father's bare feet. The left and right stood evenly apart. His father drank half his water and looked at him.

"What?"

"Doesn't your leg hurt?"

"My leg?" His father bent and straightened his knee. Kichan got off the sofa and came closer.

"You were limping yesterday."

"I was?"

"Yeah." His father searched his memory, then put on his sneakers.

"I'll be back in a minute."

"Where are you going?"

"The stairs."

"Why the stairs first thing in the morning?"

"We'll find out." Batu opened his eyes by the entrance. His father went down the stairs. One floor. Two. As Kichan watched through the railings, the footsteps kept an even rhythm. A little later, they came back up. His father was breathing a little harder, but he did not clutch his knee. He went past their apartment to the floor above, then came back.

"Works fine."

"Why did you have to go that far?"

"Had to make sure." His father stepped inside. His hands stopped as he undid his shoelaces. The cracks on the backs of his hands had closed. The calluses remained. His knuckles were still thick. But the skin that had split from rain and flyer paste had healed overnight. He rubbed the back of one hand several times with his thumb.

"Is this your tea too?"

"Probably."

"Probably?"

"First time I've given it to anyone from Earth." His father looked at him.

"You should have said that yesterday."

"Would you have refused it if I had?" His father did not answer. Just then, the bedroom door opened. His mother came out stretching her arms overhead. Normally, she would have stopped halfway to clutch her shoulder. This time, her hands went all the way up. Without lowering her arms, she stretched back once more.

"Huh?"

"Doesn't your shoulder hurt?"

"Wait a minute." She did not go to the mirror by the bedroom door. She looked at her hands first. Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators! The skin roughened by dishwashing and flyer paste had softened. The peeling skin along her fingers had settled. The wrinkles and old spots on the backs of her hands remained. She turned her hands over, then back. Then she took a handful of hair.

"What's happened to this?" The ends that used to tangle and feel dry slipped straight through her fingers. The shadows beneath her eyes had lightened, and one shoulder no longer sagged. When she smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes folded as before. When she lifted her hair, the gray strands were still in the same places. Only the exhaustion that had settled into her body while she searched for Kichan was gone. She looked at the pot.

"What did you brew last night?"

"Molly tea."

"Is it a beauty treatment or medicine?"

"Seems closer to medicine here."

"You could sell it, then." Kichan looked at her. She immediately waved a hand.

"I'm not telling you to sell it. I mean look after yourself too. Have some." His father nodded.

"If there's any left, drink it."

"I'm fine."

"If you're fine, why does your face look like that?" His mother took his chin and turned his face from side to side.

"You've lost even more weight."

"I ate two bowls of rice."

"Do two bowls make up for all the meals you missed?" Kichan pulled his chin free. A scraping sound came from the kitchen. Argaon had his forepaws on the pot. His yellow cat head was almost entirely inside it.

"Hey." Argaon's tongue swept the bottom once more.

"You said there wasn't any left."

"So stop scraping the bottom."

"There is some." When Kichan lifted the pot, Argaon caught the handle with a paw. Riphiel paid neither of them any attention. She was laying out the molly leaves she had saved the night before. After pressing the veins with her fingertips and sniffing the edges, she chose three.

"What are you doing?"

"Making my own."

"I'll make it for you."

"I will not entrust it to someone who throws away usable leaves."

"I'm better at removing toxins."

"I would appreciate your help with that." Riphiel pushed the three leaves toward him.

"I will do the rest." Kichan took them without a word. Meanwhile, his father was tying up a trash bag.

"What's that for?"

"Taking it out."

"You just went to the stairs."

"That was to check my leg." His father went out again with the bag. Batu got up to follow.

"He'll be right back," Kichan said. Batu stayed inside. Instead, he pressed his nose to the door and listened to the footsteps all the way to the elevator. His mother began going around the apartment. She took pain-relief patches and medicine containers from the bathroom shelf. There were more empty packets than he expected. For knees, shoulders, sore muscles. Two half-used tubes of ointment too.

"Won't be needing these anymore." She held the packets over the trash can. Kichan took them from her. The medicine bag bore the name of the local orthopedic clinic. The date was after he had disappeared. The patch wrappers still smelled of medication.

"You went to the hospital too?"

"Of course. That's where you go when you're hurting."

"Why were you hurting?" His mother took out another empty ointment container.

"How could we not hurt, going everywhere looking for you?" That was all she said. She took the medicine bag from him and dropped it into the trash.

"That's over now." Kichan stared at the medicine bag in the trash can for a while. The cracked hands had healed. The knee pain had gone. So had the marks the patches left on her shoulders. But that did not erase the days they had spent going from subway stations to hospitals to shelters. The crumpled envelope of missing-person flyers was still by the door.

Some molly leaves and mandragora root remained after the tea. Kichan set a small mortar at one end of the table. The molly leaves were dry enough to crumble. He sliced the mandragora thinly again, testing the remaining toxins with his fingertips and setting aside the pieces that stung too much.

"More tea?" his mother asked.

"I'm sending it to someone."

"Who?"

"Someone I know in Italy." His father looked up from folding an international-mail box.

"You know people in Italy now?"

"One priest." Kichan pressed down with the pestle. The dried leaves and roots slowly blended into a fine powder. To keep the tea from being brewed too strong, he put much less than a single serving into each small packet. Riphiel picked one up and sniffed it.

"At this strength, it will be more fragrance than medicine."

"It's enough for people here."

"I heard that yesterday too."

"My parents are fine."

"You may have been lucky." Kichan took the packet from her and put it in the box. The address of the antiquarian bookshop beside an old church in Rome remained in his map history. Instead of the priest's name, he copied the shop's address into the name field. Under contents, he wrote one word. `Tea. ` The letter was not long either. `When you're tired, stir a little into hot water and drink it. ` Underneath, he wrote only his name. The postal clerk checked the description once more.

"This is a food item, correct?"

"It's tea." A Rome destination label went on the box. The conveyor moved. The little box disappeared among the other international mail.