The old woman whose name Kristina couldn’t pronounce was squatting in her garden across the street, a wheelbarrow propped up beside her. She wore all of her jewelry, even in the dirt. A wrist full of tarnished gold bangles, necklaces dangling with a variety of trinkets that perpetually forced her head downwards, and thick hoop earrings that would be quite scandalous for a woman her age to wear anywhere in the world but here. Kristina threw her duffle bag in the trunk of her rusted Pontiac and waved.
“Hello, where are you going?” the old woman called across the street, moving a wisp of gray hair off her chocolate skin.
“I am going to the coast. I have a meeting,” Kristina responded, making sure her English was articulate enough for the old woman to understand.
“The coast?” The old woman rose to her feet, showing the soil stains on her geometrically patterned skirt.
“Yes. I am going to the coast.”
“The sea?”
“Yes, near the sea.”
“You go to the sea?” Her inquisitive eyes were fixed on Kristina’s bobbing head of blond curls that answered her redundant questioning. “You could do for me something?”
“Um, I suppose so. I won’t really have much time but I…”
“Please, neighbor. You bring me seawater?” As she spoke, she hobbled across the dusty road, stepping over the chickens, her eyes never leaving Kristina’s.
“Seawater? Why?” she asked.
“It is good for uhh… my tummy. It is good tummy water. Salt and minerals. Very good. You do for your neighbor? Bring me seawater?”
The old woman now stood six inches from her face. Kristina took a step back, away from the overpowering scent of spices and soil. The old woman’s staring blood shot eyes made her consent, just so she could get on the road and away from her pleading neighbor. As soon as Kristina said “sure”, the old woman smiled with her seven teeth, told her to wait a moment, and ran unevenly back across the street, creating a cloud of dust between the two houses. Kristina could hear things crashing within the old woman’s small brick home. She returned a minute later, carrying four empty Coca Cola bottles, a liter each. “Please. This is good,” she said, handing Kristina the bottles, which she then carelessly tossed in her backseat.
After a final glance at the old woman’s crooked smile, and a little chuckle, Kristina got into her car and drove off through the small village towards the city on the coast. She arrived at the hotel three hours later where the other foreigners and she would be encouraged for the next four days, swapping stories and learning the cutting edge techniques of English language teaching. During a free afternoon, her peers enjoyed the entertainment as Kristina battled the hectic waves, gathering the “tummy water” for her neighbor.
Once the four Coca Cola bottles were filled, and her feet were safely back on dry sand, Kristina held up a bottle to her giggling friends and said, “She’s going to drink this stuff? Really?” She shook it and watched as the bits of sand separated from the murky water and resettled on the bottom. “Anyone have a stomach ache?” she joked.
Four days later, with a peeling nose and browned shoulders, Kristina tapped on the old woman’s door with one of the Coca Cola bottles, juggling the rest under her arms. “Hello neighbor. It is Kristina,” she called. The garden wrapped around the one-roomed dwelling was filled mostly with root vegetables and disorderly placed herbs. A small stone statue with a wide-open mouth showing its fangs startled Kristina when it peeked at her from behind a licorice plant. There was a shuffle inside and the old woman opened the door, letting a beam of sunlight into her dark home. Her bangles tinkered against one another as she clapped her hands, her eyes gleaming at the four bottles. “I brought you your seawater,” Kristina said, placing them on the threshold, the old woman’s eyes following their descent.
While the bottles of dirty seawater distracted the woman, Kristina peered inside, curious as to how this eccentric woman lived. A young man was asleep on the floor cushion, bordered by small bones and skinny pillars of rising incense. The old woman didn’t say a word but scooted the bottles inside and shut the door, as Kristina craned her neck to look longer at the young man. Once she could see nothing but the closed door, she crossed the dusty road back to her house. She settled into her couch with a cup of mint tea and a book that reminded her of home, the image of the young man and the bones interrupting her only a few times.
Across the street there was only a thin stream of light coming from under the door of the small brick house. In the dark, the old woman rummaged through her clutter, found her hollow gourd, and filled it with her long waited for “tummy water.” She looked at the sleeping young man, and in her ancient native language, she spoke. “Do not worry, my dear boy. You will get better. Healing will certainly come now.” She took a gulp of the “tummy water”, and continued. “Come, water spirits, come.”
