Eight
Ocimum Bacilicum: A common herb comprised of endothelial and other healing properties. Also, that which makes Nadia smile.
~Musings of Elliot P. Garnet
Knocking on the door, Elliot drew in a bracing breath and smiled as a petite woman peeked through the crack under a chain lock. She looked like Nadia, but with a wider nose and lighter hair. She was also shorter by a foot.
Keeping his voice friendly, he said, “Helló. én vagyok Elliot. Nadia barátja.”
The woman’s brows twitched, but she opened the door for him. Turning, she pointed to her luggage on the floor and rattled off words faster than he could translate. She waved her hands at the three suitcases.
“Ez minden?” he asked, wondering if that was everything.
The apartment was vacant of personal items, aside from tattered old furniture. Nadia had said much of what her family owned was already shipped back to Hungary.
The woman spoke again, her rapid words flinging across the room as her little finger poked in the direction of other rooms. Aside from a few verbs and the random mention of Nadia, he was at a loss.
Perhaps after their twenty-four-hour flight, which he intended to use for studying he’d be better equipped to decipher the language.
“I’ll carry your bags,” he said slowly, raising his voice like dimwitted people often did when faced with a language barrier. She’s not deaf. “I’ll be right back.”
Lugging the baggage down to the parking lot, he popped the trunk and stowed the suitcases in his car. When he returned, the woman continued to watch him.
“Do you have anything else? Van még?”
“Ez az,” she said and shrugged.
Giving each room a quick inspection, in case she left anything personal behind, he checked to make sure all the windows were locked and—he paused as he stepped into the kitchen.
There, on the sill, was an old wooden box with various herbs growing out the top.
Examining the box, he noted the hooks that allowed it to hang from both sides of the window.
Opening drawers, finding them all empty, he searched for a screwdriver. Nadia’s mother came into the kitchen and frowned, rambling accusing words he didn’t understand.
“Screwdriver?” He gestured, twisting his hand in a poor charade. “I was going to take this to Nadia.” And he was shouting again. Like that helped.
“Nadia?”
“Yes, Nadia. She wanted these herbs. The plants.” He pointed.
The woman frowned and shoved him aside. Using both hands, she lifted the window box off the hooks and held it out to him. “Adj Nadia.”
He took the box, which was rather heavy, and placed it on the counter. Pointing at the hardware that let the hooks hang from the wall, he said, “Tools?”
“Ah!” She left the room and returned a moment later with an old Swiss Army knife and smiled.
“Perfect. Thank you.”
He had the hardware removed and in his pocket within two minutes and Nadia’s mother held the door as he carried the herbs out of the apartment. Dirt sifted from the bottom and soiled his shirt, but he was more worried about the seat of his car.
Flipping over a floor mat, he covered as much of the leather seat as he could and placed the herb box on top, holding it in place with the seat belt for good measure. Nadia’s mother watched him from the passenger seat.
As he slid behind the steering wheel, he checked his watch. They had plenty of time. “Ready?”
She frowned and shrugged.
“Okay,” he said to himself, backing out of the parking lot.
As he backed out she pressed her open palm to the glass as if waving goodbye to the apartment. Though it wasn’t much, they all seemed rather attached to the place.
It was a shame Nadia said it was already leased to new tenants. He would have helped her keep it. What he should do was offer her a loan to put a deposit on a new place—a better place. However, he was coming to appreciate their current living situation, so he didn’t dwell on the thought too much.
There was very little talking on the ride to the airport.
Though he’d studied many words that afternoon, only a few common phrases stuck with him.
When he tried to use English, it was clear she understood very little.
Perhaps if he met Nadia’s aunt it would be different, depending if she had the strength to speak.
Elliot didn’t know how terminal the woman’s health was.
When they reached the airport, he unloaded her luggage and put it on a cart. After directing her to the right door, he pointed out which terminal she should use, showing her both the directory signs and the matching words on her ticket.
She smiled. “Koszonom, feleségül veszi Nadia házat?” She pointed to his car. “Te gazdag vagy, nem?”
He laughed nervously and shrugged. “Sure.” Not a clue what she just said, but she seemed happy. “Have a safe trip.”
She patted his cheek and wheeled the cart toward the terminal, taking some of his tension with her. A forty-five-minute drive home turned out to be a two-hour experience in rush hour traffic.
When he walked through his front door, leaving a trail of soil behind him, Nadia still wasn’t home.
He carried the herbs to the kitchen and considered his windows.
They were much larger than her little window and lower to the ground.
Figuring which one would get the most sun he set the box on the floor and went to the garage to find a drill.
Do I even own a drill?
Luckily, he found his old tool set in the garden shed.
When the hardware was secure and the box was hung, he stepped back.
Well, it didn’t seem to have the same charm it had in her little kitchen, but it worked.
The window sort of dominated the little flower box, but he was certain she’d get it.
There wasn’t much she didn’t appreciate.