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The room was shadowed and stuffy. A rat scurried across the floorboards as Julieta cracked open the door, which sounded her arrival with a pronounced, over the top creaaaaaak. The high, panicked squeaking of the rats continued even after the worm-like tail disappeared from view, and further inspection revealed their small, wriggling bodies perched in various nooks and crannies around the room, keeping beady-eyed vigil. The air hung thick and close, and Julieta’s brow wrinkled ever so slightly at the smell of sweat and stale sickness that filled the room.
In the filtered light that managed to press its way in through the shuttered windows, she could just make out the shape of a green lump tucked into the sling of a maroon hammock.
“Ay, Bruno,” she muttered under her breath. She tucked the bowl of damp cloths she carried into the crook of her arm and used her freed hand to pinch a crumb off one of the fresh arepas that were gathered in her basket. She offered it to the closest rat, and it was greedily accepted. Another rat immediately scurried up for more, but Julieta ticked her tongue at it in dismissal, and it lowered its paws back to the table in disappointment.
“You’re going to have to share. The rest is for your papá,” she whispered.
The hammock swung slightly as she approached, the lump inside shifting to reveal a mass of loose curls, black wound with grey. She gave a gentle tug to one of the strands, and her brother’s pale face finally appeared.
“J-juli?” he croaked, his voice hoarse and deeper than usual.
“Sana sana, suenas como un rana," she laughed quietly, but she quickly pressed her hand to his forehead, her brow wrinkling further at the feel of his too-hot skin.
“How are you feeling, hermano?”
“Sweaty.”
He gulped and winced after the word, as if the effort of speaking it had set fire to his throat. His hair clung to his forehead and his eyes were dark and glassy. There was no question—her brother was sick, very sick, and he had waited far too long to tell her. Just like the old days, she thought with a sigh.
She pulled up a chair next to the hammock and settled in, resting the arepas in her lap and the bowl of cloths on a nearby stool. She gave a gentle push to the side of the hammock to send it into a slow swing, maintaining the soothing motion with her fingertips as the hammock swung back to meet them. Bruno gave a low, almost imperceptible hum and let his head sink back into the pile of fabric, which she could now see was his ruana. He’d probably shucked it off as his fever took hold, only to retreat back under it when the chills set in.
“Why didn’t you tell me, you big dummy?”
His response came muffled, and she had to stop the swinging of the hammock to hear him over the creak of the rope.
“Idaknow,” he grumbled. “Didnwannaworryoo.”
“Mmmhmm,” she replied curtly. She broke a piece off the arepa, only slightly larger than the crumb she’d given to the rat. She reached into the hammock and pressed the crumb against his stubbled cheek. “Can you swallow this?”
He peeked at the morsel with one barely-cracked eye, and his shaking fingers emerged to take the offering. He pushed it into his mouth and cringed as he forced it down with a rough swallow. Julieta felt the pull of her magic in her chest, and she watched as the glassiness began to leave her brother's eyes. The tension in her own shoulders relaxed ever so slightly at the sight. He’d need much more than just a crumb, but it was a start. She broke off another piece and passed it to him.
“When did you start feeling it?” She turned to the low footstool where she’d set the bowl of towels. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a sprig of mint with the ease of fingers that knew the motion by heart, crushing the leaves and dropping them into the low pool of water at the bottom of the bowl. She swirled the cloths until they absorbed the bright scent and then wrung one out.
“Yesterday. In the evening.” His voice was a little less hoarse, and he ate the second piece of arepa without wincing.
Julieta pulled back the fabric of the ruana to his shoulders and began to wipe gently at his forehead and cheeks, brushing away the stale sweat and cooling his fevered skin. Her magic would bring his fever down, once he’d eaten enough, but depending on how he got this illness, it might be a while before he was back on his feet. Julieta still didn’t fully understand the workings of her gift, but years of experience had established some clear boundaries. Careful study of the worn-with-use medical books in town had given her the skill to work beyond those boundaries.
If Bruno had some sort of bacterial infection, she would be able to alleviate the most concerning symptoms—fever, sore throat, nausea—but without continued care, the infection could return with renewed strength. Her magic could not kill the bacteria itself; it could only bolster his body to wage that war on its own. She would have to monitor him closely. He’d waited so long to tell her…his shaky weakness would take longer to cure. A hearty stew should restore some of his strength, hopefully in no more than a day or two.
But if the cause was his gift…well, then she wouldn’t be much help at all. Her stomach knotted at the familiar failure. She broke off another piece of arepa, and tried not to flinch as a rat clambered into her lap.
“What had you done during the day? You were out with Antonio, right?”
“We, ahrm, we uh, found this pond.” He wriggled in the hammock until he lay more on his back, and popped the bite into his mouth. His face was still flush with heat, but his eyes were less sunken, a bit more focused. Julieta nodded and reached for a fresh cloth.
“W-we chatted with the frogs for a bit, you know, yaddah yaddah, typical Antonio stuff and, um, I…may have slipped and fallen into the pond?” His voice raised at the end of the sentence, his sallow face grimacing with embarrassment.
Ah. Bacterial it is, then. Julieta smiled with relief and amusement and leaned her arms over the edge of the hammock. She tilted her head to the side, resting it against her arm, and resumed gently wiping his brow. He closed his eyes and breathed out a sigh through his nose, his embarrassment melting away along with his fever.
“That sounds about right,” she murmured, and he chuckled wryly.
For a time, Julieta let him be, quietly pressing cool rags to his face and humming a familiar lullaby from their childhood. There was comfort for herself in this, too, she realized, comfort in the presence of her brother, tangible and close, present even in his debilitated state. She found comfort in being able to again comfort him, to have something to do with her hands that could bring him solace and peace, if only for a moment. It had been so long…ten long years that her hands could only reach out into thin air where her brother used to be. Ten long years that she could only helplessly hope that he was well and warm, wherever he was. The sore spot in her heart where that wound had refused to heal throbbed achingly at the memory. She blinked away the sting in her eyes before it could become anything else and leaned forward to press a kiss to his forehead.
She thought perhaps he’d drifted off to sleep, but he opened his eyes to look at her as she sat back into her chair.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “Thanks for taking care of your dumb brother.” He flashed her a feeble version of one of his goofy grins. She smiled and passed him the remaining half of the arepa.
“You’re lucky I love you so much. Otherwise I might just let you die to teach you a lesson.”
“I love you, too, Juli. R-really.”
His response was serious, pointedly lacking the light tone she’d purposefully injected into her own words. When she looked back at him, his goofy smile was gone; instead, he looked up at her with gratitude and guilt fighting each other in his tired eyes. There was a firmness set in his mouth, an endless well of regret in the small crease between his eyebrows that dug fiercely at the ache in her chest. Julieta felt the sting in her eyes return, and a tear broke free and slid down her cheek before she could hold back. She wiped it away hurriedly, blinking rapidly.
“Ah, no, no, don’t—I-I’m sorry, I just—” Bruno pushed at the hammock and moved frantically to reach for her, setting it tipping dangerously. She threw out a hand to steady it, using the other to push him back into its folds.
“It’s okay, Bruno, I’m okay. Lie down—down, Bruno. You’re not fully healed yet.” He slumped meekly back into the hammock, and she sniffed and busied her hands with breaking up another arepa. A long silence followed as she composed herself. When she could again trust the steadiness of her voice, she turned to fix him with a firm, unyielding gaze.
“Don’t hide from me, Brunito,” she said, her voice the same scolding tone she used with Camilo when he snuck food from behind her back as she worked. As was the case with her pilfering nephew, her steely countenance quickly melted into tender affection, though as she looked at her brother, there was a tinge of desperation coloring her words as well. “I will always take care of you, hermano. Just, don’t hide from me.”
“Te prometo,” he whispered, holding her gaze with uncharacteristic steadiness. “Never again.”
She nodded and passed him another bite.
“Never again,” she echoed, a promise of her own.
—
“...so hungry! Pobrecitos you must be starving. Here you go, eat up, eat up…”
Julieta pushed the door shut with a loud snap behind her. “Are you feeding my food to your rats?”
“AY! Juli, kn-knock first, will ya?”
Obviously, her brother was feeling better. He was sitting up in his hammock, his feet dangling over the side, balancing a mischief of rats on his stomach. They all scurried into the depths of the hammock at his startled jump.
“Bruno, that food is to heal you! You are going to get sick again.”
“I know, I know…I was just…sharing. They’re starving, I haven’t fed them in two days!”
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms as she walked over to him, flashing him an affectionate look of deep irritation. She reached out and felt his forehead, humming happily when his skin felt cool beneath her hand.
“See?” he argued, raising his eyebrows at her in a way that made him look like the ten-year-old brother that lived in her memory. “All better! You have healed me, oh wonderful sister!”
He stretched his grin, wide and urging, as she surveyed him with a scrutinous gaze. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he popped the rest of the arepa in his hand into his mouth, chewing petulantly. She patted his cheek and released him from her scolding stare.
“Since you’re feeling better,” she said, brightening her voice as she strode back to his bedroom door. She paused with her hand on the doorknob and looked back at him, grinning slyly. “...you can have visitors.”
She pulled open the door, revealing a far too eager mischief of sobrinos waiting just outside. At the invitation of an open doorway, they immediately pressed in, a riot of noise and movement. Bruno yelped and almost fell backward from his hammock, and Julieta flashed him a satisfied smirk as he recovered.
“Tio! We missed you, are you—”
“You look like death. How—”
“We were so worried when Antonio told us—”
“We brought you some books—”
“The rats said—”
They all spoke at once, their voices raising into an incomprehensible cacophony of love and concern. Julieta crept back out the door, but before she left, she leaned back in to sneak one last look at the maroon hammock.
Mirabel and Antonio had already jumped in beside him, sandwiching their tio tightly between them. Isabela was brightening the plants that had begun to sag in the dim lighting, and Luisa was throwing open the shutters, filling the room with bright sunlight and fresh air. Camilo leaned heavily on the hammock, tossing a book into Bruno’s lap, and Dolores stood quietly beside him, her hands folded behind her back. She reached out and squeezed Bruno’s shoulder, giving him a gentle, knowing smile.
As they settled in, Bruno’s expression slowly slid from panic into something close to peace. He met Julieta’s eyes, and she winked at him. He grinned back, eyes bright and clear. Healthy. Happy.
Julieta slipped away, contentment flowing deep and healing through her heart.