Page 44 of Just for a Taste

I t had only been a few days since I’d confronted him, but every minute had been excruciating.

I opened my eyes slowly, having relied on nothing but the slowing rhythm of Zeno’s breathing to inform me when it was safe to do so. The room was lit by a single lantern in the far corner of the room, and with such little visual acuity, it would have been easy to pretend that things were normal. Zeno was snoring softly, crickets were chirping, and the bed was still warm. But I knew if I tore the blanket off and brightened that little lantern, I would see a body mottled with yellows and greens.

For the dozenth time, I considered rolling back over, drifting off into sleep, and trusting that somehow, everything would get better. That a letter would show up in the mail saying, Hey Zeno! This is Basilio. We’re going to leave you alone forever, and Zeno would actually believe it. But we had waited for weeks, and while the danger continued to escalate, Zeno continued to deteriorate.

I moved across the bed, featherlight, and crept outside the room. I had prepared for these next three minutes over the last three days.

Three days ago, I tested every drawer in the kitchen to see which creaked the least and used it to hide my backpack. I peered inside and went through my mental checklist.

I looked in the largest pocket: plenty of food and water, a flashlight, my medications, a first aid kit, my phone (powered off currently, of course) and a phone charger. There was only one final step before departing now.

I placed a pile of neatly folded sun-protective clothing on a table beside the door, and set a note on top:

Zeno,

If I make this note too long, it might seem weird or final, so let me assure you it isn’t. Just think of this like your love letters, because when I see them, they remind me you’ll be back. Similarly, I’ll be back once I’ve figured out this situation. I want us to be able to spend our days safely back at the abbey, and I want you to get healthy again. If you plan to go after me (which we both know you will), please wear the clothes beneath this message, even if it’s still dark out when you find this. I won’t forgive you if you’re careless.

I love you,

Cora.

I had hoped seeing all of these things together would give me some greater sense of preparedness, but it did very little. I swallowed down my anxiety, drew on the heavy backpack, and emerged from la cantina .

Then, for the first time in months, I left the trullo through the front door for more than a few minutes.

Tonight the air was heavy with humidity. The road before me was carved from rugged stone, a smooth and seamless path with streetlights illuminating it as bright as day. Obviously, walking or riding down the main road would likely go poorly, but that meant traversing the rocky, unlit crags.

When I took a cursory step out to see where I was going, the door shut behind me loudly. I couldn’t go back now.

I ducked quickly around the trullo and out of vision. It was astonishing how after walking only about twenty feet, I could barely see where my feet would fall next. A curtain of light rain sprinkled almost imperceptibly, shrouding my route even further in darkness. I thanked my past self for having scouted the region out earlier that day but still kept one hand on my flashlight if need be. The trullo was built on the edge of a plateau, whose flat face sharply tapered to form a steady lip a ways down. There was a single traversable divot between these points, but it was narrow and steep.

Already regretting my decisions, I pushed through bushes of rock roses to begin my descent. The gravel beneath me was loose and crunched beneath my feet. My old sneakers had zero traction, so it wasn’t a matter of if I fell, but when. I flickered on the flashlight and propped it awkwardly under my chin, as if my arms would actually be of any help when I tumbled.

Halfway down, my feet slipped out from beneath me. I groped helplessly at the surrounding terrain, grabbing at shrubs and stones, but it all slipped between my fingers. When my flashlight threatened to free itself from its place under my chin, I was forced to lean entirely into the dirt and slide the rest of the way down to save it. I hit level ground, and I sat for a bit.

“Ugh.”

Only minutes into the journey, and I was already aching. My palms stung from stems slicing through them, silt encrusted my rock-indented elbows, and the buckles from my backpack had pushed uncomfortably into my shoulder blades. I knew without looking that minute cuts and scrapes covered me, but I could attend to them later. For now, I had to focus on continuing.

I staggered to my feet and squinted ahead of me. Though plenty bright, my flashlight did little to cut through the fog, casting only a dim orb of light on the crag immediately ahead of me.

I would have likely felt disoriented from the get-go if not for being so close to the shore. Waves beat heavily against stone, and keeping the water to one side of me was the easiest form of navigation. But then, when the rain and fog cleared, I made the brief but horrid mistake of shining my flashlight off the side of the cliff.

The light could barely reach the bottom, and what little I could see consisted of white water lashing at daggerlike stacks of limestone. An intrusive, horrific query struck me: Would the ocean carry my body away, or would it remain impaled on stone?

The thought of both outcomes made me press my body even closer to the face of the cliff.

It seemed like hours passed as I walked heel to toe, but I knew it could have only been a couple of miles. Either way, relief flooded me once I could turn off onto a pedestrian footpath. The dirt path had been excavated between the backs of neighboring farms. Wild grasses and crops reached far above my head on either side, forcing me to focus my gaze on the wavering line a wheelbarrow had carved.

This should have been peaceful—time to spend with nothing but me, the road, and the sky above. But the moon was deep into its nightly journey, and all the animals around me seemed aware that the hours before sunrise were dwindling. I reached the apex of a hill and could finally assess my surroundings. My efforts revealed nothing but miles of rural land in every direction, barns and houses interspersed between greenery.

But then, to my pleasant surprise, I spotted an anomaly in the rustic scenery: a cell tower.

I sat on a rock and dug out my phone. It was a 2G connection, of course, but that was far more than I had expected.

I had typed out the message I was going to send to Noor long ago—had written and rewritten it several times—so all I had to do now was push a single button.

Hello, Doctor Ntumba. It’s been a long time since we’ve spoken, and I miss talking to you. I hope you, Lucia, Signore Urbino, and Signora Carbone are all well right now, since I fear that my and Zeno’s safety is in jeopardy. He is refusing to drink from me and has not gotten any transfusions. I think the only way all of this will end is if I figure something out. If Zeno asks, let him know that I am safe and I plan on all of us meeting again soon.

My thumb hovered over the button, and I was tempted to rewrite it for the umpteenth time, but pressed send before I could.

I didn’t expect any sort of response until later in the day, but for the first time in nine months, my phone rang.