Read Online Breath (9781439132227) by Donna Jo Napoli - Free Book Online Page A

the woods. And Melis, you get fennel from my physic garden.”
    Bertram and Ludolf are already out the door.Melis looks at me. Picking herbs from the garden should be my job. He’s sick of doing my chores. And in his face I see something else: I’m a thorn in his side. He s the one who told Bertram to let me be because I’m still sick, but he’s angry for that very fact. He suffers a double injustice—for he has to do my home chores because I’m sick, and he isn’t allowed to become a cleric because I’m sickly, so I get that role. But he doesn’t protest now; anyone can see I can’t do the chores. I wish he’d protest. I’d feel less guilty then. But he just leaves.
    Großmutter goes to her sewing bins. She takes out linen, fine linen, the finest we have—the stuff she calls
Godwebbe
. She goes to her wooden chest that no one other than me is allowed to touch. She takes out a handful of incense sticks. There’s going to be a ritual of some sort.
    I’m on my feet again.
    â€œGet back down,” she says.
    â€œYou’ll need me. And I’m feeling better,” I lie.
    She shakes her head, but she doesn’t insist. “Drink your tea.”
    I walk to the stove. I’m light-headed from eating nothing but brewed herbs for two days. Kuh walks behind me, practically under my heels. I look into the pot that’s been steeping since last night. Awedge of hog lung bobs in a mess of froth. Mustard greens and caraway seeds add colored spots to the gray liquid. I drink the whole pot. Then I eat the lung. I wipe the scudge off the inner sides of the pot with my finger and I lick it clean. I’ve absorbed every bit of nourishment and healing power this brew has to offer. It may be working. A hint of energy makes my ears buzz.
    I go to lift the linen.
    â€œNo, no, carry Kuh,” says Großmutter. “Only Kuh.” She goes to the shelf and gets a sprig of mustard and a sprig of caraway, twists them together with yarn, and hangs the charm around my neck.
    This is one of the dangerous practices on Albert the Great s list. It is acceptable to drink brews from herbs. But it is dangerous to wear herbs—or eagle claws—or anything else. “The brew is efficacious,’” I say, using one of Pater Fredericks words. I lift the yarn necklace off over my head. “But amulets and hanging herbs—they’re superstition. They do nothing.”
    Großmutter’s face goes slack. “Is this the moment to question?” Her voice grows hissy. “You sleep under a blanket I wove to protect you.” She whispers now. “Stay with me, Salz.”
    I couldn’t fall asleep without that blanket.
    I put the yarn necklace back on.
    Have I let myself off the hook for the same reason Pater Frederick in Höxter does—because I figure a dying person should be allowed minor transgressions? Do I humor myself?
    Großmutter gathers the linen against her chest. “And you can hold these, too.” She hands me the incense. “That’s enough for you to carry—Kuh and the incense. Stay right behind me.”
    We go straight to Father, who has dug a wide and shallow hole on one side of the cow barn. Großmutter lays the linen in a loose pile in the center. Bertram stands outside the hole, at a respectful distance, despite the disparaging way he talked of Großmutter just minutes ago. He hands her fresh logs, and she forms a cone around the linen with them, balancing the logs on their fatter ends, with the other ends coming together in a point. Melis hands Großmutter the fennel. She shoves it between the logs, in among the linen. Ludolf comes running from the woods, as thin and breakable as the brittle stalks he clutches. He empties his arms into Großmutter’s, and she arranges the coarse hassock on top of the log cone.
    Großmutter turns to me. I hold out the incenseto her, but she puts her hands