Finding Myself Among the Dough

As I stare out of my window seat, I’m trying to memorize the lines of cobblestone road leading up to the train’s platform. The blue sky, its bluest since I arrived here seven days ago under the pretense of finding myself. Every cloud a whisper of its self, promising to be something full and billowy but never materializing then slowly dissipating into thin whisps of white.

I hear the noise of the city calling me and yet I must go for I fear this place, with its effortless existence, will entrap me here under false pretenses.

I was only supposed to stretch my legs when the aroma of fresh baked bread and dark roasted coffee flooded my nostrils as I stepped off the running board and onto the platform. I followed it blindly, relinquishing all my cares as my stomach ached and growled in anticipation reminding me of the few crackers which had become stale and the last bit of hard cheese I had been carrying in my backpack and ate when the train last stopped two days ago.

I hobbled over the cobblestone street, not watching where I was going and practically tripping, as I allowed my nose to be my guide. The streets became narrower and the buildings taller on both side of me like a maze of stone with people hanging their colorful garments up above on ropes strung across the sky while others bustled down here on the street with a purpose.

I heard shouting from above and my mind translated something about two loaves. A young boy rushed past me on his bicycle and yelled something back in acknowledgement. He would lead me to the bread, I thought, but I quickly lost sight of him. I stopped and looked around for a moment to gauge my surroundings. The day was beginning for these people as they opened their shutters to water their window garden herbs and sweep out last night’s dust out their front door steps.

I had no idea where I was. I could no longer see the train station from either direction. I had no idea how far I had walked or how long I had walked. All I could think of was the bread. And then, I saw him. The boy on the bicycle. He had two freshly baked long golden loaves of bread in the basket of his bicycle and he was cycling toward me. I waved my arms to stop him. He slid to a stop in front of me. I pointed to the bread and fumbled out some words knowing they probably weren’t correct but he understood, smiled, and stretched out his arm pointing to the shop on the corner behind him. I thanked him and felt my feet pick up speed toward the shop.

As I approached the corner, my view opened up to a large courtyard or plaza of some sort with a fountain in the middle. There were many shops around the parameter with colorful flags and signs near their doors indicating what they sold or their services. There were people of all ages sitting at small tables with their coffee and breads, some smoking cigarettes while others read their newspaper and some sitting at the fountain while small children chased away the birds looking for crumbs.

My mouth watered and my stomach growled even louder. I needed to eat but now that I was standing directly in front of the bakery, my feet were frozen in place. What was I doing? Where was I? How could I just walk away from everything I had on the train? Because I smelled fresh baked bread and hadn’t eaten in two days? I hadn’t wanted to buy anything from the dining car on the train as everything seemed so expensive and I still wasn’t sure of the exchange rate. Thankfully, I grabbed my backpack as I left the train but upon quick reflection, I realize all my money is in my suitcase. Everything of value, my money, my passport, my clothes…everything is in my suitcase which is still on the train. Someone told me not to keep too much in my backpack in case of a mugging but that doesn’t do me any good right now. Think, I tell myself, think. But I can’t think. I’m too hungry.

I check my pockets for any loose change or paper money and, feeling none, I stoop down to check my backpack. I feel the warmth of the rising sun on my back as I search through every zippered pocket and compartment. I find a few coins here and there but am not sure if it’s enough for what I need to keep going. I stand to assess my options and see the plates of unfinished food left behind and wonder if I act casually enough and stand close enough, maybe lean against the shop, no one will notice if I palm a piece of bread from one of the plates.

I fling my backpack over my shoulder and walk nonchalantly to the side of the bakery’s building, lean against it, and tilt my head back as if I am sunning my face. After a few minutes, I open my eyes and let them acclimate to the brightness of the day and look to see if anyone is watching me. A man sitting near the fountain across the courtyard stares at me. He pulls a long drag of his cigarette, exhales, takes a sip from his cup, and stands folding his newspaper and tucking it under his arm. He then begins walking in my direction. He looks intrigued as he strides toward me casually and I begin to sweat. I’ve done nothing wrong but feel as though I have been caught.

As he approaches, the space around me begins to sparkle and my legs begin to feel wobbly. The last thing I experience is his hand on my arm as my legs give way and a voice saying, “Miss! Miss!” before everything goes completely dark. So much for nonchalance.

***

I wake to a cold compress on my forehead. When I try to sit up, I find I have a headache and it hurts to open my eyes. I feel around with my hands and there’s a softness around me like pillows or something and I wonder what happened and how did I get here. “Hello?” I say cautiously, hoping whoever answers is kind to wandering Americans who have no money and don’t speak their language.

An old woman comes, sits next to me, and holds out a glass of water. She smiles so I take it and sip the water. It feels so good going down my dry throat and I feel it go all the way down to my empty stomach. I gulp the rest of the water down as if I hadn’t had anything to drink in weeks and she motions me to slow down. I give her the empty glass, smile, and nod my head as if to say thanks. We sit and look at each other for a moment. Checking each other out to decide how best to communicate. As I open my mouth to speak, she calls out, “Peter!” and I almost cry out in surprise but stop myself.

An elderly man, Peter, comes with a plate of bread, sliced cheese, and fruit and sets it down on the table in front of me. He isn’t the man from the courtyard. They motion for me to eat and while I’m desperate for food, I don’t want to appear desperate for food. I pick up a piece of bread and a slice of cheese and take a small bite. The bread is still warm and it practically melts in my mouth. It’s so soft on the inside with a crusty edge and goes perfectly with the slice of creamy white cheese. I’m in heaven and find myself taking a second much larger bite, gorging myself on the food, while the elderly couple sit and smile watching me eat.

“Carmen” Peter says motioning to the woman to go get something. “She is Carmen and I am Peter.” He says to me. “You are American, no?”

“Yes, I’m American” I say hoping that isn’t a bad thing while continuing to eat before I find out it is.

“My son… my son Frank, he brought you up here to us…to us to feed you, and give you water.”

Frank must be the guy from the courtyard. I’m grateful to Frank, of course, because I haven’t eaten in days and this food is the best I’ve had this whole trip. On the other hand, I hope Frank isn’t looking for any sort of payment for this kind gesture as they’ll will find out soon, I don’t have any.

“Yes” I nod, “Thank you for the food and water.” I say smiling. “Is Frank here?” I ask looking around. It is a cozy apartment with stone walls, rugs, and simple furniture. Fresh flowers in a vase on the table add to the warmth of the space. Carmen returns with a cup and saucer and sets it down in front of me. Lord, I hope that’s coffee.

“Drink…Drink” Carmen says to me, motioning to the cup of brown liquid gold. Again, I don’t want to seem too eager but the smell of it as I bring it to my lips is unlike any coffee I have smelled before. So rich and bold. I take a sip and the hot liquid coats my throat with a flavor I had not experienced before. It’s black coffee but without sweetener of any kind not creamer and it tastes glorious. I didn’t know coffee by itself could taste this good. I wonder if I have a concussion.

“I go get Frank” Peter says and leaves me with Carmen who sits next to me and smiles warmly while I sip the coffee. A few minutes go by in silence as I sip and eat and Carmen watches me sip and eat. I want to say something to her but feel unsure about what to talk about so I say nothing.

“Ah! You’re awake!” The man from the courtyard says as he enters the apartment. “I’m Frank. And you are?”

“Jo—Josie…I’m Josie.” I manage to stammer out. “What happened?”

“Well, normally, I don’t bring vagabonds into my parent’s apartment but when you collapsed outside of their bakery this morning, I thought we should get you out of the sun and maybe some nourishment in your belly. I could see the way you were eyeing the abandoned plates.”

Well, this is embarrassing; although, I’m kind of liking the vagabond thing. “Yeah…yeah, I’m so sorry. I was on the train this morning and got off to stretch my legs…next thing I knew I was standing in front of the bakery hungry with no money…”

“Wait. You have no money? What are you traveling with no money?”

“No, no, I have money…just not with me. It’s in my suitcase…on the train.”

“I see.” Frank said and stood silent for a moment. His parents looked at him and then at me. I wondered what they were thinking.

“You work? You live near?” Peter finally says to me gesturing with his arms.

“Not exactly.” I say shrugging my shoulders. “I’m finding myself?” I say wondering aloud as well at what I am doing at this very moment in my life.

“The train, it has your suitcase with all your things? Your money, your passport?” Frank asks. I can tell he’s thinking of a plan.

“Yes.” I say wondering what my fate will bring me in the next few moments.

“I will be return. You stay here.” Franks says to me and then to his parents, “Don’t let her leave. I will be right back.”

***

That was six days ago. Frank had gone to the train station, talked to the station master, and learned the train would be coming back through the city in a week with my suitcase. Since I had no where to stay or no money, he offered to let me stay with his parents above the bakery. I would be put to work to pay off any food or expenses I incurred while staying there. 

They had a small cot they put out on the balcony for me to sleep on with a quilt made by Carmen. Carmen showed me where to wash and hang my undergarments and gave me something to wear while they dried. I assisted Carmen in the kitchen with cutting vegetables for meals and harvesting small amounts of herbs for her cooking. She rewarded me with little bits of cake and other sweets from the bakery.

After the first day, I began helping by kneading the bread in the back of the bakery. It was intensely hot and muggy back there where the bread proofed before being baked in the large wood fired oven. It took me awhile to get the hang of it the first couple of days and my arms ached so much I could hardly pick up my water glass at meal time but it felt good to do something. To feel like I contributed to something bigger than myself. People came from all over for their bread and I helped make it.

Sleeping out on the balcony was like a dream. The night sky vast with stars reaching farther and farther away than I would ever know making me feel smaller and smaller and cozier and cozier under the quilt. Peter or Carmen would nudge me awake in the wee hour of the morning, long before the sun came up to start the bread for the day. Carmen would bring us coffee and cakes to help our eyes open for the tasks before us.

By the end of the week, I was faster and stronger with kneading the bread. So much so, I graduated to other tasks at the bakery. I swept the storefront, helped at the bakery counter, and handed out small cookies to little children who came in with their parents.

I didn’t want to leave but knew I couldn’t stay with Peter and Carmen forever. And Frank…Frank was like a knight in bakery armor allowing me to stay here and work until the train returned with my things. And while Peter and Carmen treated me like their daughter, Frank kept an emotional distance reminding me I was on borrowed time.

It felt effortless, in a way, living here. I got up early, worked, ate with Peter and Carmen, and slept. I didn’t have to think about anything. I had no worries. Which wasn’t true and I knew it. I was running and maybe I didn’t know what I was running from at the time and maybe I still don’t quite know but what I do know is I cannot stay here hiding from the world I left behind. I will have to answer to those wondering what happened to me. Where I went and if I will be back. Will I be the same or will I come back changed. And if so, will the change be for the good?

I hugged Peter and Carmen for the last time and gathered my backpack as Carmen handed me a sack with breads, cheese, and fruit for my travels. I thanked them over and over until Frank finally led me by the hand away from the bakery and toward the train station. We walked in silence all the way there except for the sound of our footsteps on the cobblestone street.

The station master was waiting for us when we arrived and checked the picture in my passport against my face. I was a little trimmer in person despite all the bread and cheese I had been consuming all week. He confirmed my identity and handed me the passport and then my suitcase. There were still a few minutes before the train was scheduled to depart so we walked toward a bench on the platform.

I set my suitcase on the bench and unzipped the compartment where I kept my money and passport. I didn’t have much but needed to offer something to Frank for his hospitality. “Frank, thank you so much for taking me in,” I said as I rummaged through the compartment looking for money. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t been there.”

“You helped my parents. More than you know so I should thank you.” He said with a bit of melancholy. I didn’t understand why he was suddenly emotional after a week of barely seeing him. “You reminded me of my sister when I first saw you…I thought you were a ghost…I came to confront my memory when I realized you were real and you collapsed.” Tears began to form in his eyes.

I didn’t know what to say and stood there wondering if I should hug him or…

“It’s time for you to go. Come on. We don’t want you to miss your train.” He said softly, taking me by the arm and leading me to the running board to board the train. “I put their address in your backpack. Maybe drop them a note once in awhile with your picture. I think they will like that.”

I nodded, “Yes…yes, I will. I’m sorry Frank.”

“Don’t be. You were a gift.”

And with that I boarded the train and found my seat. And now, as I sit here looking out my window, I’m memorizing everything about this place, Peter, Carmen, the bakery, and yes…Frank.