Polenta with a trinkle of paracetamol

The bald man threw a huge glass bottle at me. I barely caught it. Still, it was a bloody good throw, given that he was blind.

“Drink it,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Just do it,” he ordered.

I uncorked it and smelled inside. It had a bitter smell, like chicory coffee.

“What is it?” I asked the wench next to me under my breath, so the bald man wouldn’t hear me. She was kneeling and scrubbing the underdeck floor with a sponge. Her hair was tied into a bun and her dress was torn in many places.

“It’s paracetamol,” she replied equally quietly.

Though I had no idea what that might be, I reluctantly took a sip of it. I trusted this wench and counted on her to warn me if it was poisonous.

“Did you drink it?” the bald man's hoarse voice asked me.

“All of it?” I asked back, with a hoarse throat, for the liquid was cold.

“Yes.”

The little wench nodded at me, so I drained the bottle.

“I’m done.”

“Good. Now throw it up.”

I looked hopelessly toward the wench, but she merely nodded at me to do as I was told. I hated throwing up.

“Why did he ask me to drink it if I’m to throw it up?” I asked her.

She rolled her eyes, then took the bottle from me and threw it into the air. I shielded my face with my arms and dodged to the side, expecting it to fall on me, but the bottle stopped at the ceiling as if glued to it. So that’s what he meant by throwing it up—throwing the bottle up.

The bottle slid along the ceiling to the place where the bald man stood, and then fell straight into his hand. Without much ado, he placed it under a tap protruding from a huge barrel and unscrewed it. This time, it was filled with a thick yellow substance. He corked the bottle again and threw it at me without any warning.

“Eat it,” he said.

“What is it?”

“Eat it.”

“What is it?” I asked the wench quietly. Getting no response, I turned towards her only to realize she was gone. I uncorked the bottle and smelled its contents once again. It was polenta—the kind Grandmama used to make for me. I snatched a plate from the desk and started to pour it full of polenta. Then I threw the bottle at the ceiling once more and blew at the hot porridge while the bottle slid toward the bald man once more.

The polenta tasted very sweet after the bitter paracetamol concoction and suited my belly fine. I belched again.

“Are you done?” the bald man asked me, having rinsed the bottle clean with soap. I nodded at him, and he let me go back on the deck.

I climbed the wooden steps and felt the breeze rustle my uncombed hair. The sun was setting behind the aft of the ship as we were sailing through the murky waters. No one knew where we were—not even the captain, known as the bald man. I deftly climbed the main mast, where I knew I’d find her.

“Did you eat the whole polenta?” she asked me, without looking at me. Her eyes were focused on the golden sky before her.

I settled on the bench next to the wench. “How did you know he was going to give me that?”

“You always eat polenta when you’re sick.”

“But I’m not sick.”

Still not separating her gaze from the sky, she placed a hand on my forehead. “Your fever is still high, but the potion you drank will soon lower it.”

I took her hand from my forehead and placed it onto my chest. “And this? What will slow down my heartbeat? It always explodes when I climb this high.”

She finally looked at me. “Then why did you climb here?”

I hesitated. “Because I knew I’d find you here.”

“And why did you need to find me?”

I hesitated again. I took a deep breath, inhaling the salty air. “Because you’re my grandma, aren’t you?”

The smile she gave me confirmed my suspicions.

“And we are sailing to America, right?”

Her smile broadened.

“We are in 1943, on a ship that helped you escape Poland,” I continued. “And this is all just my dream.”

She kissed me gently on the cheek, just like she did so many times—only this time her lips were smoother and greasy with lipstick. Then she pulled me into a firm embrace, only to let me go and stare into my eyes.

“It’s time you let me go,” she said, and then, before I managed to react, firmly pushed me from the mast. My scream was engulfed by the ocean as thousands of cold needles pierced my skin. When the bubbles dispersed around me, I realized I was in the middle of a flock of dolphins, which laughed as they played with each other.

Suddenly, we were all consumed by a gigantic shadow, and the flock dispersed. I turned towards the source of darkness to find myself face to face with the mouth of a whale that was about to consume me

***

I was shaking in my bed, beads of sweat running down my cheeks. My mom was bent over me, ruffling my hair.

“Ricky, are you awake? God, you’re burning again. Richard, can we give him another pill?”

My father’s voice called from the other room. “We can’t give him another one for another four hours. The paracetamol could strain his liver.”

“But he can’t go to your mom’s funeral like this, he'll faint.”

“I agree,” my father said as he was tying his necktie. “We’ll call your mother to watch over him.”

“But my mom also wants to come—you know they were close.”

“You’re right,” father conceded. “Then we’ll call Mrs. P again.”

“Honey, do you want me to make you something?” my mom asked as she rose to get the telephone.

“Polenta,” I heard my raspy voice say.