The Good Left Undone(31)

“You want to inject at a forty-five-degree angle. Find the fat,” Pretucci reminded her. “You don’t want to pierce the muscle. Well, if you do, the patient will let you know it.”

Domenica pinched the skin, creating a small fold. She eased the syringe into the skin of the orange, releasing the pump until the serum was gone. She gently removed the needle, placed it on the work tray, and swabbed the area again with gauze soaked in alcohol. She looked up at her boss.

“Good. Now, when it’s a patient, will you have that confidence?”

“I hope so, Dottore.”

“When you return to Roma for your final exams, the practicals are given by the Sisters. If the needles don’t scare you, the nuns will.”

“My mother always says, ‘A good seamstress is not afraid of needles.’?”

“A yard of satin doesn’t scream when you puncture it.”

“I can handle the patients. The more chaos, the louder the screaming and yelling, the calmer I get.”

“Why is that?”

“I don’t question it, Dottore. I just do the job that must be done.”

“Sister Eugenia asked me your weaknesses on the job, and I couldn’t think of any. You have an affinity for the work. You have the talent to be an excellent nurse.”

“Thank you.”

“Be careful. The nuns are persistent. They trained you well in medicine, and they expect something in return. They will appeal to you to join the order.”

Domenica smiled. “Most of my prayers have gone unanswered, which makes me wonder if He listens. Why would He send out the call to someone like me to join the blue army?”

“I wouldn’t share those feelings with Sister Eugenia”—the doctor picked up his hat and case—“until you’ve completed your exams.”

“Yes, Dottore.”

“It’s completely selfish on my part. I want the nuns to pass you and send you back to Viareggio to work for me. I need a good nurse. If you fail, I imagine I will have to offer the job to Signora Maccio, who is a fine nurse but never stops talking. I’ll be driven mad if you don’t get your license and return to the village as soon as possible.”

Pretucci left, leaving Domenica to prepare the clinic to open the next morning. She straightened the tinctures, cleaned the instruments, and swept the floor.

The ripe orange she had used to practice inoculations lay on the instrument tray. She sewed a thick thread through the skin, and knotted it into a loop before taking it outside.

Domenica stood on her toes, pulled a branch on the barberry tree close, and hung the orange on it. She let go of the branch, which snapped back into place overhead.

Soon the birds would peck at the orange until there was nothing left but the string. Domenica went back into the office, stood at the window, and watched as the finches made their descent.





CHAPTER 12


Viareggio


NOW


Mama?” Nicolina called out as she stepped off the elevator into her parents’ apartment. “Mama, it’s me. I got the anchovy paste you wanted. And I picked up a few—”

The door to the terrace was open; the sheers billowed into the room. Nicolina placed the grocery bags on the table. She stepped out onto the terrace.

Concerned, she went back into the apartment and looked around. She went up the steps to the bedroom, calling for her mother. The bed was neatly made. She quickly went down the steps and into the kitchen. She found her mother lying on the floor.

“Mama!” Nicolina knelt beside her mother.

“I’m all right,” she murmured.

“You’re on the floor.”

“I got dizzy.”

“Who am I?” Nicolina asked as she helped her mother sit up.

“You’re my daughter, Nicolina. You weighed nine pounds, seven ounces when you were born, and I can still feel it fifty years later.”

“You scared me to death.” Nicolina poured her mother a glass of water. “Stay there. Don’t get up. I’m calling the ambulance.”

“You will not!”

“I’m calling your doctor.”

Matelda did not object. She sipped the water.

Nicolina called her mother’s doctor. She helped her mother stand and grabbed her mother’s coat and purse. They walked slowly to the elevator. Once outside, Nicolina helped Matelda into the car before snapping her seat belt into place.

“You’re treating me like a child,” Matelda said.

“The moment has come, Mama. Do you remember what you said to me?”

Matelda nodded. She had cared for her mother, Domenica, until she died; it didn’t seem possible that she was now the elderly person who needed Nicolina to care for her.

Nicolina got in the driver’s seat, put on her seat belt, and started the car. She drove onto the main boulevard slowly and stopped at the light. She opened a small bottle of water and handed it to Matelda. “Drink this, please.”

“I’m fine.”

“Drink it. Anything bad that happens to older people happens because they don’t drink enough water.”

Matelda sipped the water. “It’s probably the sfogliatella. I ate the whole thing. I guess I can’t eat what I love anymore.”

“A pastry won’t make you faint.”