set in Seville, Spain
Mother was in the middle of cooking gazpacho when she fainted. Thank God she had finished boiling the tomatoes, and was leaving the peeled soft tomatoes to soften in between a lid and sartén. It was just as she was turning off the stove and finding a towel for herself that her sight went blurry and her legs went wobbly.
She experienced darkness, sightlessness, and a sense that she was inside of her body, but her body wasn’t in response to anything else.
When she came she noticed that Father was pressing her wrist. She felt so grateful her husband was there in the house to find her. The fact that he was there for her almost made her cry.
And then she noticed she was covered in sweat.
And then she noticed she was struggling to breathe.
« Patricia, Patricia, ¿me escuchas? »
« Sí, sí. » Mother thought she was saying.
But she noticed that Father was responding as if she had said nothing at all. Was her mouth moving? Or did she think she was moving her lips, only for nothing to move at all?
The concern in Father’s eyes communicated that it was the latter. He put his ear to her chest and told her:
« Respira »
She breathed, in and out.
But she was covered in sweat, and her eyesight was still blurry, and she felt, even while breathing, that it was so much work, and that she just wanted to sleep.
She decided to close her eyes again.
It’s so hot, it’s so hot…
This had been what she had been saying for days now. Sevilla was generally one of the hottest cities in Europe but this year had been unforgivable. It was normally in the mid to late thirties in the summer but this year each day had been over 40 degrees Celsius, easily. The news blamed it on the weather patterns of El Niño, the activists were blaming it on climate change.
It didn’t matter what was the cause of it for Mother. She hated that it felt like she was putting her face in front of an open oven each time she left the home, which was why she rarely went outside. And this was in a city she loved to explore. She used to go in the late evenings to sit at La Plaza de España, particularly in front of the tiles depicting major moments in history in each of the Spanish provinces. The tiles were so expressive, and seeing the tourists take snaps of it made Mother feel pride in her country. But even after six the heat made going out feel like torture for her, and even though it was relatively cooler in the evening whatever was outside had been warmed by the heat of the day, so it burned her rear to sit on those tiles or by the fountain.
She complained so much to her husband about the heat and he’d tell her they ought to install an air conditioner. And then she’d show her skin and complain how dry it already was, and she wasn’t used to AC at all.
Now she was trying to stand and she wasn’t able to.
Would AC have helped her?
« Come back, Patricia, please. »
Mother opened her eyes. It was not for her, but for her husband, who was genuinely worried for her. Father gave her some water and she drank it. It did refresh her, and she found drinking aan entire bottle wasn’t enough. She needed more. Father went to turn on the fan.
« Patricia, it is so hot these days. Por favor, you have to keep on the fan at any hour. Por favor. »
« Ay mi dios » Mother mustered enough energy to say, and then she went on. « I am used to cooking. This is… my kitchen… mi… propia casa… »
Saying that much tired her. It at least pushed a bit of a smile on Father’s face, to see her fight back a little with her words.
Father pushed her up against the wall. He unbuttoned a bit of her shirt so some of the air could be let in. He saw that the tomatoes and said « Gazpacho will be perfect for this weather… »
Mother said « Eso es.. »
Father brought out some ice from the freezer and put it on her. « You have to learn to listen to me. Each year is getting hotter and hotter. It doesn’t matter whether you like it or not. We have to adapt to it, or we will not survive… »
Mother heard her husband, but she was too tired to listen. She focused her eyes instead outside the window. Right outside of it was an orange tree, bereft of any fruit. She thought about the juicy taste of an orange, she wished she had one in her mouth. She wiggled her fingers, she tingled her toes.
She was going to be just fine. It would just take her a few minutes.
As Father rubbed her with the ice he said, « Qué tonta, qué tonta. »
He wasn’t saying it loudly. He wasn’t saying it firmly either.
But as he said it all Mother wanted to explain was that she was trying to partake in an average summer day in her home, and she didn’t like being belittled by him for trying to go about her chores, as it made her feel blamed for something that wasn’t her fault.
Her mouth was dry, and she had none of the energy to converse. So she let him take out his frustrations out on the situation, enjoyed the feeling of the ice on her skin, and hoped someday impossibly soon she would know a relatively cooler Seville summer once more.
