Free Under a Croatian Sun by Anthony Stancomb

hurt.
    ‘There! That’ll pull the inflammation out of you in no time at all,’ she said, patting my bottom in what I considered to be an over-familiar manner. ‘I’ll strap it up later,’ she said, clack-clacking over to Ivana. ‘You make sure he keeps it on until tomorrow, and don’t let him have a bath or he’ll get a bad burn. We’ll go and sit next door,’ she said, and turning to me she raised a finger, Barbara Woodhouse style. ‘Now you stay where you are and keep still!’
    ‘Yes. You stay there and be good!’ said Ivana, grinning.
    It was the knobbliest table I’d ever lain on, but in case they came back I lay there with my chin out like an obedient Golden Retriever. The poultice was cold and clammy, but for some reason it gave a strong sensation of heat and the small of my back began to feel numb. Despite the knobbliness of the table, I must have dozed off and was in the middle of a dream involving chickens when I woke to find a terrifying vision from a science-fiction movie six inches away – a wrinkled face with a toothless mouth. I jumped in fright, but bony fingers grabbed my thigh in a vice-like grip and a sharp command was barked. I didn’t know what it was, but I froze.
    ‘She’s telling you not to move,’ said Ivana, as the granny cackled something else.
    I looked up.
    ‘She’s asking if you were dreaming about flaxen-haired maidens,’ said Ivana, laughing.
    The granny fumbled about my middle with a bandage, hoiked up my trousers, and patted my rump again as if I were a child on potty training.
    Ivana giggled.
    As soon as we were outside, Ivana started to laugh. ‘You jumped like a rabbit when she woke you!’
    ‘Well, at close quarters she looked like the Bride of Darth Vader – and you saw what she does to chickens!’
    ‘You were very brave, darling.’
    ‘Was I really?’
    ‘Yes, I was very proud of you.’
    ‘I didn’t look silly, then?’
    ‘Well… I have seen you to better advantage.’
    ‘Oh…’
    ‘Anyway, it was all a great success, even though there weren’t any other family members to make friends with. But she told me all about her family and I told her all about ours – about the illnesses, I mean. She loved it. We’re going to visit all the others that Karmela told me about and we’re going to make lots of granny friends, you’ll see!’
    ‘But do I really have to be the patient every time? Why don’t you go on your own and just tell them what I’m suffering from?’
    ‘Maybe that’s not such a bad idea. They might not want to talk with you around. Look how Grandma Gokan only told me what she did when you weren’t there.’
    ‘Good plan.’
     
    The following evening, Ivana went off on her own to the next medicine maker, and over the following two weeks she worked her way through the rest of them. And she was right about family illnesses. They were the best possible talking point, and not only did she hear some wonderfully gruesome stories in eye-popping detail, but she also gave good value in return. Apparently, all our old family favourites went down a treat; in particular, Uncle Sidney drowning in his bath when under the influence and Great-Aunt Lydia being trampled to death while trying to defend her herbaceous border from her herd of prize bullocks. What also went down well was Uncle Arthur dying from a heart attack while on top of Aunt Mavis and Aunt Mavis spending the rest of her days trying to cover it up.
    The only downside was that Ivana now came home with strange concoctions to dose me with, and, without exception, they all tasted revolting. Funnily enough, though, most of them seemed to do the trick.
    The most successful were:
    Coughs – Boil nettle leaves. It certainly dealt with an itchy throat.
    Diarrhoea – Mugwort and angelica. Boil in vinegar and drink. It would persuade anyone’s bowels to shut up shop.
    Colds – Elderflowers with all their leaves. Boil and drink. This one even tasted quite good.
    Insomnia – Lemon juice and