Amica 9
You tell me the name of each thing, I repeat it, sometimes the slavewoman laughs at my strange pronunciation. The rolls are delicious. We don’t cook omelettes, but we hard-boil the eggs of seabirds. The 'pullum' meat is so tender it reminds me of the unfledged seabird chicks that we hunt among the rocks along the shore or on the cliff-crags. 'Olivas nigras' are completely new to me, their bitter taste gives a special touch to this delicacy. I must learn to recognize these tastes, adapt to new flavors.
We eat the stuffed omelettes. The slavewoman pours a dram of amber liquid from a flagon into the little cup, 'vinum', that dissolves the flavor of the eggs from my mouth. She cuts the aromatic bread into thin slices in the soup bowl, and pours a little oil on it from an ‘ampulla’. With our metal spoons we pick up the bread soaked in thick broth, in it there are pieces of various vegetables and tender white grains, spelt, some other larger grains, chickpeas and beans.
You immediately correct the position of my hand, I’m holding the instrument so clumsily! The rustic flavour of this soup is enhanced by raw oil poured on it, at last I can silence the hunger that has tormented me since the day I was kidnapped. The warmth of the soup invigorates me and gives me a feeling of comfort. The final dish is a fish cooked in herb-scented water, 'pisce aurata', it’s a sea-bream, and you teach me that I have to put the pieces, that the slave has prepared, into my mouth by poking them with the wooden stick, I’m not to touch them with my hands.
To remove the taste of the fish from the mouth we drink a glass of water containing lemon juice, and then we eat the flesh of some fruit sweetened with honey, a fruit entirely unknown in our lands, whose scanty harvest of herbs and berries we pick during the summer season.
Today I have learned so many new words - names of foods, the names of the implements that are used for eating, the name of the frothy cream that comes out of the bag with small stones, that’s 'sapo', and pebbles, lighter than water, 'pumice', the name of my dress, 'chiton', the name for the household Gods, 'Lares', and the name of the owl, the Goddess 'Athena'. Now I'll have to remember everything without mistakes so as not to be punished for my carelessness. The things that you've explained to me in the new language I’m getting to understand intuitively, because you have patiently insisted on my repeating the words and phrases, getting me to say them several times. I’m puzzled that so many words are not very different from each other, the sounds sometimes differ only slightly.
There are also signs that I see on the walls which are certainly words. They have something in common traits with the signs that I draw on my hands or on stones when I have to utter some prophecy or spell or curse. You marvel very much when I take your hand and plot, by sliding my index finger on your palm, the sign meaning ‘mother’. You exclaim something that I’ve not yet figured out, but I think it might mean that it will not be difficult for me to learn quickly. At once you give me a tablet spread with a soft material, 'cera', wax, and a stick, ‘stylus’, inviting me to draw the signs I know on it. You look at them, make me pronounce their sounds, then you trace the signs of the language that is spoken here, and utter their sounds. In the coming days we will continue these exercises.
The shadows of the evening no longer allow us to see the things around us clearly. The slavewoman brings us a small object from which comes a yellow flame whose light illuminates your room, and then takes away the tray, plates, cups, the few left-over scraps of food, the lemon-peel – I’d have eaten if you hadn’t prevented me from doing so, and the fins, tail and bones of the fish.
We go back into the room where the water flows continuously. Using thick sage-leaves wetted and pressed into fine powder of pumice, you rub your teeth, using slender little sticks of hard wood, and finally you wash your mouth out with running water. This habit of keeping one’s body clean, and a fresh and fragrant mouth is really nice.
The first long day of my life as a slavegirl in this new home is coming to an end. We kneel in front of the altar, thank the Gods, and ask them to send us restful sleep. I lie down to sleep on the ground at the foot of your bed, but you want me to be as close to you as a daughter, so leaning my head against your shoulder I sense your warmth, the smell of your body, and fall asleep, exhausted but happy.
I don't know what I'd do without you Luna! I need to brush up on my Pompeii history so I can keep up!
All of this makes me want to visit so badly!
