The pharmacist listens attentively to Marcos’s explanations from behind the chained door of his house. Marcos tells him how they found Juli badly injured in that ditch, having impaled his leg on a branch when he stumbled, and how he was knocked out from the fall. They found him after three or four hours. He explains that the wound was infected, but they had been cleaning it with thyme water, and it was improving. He also tells him that Juli had a high fever and that they had tried all kinds of infusions and patches to bring it down.
The pharmacist doesn’t seem satisfied with Marcos’s explanations; the description of the wound and symptoms doesn’t quite add up. Finally, after more questions, Marcos mentions that Juli had a whole rash on his chest, but they thought it was from nettles. The pharmacist seems to piece it together now.
“Was there water in the ditch?”
“Not much, it’s a stream that’s dry this time of year.”
The pharmacist smiles.
“That’s it: your friend has typhus. It has nothing to do with the leg wound. He must have been bitten by a flea or mosquito while he was unconscious near the ditch.”
Marcos breaks into a wide grin. It’s not that he’s happy about Juli’s illness, but he’s relieved to finally know what’s wrong.
“With a box of what I’ll give you and some rest, your friend will get better,” the pharmacist says confidently.
Marcos quickly unties his kerchief bundle and takes off his backpack.
“Look at everything I have,” Marcos says excitedly.
“I suppose you’re not going to pull out euros from there...” the pharmacist comments with a serious face.
Marcos is taken aback for a moment and quietly says no. The pharmacist laughs; Marcos, now understanding it was a joke, laughs too. Finally, the pharmacist removes the chain from the door and steps outside with a smile. Marcos proudly shows him the cheeses and the bags of herbs and seeds he brought. Upon seeing them, the pharmacist’s expression changes. He looks disdainful.
