I offer a cup of tea. The house sounds extra quiet while I wait for the water to boil and Saverio looks around. There is not a lot to see here. I bring what I can carry--and Henry does not leave much behind. The books he keeps are those that he needs for his work, and so he travels with them. On the shelves, the ubiquitous field guide for local birds, a history of Chile written in Spanish, a couple of travel guides for Patagonia, and an atlas. The rest of the space is filled with yarns and wool. Few secrets are hidden here.
The kettle whistles, and pour the water over the tea, smell the rising steam laced with chamomile, mint, orange, and lavender. It's a healing.
I bring the cups over to the little table, and Saverio joins me there. Thank heavens I have two chairs.
"What brings you down here to find out about our little band?"
I hear "weird." Anyone else would have said "weird."
"It's not the kind of thing you hear about every day." He pauses, and I'm filling in all the blanks. Wait, Misha--this is supposed to be a good thing.
"How did it start?"