“My dear children, you have to know that it is a privilege to eat nettles. Nettle soup is a delicacy. It was served in the courts all over Europe, before the balls. There would be a whisper in the room, and not because the Emperor was arriving, no, but because the servants were bringing in the nettle soup.”
“The nettle-pickers would go early in the morning into the fields, without gloves, and pick the pale green leaves, their fingers red, their palms stinging. But no pain could prevent those brave souls from bringing this unique food to the royal chefs, who would then pull out their secret recipes and cook the famous nettle soup. You lucky little devils, think of other poor children in the world who have never had the opportunity to eat this dish of the Emperors.”
“Yes, they have chocolate and hamburgers and hot dogs. But have you ever heard a story about an Emperor who ate hamburgers? Or a Princess who ate hot dogs? No, real Princesses and Princes ate only nettle soup.”
Fer’s voice was getting quieter. Nina noticed that she hadn’t touched her soup. The children had wiped their bowls clean and were falling asleep, feeling safe with their mother back.
“Your soup is getting cold. You should eat it,” said Nina.
“It’s for you. You and the children need strength to get to the sea. I am not going anywhere. I’ll just continue reading my books and wait for the war to end.”
Nina tried to object, but she didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Fer had obviously made up her mind to give the food away.
“What if the war never ends?”
There was no answer. Fer already seemed to be asleep.