Marta is a warm, grandmotherly human woman whose presence seems to lower the volume of a room before she says a word. Her hazel eyes are bright with patient attention, surrounded by gentle crinkling laugh lines. Silver threads run through her dark hair, which is tied neatly beneath a coarse linen headwrap. Her hands are broad, work-roughened, and permanently scented with mint, chicory, cinnamon, and hot brass. She moves with a slow, careful economy that conceals startling precision. When waiting, she rests her weight on the balls of both feet instead of leaning on the counter, as if she expects the entire world to suddenly require her attention. The unexpected contradiction is her smile: tender and welcoming, but perfectly still whenever someone lies.