The summer language classes are free, but Rabka insists on leaving payments on my desk. Slippery eggplants—aubergines--waddled in a dish towel like purple babies. Ripe tomatoes cradled in a woven bag. Cookies, sweet and wheaty, pregnant with raisins. Moist, glistening farmer’s cheese, twisted like a rune. I try to return the towels and the tidy bags, carefully stitched from recycled nightgowns or a baby’s shirt, a towel from Canadian Tire. “This is a useful bag,” I say. “You should take …