Читать книгу The Lazarus Effect - HJ Golakai - Страница 7

Every waiting room in the world has the same bland, depressed air about it. The piece of carpet that only ever covers a third of the floor, the ubiquitous table right in the middle, stacked with magazines on topics everyone is tired of hearing about or no one is ever going to be interested in. Always the one pathetic window, built on a wide frame with huge slabs of glass, meant to look expansive and refreshing and only accomplishing cheap and blinding. Hungry and fed up, Vee had given up rotating around the square of seats set up around the room, like a one-woman game of musical chairs, trying to avoid the sun stream. Unsympathetic goldfish blinked at her from within the tank on the receptionist’s desk.

Everyone in the waiting room looked glum, but then disease has a nasty habit of bringing out the worst in people. Especially people forced to wait and fester in a building overflowing with professionals trained to help them. The man in the next chair kept giving lengthy coughs a little too rich for Vee’s liking, making her wonder if he’d come to present his own ailment or his child’s to the paediatrician. She shifted farther away with a polite smile. This was Cape Town and tuberculosis was everywhere. You could never be too sure.

“Waiting more?” A small pair of soft brown eyes looked a question up at her.

Vee nuzzled the little boy on her lap. “Oh sugar, I know it’s a long time. But we have to wait like everybody else, okay? Just a lil’ bit longer.” A new fit of coughing burst forth unrestrained; it sounded like the man was bringing up hacked-up pieces of lung. She was on her feet immediately.

“Or maybe,” she countered, hoisting the toddler up onto her hip and slinging her handbag onto her shoulder in one smooth move, “we ask some questions.”

The receptionist wore the standard expression of reception staff: apathy barely plastered over with feigned sympathy, mixed with irritation and canned anticipation of the next snack break. Catalogue-ordered, like the rest of the décor. She barely met Vee’s eyes when questioned about the delay.

“I’m really sorry, ma’am, but the doctor can’t see you right this moment. As you can see, it’s gonna be a long wait for everyone. You just have to be patient.”

“Patient is a half-hour wait. I’ve been here for over an hour,” Vee said. “Come on, the patients here are this big.” She swung Jeremy forwards to illustrate, and he giggled, waving his arms joyfully. “How much time can it take to look one over and prescribe a cough syrup?”

The girl pursed her lips. “Obviously you’re not his mother,” she replied evenly.

Vee bristled. “Not his m – excuse me? Whatchu tryin’ to say, that I –” She stopped when the receptionist crossed her arms and popped a hip, preparing for a showdown. Vee took one look around the crowded waiting area and sucked in the storm. One dumb move and she’d be back on the butt of the line. TB Hero would be the least of her worries; the kid on the end was covered in a rash and throwing up chunks of orange goo.

“Pardon me,” she started again, keeping her voice calm. “Can you please just check how much longer it’ll be? I’d really appreciate it.”

The receptionist sighed. “What name is it under?” she asked as she flipped through the appointment book. Vee supplied Jeremy’s name and appointment time.

“I’m his godmother. It’s under his mother’s name, Connie Ade –”

“I see it here, but there’s nothing I can do.” The girl glanced up and softened. “Look, it usually doesn’t take this long, but one of our paediatricians doesn’t seem to be coming in today. Ten, fifteen more minutes, max. I’ll make sure you’re one of the next ones.”

Vee thanked her and turned away, then remembered her prescription.

“Where can I find a pharmacy in the building?”

The receptionist grimaced, her expression that of one about to reveal yet another disappointing truth. “Sorry, man, there’s no pharmacy on this floor. Used to be, but everything’s been shuffled because of the renovations. It’s now on the ground floor in the west wing. Bit of a walk.”

Sighing, Vee left her cell number and set off.

There was trying too hard, and there was just right. The Wellness Institute was clearly aiming for a healthy mixture of both upon completion, and from the looks of it success was a touch away. Anyone wandering through the tastefully carpeted corridors and pastel waiting lounges would find it hard to remain put out by the construction work still under way. The scaffolding visible outside and the noise of construction were unwelcome additions to the muted plushness of the interior, but few seemed to care.

Vee had always felt comfort in hospitals was generated best by clean and austere surroundings, well-qualified staff and prompt, to-the-point diagnosis. Here you got that and a gushing fountain of more. She felt secretly ashamed for surreptitiously eyeing the fresh paint and smiling staff, comparing them to the poky clinic she’d frequented in the past. Her GP had been pleasant enough, at least until her problems overwhelmed them both and threatened to reveal his ignorance in more specialised matters, resulting in a hurried referral.

The WI, as they called it, was hotter than a new nightclub and held the same draw. Their bill was bound to be piping hot, too. The key was to remember that health was important and worth paying for. She just had to keep singing that refrain until it rang true, and in the meantime watch in mute dismay as more invoices filled up her postbox.

Her cellphone tinkled.

“Where the hell are you?” hissed Chari, her colleague. Naturally she was calling from an office land line. Rather risk being overheard by half the staff than spend a cent of her own airtime standing in a more private spot. “It’s almost eleven. She’s been asking for you all morning.”

“I’m running a little late.” Their boss, Portia Kruger, the omnipotent “She”, could grind her bones to dust later – a task she always took on with rabid glee. Meanwhile Vee lamented barely managing a quick personal errand and getting back to work on time. Jeremy looked like some internal clock was announcing his next nap session and he couldn’t hold out for much longer. She relaxed her grip on him, forcing the three-year-old to stay awake by holding on as tightly as possible to keep from tumbling.

“. . . know exactly how she can be. You don’t even sound like you’re at a doctor’s appointment. Oh my God! You’re not at a doctor’s appointment, are you, you traitor! You’re at a job interview. You’re packing your bags to work for the Mail & Guardian and leaving the rest of us in this dust bowl. Don’t even deny it.”

“I won’t. In one morning I’m taking my godson to his appointment, scrambling to mine . . .” She mentally amended that second to “postponing mine indefinitely”, seeing no way that both could be possible at this stage. An involuntary rush of relief went through her at the thought of another appointment blamelessly missed. “Then I’m rushing home to throw on my power suit and speeding back to knock out a brilliant interview at the M&G, all before twelve.”

Chari giggled. “Okay, okay, you’re at a doctor’s office full of whingeing kids, your life is sad and you don’t need atto from me.” Vee imagined her workmate idling behind someone’s desk, untroubled as she used their phone and pilfered sweets from their desk drawer. Chari hated others rushing off to their lives and leaving her smack alone in the middle of hers. In the pause Vee could practically hear her frown. “How come you have to take him to the doctor’s, anyway? Why can’t his mother do it? You do know you’ve got next to zero sick-leave days left.”

“I already told you: Connie couldn’t make it today.” This time Vee imagined her best friend knee-deep in fresh merchandise for her store and hollering at her staff. In Connie’s world nothing came before her child, except on days she could happily prioritise being a businesswoman after cajoling his loving godmother to step in. “Besides, I was going to be here anyway, so why not kill two birds with one stone? Just thought it would be in and out, not this long drama.”

Chari ignored her. “Isn’t that just like these new-age mothers? Can always find ways to foist their kids and their needs on single friends. Exactly like what my cousin did! Packed herself up from Harare and just pitched up one clear blue –”

“Chari, I’ll call you back,” Vee lied, and hung up.

Where the hell, she wondered, striding up to the nearest enquiries desk. The woman behind the counter was on a call, and stalled Vee’s question with the one-minute index finger before she finished and gave brusque directions to the makeshift pharmacy. Vee followed directions to a hallway, down which snaked an impossibly long line of people. Please Lord, she prayed wearily, don’t let that be the pharmacy.

It was the pharmacy. Clearly, most people wanted to fill their prescriptions on-site. The line was moving fast, but not fast enough. After three years in Cape Town, the policy of lines was still beyond Vee. Queues, as they were otherwise affectionately known. Everyone always stood patiently awaiting their turn, smiling completely inane and unnecessary smiles at each other in agreement at absurdly long waits, admired the ceiling, took obedient half-steps forward when someone was served and left. With the exception of a passport office, this would cause a bust-up in West Africa. The hustle and flow of her people was as rushed and organised as a bloodstream; everyone got what they were after, with no mental gymnastics. She juggled Jeremy from one hip to the other and sighed in frustration. This was asking too much, even for a Monday.

In retrospect, she wondered what had made her move away from the line and what would have happened if she’d stayed put. There were only five people in front of her, and service speed was picking up. With hindsight, she searched her memory for some sudden gut feeling or overwhelming force that had propelled her towards the wall-mounted bulletin board, but all she was ever able to come up with was boredom and impatience.

To kill a few minutes, Vee idly scanned the brightly coloured bulletin board. There was a farewell announcement (a well-loved specialist moving to greener pastures), two postings for research nurses and an apology from the unit at large for any inconvenience caused by parking restrictions during the construction period. On the left side of the board, a section was dedicated to photographs of happy moments between patients and staff.

Turning away, she caught one picture out of the corner of her eye and stopped cold where she stood. Blinking several times in disbelief, she reached out to make sure it was tangible. So little of what she saw these days was.

The image was of a birthday celebration in a hospital room. A bunch of children and two nurses, one middle-aged and one very young, happily crowded around a cake proudly held on the lap of a bald prepubescent boy. A few of the other children were bald too, but unlike the main child they wore bandanas or caps. One girl stood near the boy’s elbow, at the edge of the photo but somehow in the middle of it, as central as the boy himself. Her smile was unsure in comparison to the others, but still bright, and as she leaned over to fit into the frame her hand rested on the boy’s arm. Even without the red woollen hat and the benefit of age to carve away the baby cheeks, the face was unmistakable. A strangled animal sound surprised Vee before she realised it emanated from her own throat. A couple nearby squinted in her direction.

“Teelinlingling. Teeleeeelingling,” sang Jeremy, tugging on her jeans. As if in a trance, Vee looked down as if she’d never seen him before in her life. It took a moment to realise the child was trying to mimic a ringing cellphone. With a shaking hand she retrieved the device.

“Miss Va . . . um, Viona . . . Voiaja . . . uh, Miss Johnson,” spoke a hesitant voice, wisely deciding to go with the pronounceable surname. “Tamsin here, the receptionist from upstairs. Dr Kingsley’s almost done with the last patient, so he’ll see you in ten minutes. That okay?”

“Yes, thank you,” Vee croaked. “Be there just now.”

Her face had to be at melting point the way the plastic of the phone felt so cool against it. This Air Girl, this Smiling Everywhere Girl – she was here, in this picture, in this very hospital. There was no mistaking it, no question about that smile. She was the one from the parking lot, from the jogging day, the one hovering over her bed, disturbing her dreams. When her heart was thudding, and her throat and eyes were furnace hot, and those cold bumps like painful anthills rose all over her skin, that face was the one that sometimes taunted her. Vee wiped cold sweat from her forehead and tried to press back the wave of another anxiety attack.

Not here. Not now.

Sweet Mother of God.