Читать книгу After the Silence - Rula Sinara - Страница 11

CHAPTER ONE

Dear Diary,

They said writing to you would help. I’m not sure. I can’t tell anyone what I did. Not even you. If anyone finds out, I could go to jail...or hell.

HOPE ALWANGA STRIPPED off her bloody gloves and gown, then rushed from the room, but there was no escaping the merciless, coppery smell that had penetrated her sinuses. She pressed the crook of her elbow to her nose to shield against the added assault from the sweaty, desperate crowd still waiting to be seen and made her way to the back of the emergency room. A steady stream of patients was expected at any of Nairobi’s public hospitals—she saw it as added experience during her internship year—but this? This was pure chaos. And she’d been forced to do procedures she’d never done before.

She needed a minute to sit. Just one.

She collapsed onto a stool near a half-empty medical supply closet, leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

“Go home.”

“No,” she said, jerking her head up and pushing off the stool. The floor tilted, and her hands shot out reflexively for balance. “I’m fine. I just needed a second.”

Zamir, her supervising doctor, put a gentle hand on her shoulder and urged her back onto the stool.

“Take that second and then go home. That’s an order,” he said.

“I haven’t eaten anything. That’s all it is.” That and no sleep.

“Don’t argue with your superior.”

Hope rolled her eyes. Zamir could never nail a harsh tone when it came to her. He was closer in age to her much-older brother, and, given that he’d grown up as a family friend, he often teetered between his role as her supervising medical officer and a caring friend. A lot. Only, he knew full well that Hope wasn’t interested in anything but focusing on her education and career. Hope brushed his hand aside and stood, taking a deep, readying breath.

“You need me here. We’ve lost two patients already this morning, and there has been no news of the rest of the staff coming back. I’m not going anywhere.”

For two days now, they’d been running on bare threads. It was bad enough that, under normal circumstances, Nairobi’s public hospitals were grossly underequipped. Only months into her internship, she’d already witnessed patients either dying or being turned away due to lack of medical equipment and supplies alone. Even children. God, the children broke her heart. Now, to add insult to an already critical situation, delayed government paychecks had spurred a strike by the majority of their medical staff. As an intern, her pay was barely worth counting anyway, but she wasn’t here for money. She was here to help, but this...this was like asking a gnat to save a drowning shrew.

She turned to head back toward the main area. Failure wasn’t an option. Not for an Alwanga.

“Hope, don’t be stubborn,” Zamir said, stepping in front of her. “You need to get some sleep or you’ll be useless. You’ll start to make mistakes. I can’t have that happen. Stay and I’ll write you up.”

Hope stopped dead in her tracks, then looked right at him. Her pulse drummed at the base of her throat.

“That man did not die because of me,” she said, pointing down the hall toward the patient they’d just lost. “I did everything—”

“I didn’t mean him,” Zamir said, shaking his head and holding up his palms. “You were brilliant in there. Hope, that man had been thrown from a boda-boda. He didn’t have a chance. Not with what we have here. But I need you to get some rest before I end up having to resuscitate you. Or before you do make a human mistake.”

Hope pressed her lips together and cringed at the mental image of Zamir resuscitating her. He’d love that, wouldn’t he? Zamir to the rescue. Always looking out for her. That was exactly why her parents loved him so much.

But he was right. Anyone who dared hitch a ride on Kenya’s motorcycle-styled taxis, manned by an array of notoriously reckless drivers, was gambling with death. She’d done what she could, stepping in to assist Zamir in the absence of more experienced doctors and nurses. But her trained immunity to the stench of violent death had failed her today. The lack of sleep really was doing a number on her senses, and the last cup of lukewarm coffee she’d guzzled hadn’t done much to help. She ran both hands back over her chin-length waves. She still wasn’t used to the texture after her mom insisted she have it relaxed a few weeks ago. “Fine,” she said. “Just for a few hours.”

“Don’t come back until tomorrow. I’ll find someone to help. Maybe the strike will be over by then,” he said, twisting his lips. Neither of them was holding out hope on that count. Even if it did end, the suffering and loss would have still happened. The supplies and equipment needed to better serve the majority of locals too poor to seek help from private hospitals or doctors—such as her parents—would still be an issue.

Hope nodded and walked away, too tired to argue anymore. What was the point? After finishing up her year here, she’d be moving on to her master of medicine in orthopedics before joining her parents’ private practice. That had always been the plan. All she was doing right now was rolling a boulder uphill.

She grabbed her things, made a quick call to Jamal, their family driver, for pickup and fled the building. A well-dented matatu packed with passengers revved its engine and missed her by two feet as it sped away from the curb. She gasped, then coughed out a lungful of exhaust fumes. And there was the reason she didn’t drive. One had to have a little daredevil and adrenaline addict in them to navigate the streets of Nairobi. Being a passenger was scary enough, but she trusted Jamal. He’d been her family’s driver since she was an infant, hired right after her parents had employed his wife as a housekeeper and cook, because at the time, with Hope’s medical needs and heart surgery, they’d needed the extra help.

She made her way to where she spotted Jamal waiting. The October sunshine cleansing her face made up for the emergency room “aromas” and exhaust fumes. Boy, was she glad their family home was outside the city. Although lately, she hadn’t spent much time there.

“Jambo,” she said, climbing in with the oversize woven shoulder bag she carried her life in: clinical books, notes, wallet, a few toiletries and probably a few items lost at the bottom that she’d forgotten about entirely.

“Jambo, Hope,” Jamal said, closing her door, then making his way around to the driver’s seat.

She quickly pulled off her socks and shoes and slipped her achy feet into the sandals she kept tucked under the front seat. She sighed and leaned back.

“Home?” Jamal asked.

“No, I need to stop at the university first. Then Chuki’s, then home.” She wouldn’t be able to truly relax until she dropped off inhaler samples for Chuki’s little sister. Her friend’s family had been struggling financially for a while now, and the least Hope could do was to try to help out. Especially with the strike going on.

Jamal glanced at her through the rearview mirror before turning his focus on the road.

“You look pale. Dalila told me to tell you she’s making some fresh mandazi just for you. She said not to tell your parents. She’ll have stew ready by the time they come home,” he said, winking at her through the rearview mirror.

“Mmm.” Hope closed her eyes and savored the mere idea of a warm homemade doughnut. Her only vice. Her stomach growled, and she pressed her hand against it. “Dalila is an angel,” she said, barely lifting her heavy eyelids.

“I know,” he said, grinning.

Hope gave in to sleep as she smiled back. Not much of a nap, given that the campus building where her brother’s research lab was located wasn’t far enough for the solid dose of REM sleep she needed. She woke up at Jamal’s prompting and dragged her groggy self toward the building and up the stairs to her brother’s genetics lab.

“Jambo,” she said, closing the door behind her and hanging her bag on the hook meant for his lab coat. She glanced over her shoulder, pretending not to notice the annoyed look on her brother Dr. Simba David Alwanga’s face. “Dr. Alwanga” to all his staff and colleagues—especially the ladies—but family always used his middle name, David. Hope, however, had called him Simba ever since she could talk, and she was the only person who could get away with it. He hated the fact that he shared a name with an animated movie character. She loved it.

“Jambo. No sandals in the lab. You know that,” he said.

She did know. Standard lab safety called for closed-toe shoes, something she’d gotten in the habit of wearing during medical school, especially when working with patients and blades or needles.

“Sorry, but I couldn’t stand it anymore. Every cell on me needed to breathe,” she said, collapsing onto the swivel stool in front of the counter across from where he was labeling petri dishes. “Besides, I’m not staying long. Please tell me you got some.”

The corners of his mouth quirked up.

“I promised, didn’t I?” he said, still labeling and setting the dishes in organized rows.

She shook her head and chuckled at his smugness. Even as his sister, she had to admit he was a good-looking guy, on top of having a phenomenal reputation in the research world and a natural charisma women seemed to find irresistible. That actually worried her a bit. She had a hard time imagining him settling down, but at the same time, she didn’t want him trapped by some woman who only cared about his name and success. Men could be so blind.

“I do appreciate the fruits of your effortless labor, dear brother, but one of these days you’re going to meet your match, and she’s going to laugh at your smooth-talking ways.”

He flicked the on switch for the sterile hood that occupied a good five feet of the narrow lab’s right wall, set his tray of dishes under it, then leaned back against the counter and folded his arms.

“Smooth talking? It’s this face and the brains behind it,” he said.

Hope rolled her eyes. She knew he was kidding for her benefit. Mostly. It took about two seconds for his eyes to narrow.

“You look terrible,” he said.

“Did you really just compliment your looks, then insult mine? Just give me the samples,” she said, hoping to deflect his concern.

“Hope, trust me, not even mud could mask your beauty—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, tell me you haven’t tried that one in public,” she said, tossing her head.

“—but you really do look pale. And yes, that one got you these,” he added, pulling two sample-size boxes out of his lab coat pocket and handing them to her.

“Thank you!” Hope jumped off the stool, took the boxes and gave Simba a quick hug. “I’ll leave you to work.”

“Not so fast.” He guided her back to the stool and made her sit. So much for a quick exit. Hope knew when she was in for another lecture. A part of her understood the good place it was coming from.

As the youngest, she was stuck with the position of the family baby. Considering how “delicate” she’d been as a real baby, Hope was used to her every breath being scrutinized or worried over. Yes, it was love, but it was also irritating at times. At twenty-five, she knew how to get things done. So far, she’d been successful with every step of the career that her parents had carefully outlined with her. It was just that, as a woman, it seemed as if she always had to work harder for the same success and accolades as her male peers. Even her brother. So yes, she was tired.

“I know I look tired. I am. I just left hell, but I’m headed home right after dropping these off, so I’ll be fine. Jamal is waiting for me. Okay?”

Simba rolled another stool near hers and sat down. He pressed his lips together and looked off to the side before turning to her. There was no trace of his fun demeanor left. This was all lion king.

“Listen to me, Hope. This isn’t just about today. I’ve noticed you going downhill for months now.”

“I’m an intern at a public hospital. What do you expect?”

“I expect you to have good days and bad days. But be honest. You’re miserable, Hope. Your face is like an open book. I see determination and exhaustion, but never joy. I see no peace in you.”

Hope licked her lips and looked away, blinking several times to fight the burn of tears. He was right. Everyone always said that she had such an expressive face. Kind of a curse at times. No emotional privacy.

“Sometimes I feel as though I need to be autoclaved. It’s expected.”

“Sometimes you simply need a break. You’re making yourself sick and I’m worried,” he continued. “When was the last time you visited this friend of yours? Do you even still have other friends?” He pointed to the boxes Hope held.

He didn’t really know Chuki, and she wasn’t surprised that he couldn’t recall her name. The women that caught his eye were in related fields...and not from Chuki’s side of town. But he was right. It had been almost two months since she’d seen Chuki in person, and even that visit had been no more than thirty minutes. She shrugged. She couldn’t do this now.

“Exactly. You care about her, yet you hardly see her. Do you know why I’m successful at what I do?” her brother asked. “Because I love this.” He waved a hand at the lab. “This is my passion, Hope. I went after it because I wanted to. It satisfied me. Hard work? Yes, but there has to be balance.”

Hope straightened and took a deep breath.

“That’s enough, Simba. You can’t tell me what I want and don’t want to do.”

“No, but I can tell you that your health comes first. Your happiness comes first. Can you tell me that if you had one wish on earth, it would be to join Mama and Baba’s practice?” He sliced his hand through the air. “Do you even have a wish?”

The door to the lab swung open and Simba’s friend and colleague Dr. Jack Harper stepped in. Yes. A buffer.

“Hey, you two slackers. Stop sitting around and get to work,” Jack teased as he carried two racks of sample-filled vials to the far end of the lab near the centrifuge. He set them down and pulled a pipette out of a drawer. Simba gave her a “this isn’t over” look and went back to his work.

“Jack. I didn’t know you were going to be here today!” Hope said, perching her sandals on the bottom rung of the stool and swiveling it gently left and right. “How is everyone at Busara? How is little Pippa?”

“They’re great. And Pippa... That little monkey is growing fast.” His eyes sparkled like only a proud father’s could. “Anna and Niara told me to say hi to you and to tell you they’d be around for some supplies soon,” Jack said.

“Tell them I can’t wait.” She resisted the urge to ask when exactly “soon” would be. She really wanted to see them, but her brain tensed from the mere idea of how the logistics would work with her current schedule. Unless, maybe, if the strike ended.

Hope had met Jack and Anna a little over a year ago, when her brother was helping them sort out US citizenship and paternity paperwork for their daughter, Pippa, whom Anna had been raising in secret at Busara, her remote elephant research and rescue camp in the Serengeti. Anna had brought along her devoted friend Niara, and Hope had had a wonderful time taking Niara and her little boy shopping, while Anna and Jack had dealt with the embassy. At the time, Hope had almost been done with medical school. Jack, Anna and Pippa had come to dinner at their home a few times since then, after Jack had moved to Kenya and started collaborating with Simba, flying from Busara to Nairobi a few days a week. They’d all grown even closer as friends when Jack was crushed by the death of his sister in the States six months ago. He wasn’t the biggest talker, but whenever he mentioned something about his niece and nephews back home, it was clear to Hope that they meant a lot to him.

“Sandals?” Jack asked, raising one brow at Simba, as if surprised he hadn’t chased his sister out of the room yet.

“Not you, too. You’re more paranoid than my brother,” Hope said, hopping off the stool to get her bag. The room spun, and she took a step back, sending the stool rolling to her left. She dropped the sample boxes and grabbed the edge of the counter to regain her balance, but Simba was already holding her by the arm and Jack was over in seconds with a backed chair from the small adjoining office.

“Are you preg—” Jack asked, picking up the inhaler samples.

“No!” Hope and Simba said simultaneously, glaring at him in disbelief. Then Simba looked at Hope with scary-wide eyes.

“No!” she confirmed. Talk about an impossibility.

“Pretend I didn’t open my mouth,” Jack said with raised palms. He handed her the boxes.

“I just got up too quickly. I’ll be fine now.”

“That’s it,” Simba said. “You’re taking medical leave. Some time off.”

“Have you lost your mind? I can’t. Zamir needs me at the hospital. Half his staff are gone.”

“Zamir called me today, worried sick. I’m not the only one who’s noticed you withering away.”

Hope felt the rush of blood heat her face.

“He didn’t,” she said.

“He did. I know I’ll have his backing on this. He’ll sign whatever is needed. The internship will still be there, Hope. If that’s what you want. But you need to pause.”

Hope rubbed her hands down her face. No. This was impossible. People would ask questions and spread rumors that she’d failed somehow. She’d embarrass her parents. She’d disappoint them, and she couldn’t do that after all they’d sacrificed to save her life and to give her nothing but the best. Being where she was in her life wasn’t just hard work, it was a privilege. It was the grand plan. And taking off would be the equivalent of being ungrateful...or worse, incapable. At least that was what people would think.

Simba was right, though. Doctors really did make awful patients, because if she was honest with herself about how she’d been feeling lately, she’d be surprised if her adrenal glands hadn’t shriveled up.

God knew, she wanted to help people. She really did. But lately all she was feeling was frustrated and depleted. She didn’t dare admit to her family how many times the idea of escaping all their expectations and all her responsibilities had crossed her mind. Kicking back. Partying. Traveling places she’d seen in movies or read about in books. Freedom. How selfish was that? Witnessing poverty and disease everyday and then yearning for something different than the life she had? Some wishes were better left unspoken.

She closed her eyes and a tear escaped. She swiped it away.

“Um, can I get you something?” Jack asked, rubbing the back of his neck. Hope cleared her throat. She needed to get home. This was all too embarrassing.

“No, no. Thank you, Jack. Simba is making a big deal out of nothing.” She scowled at her brother. “And you’re embarrassing me here. Why don’t you walk me downstairs, Simba? You can buy your little sister a snack to eat in the car.”

He couldn’t say no to getting food in her system. She really didn’t want to argue in front of Jack, nor did she want to pass out before getting to the car. Jack slipped over to his vials and grabbed a pair of sterile gloves from a box, granting them a little privacy.

Simba paced in front of her like...well...like a lion.

“Hope, I know you’re worried about what people will think. What Mama and Baba will say. I wasn’t born yesterday. I’ll handle them. Don’t worry. No one will judge.”

Hope sighed. “Look. I’ll take a weekend or a week and stare at the walls at home. Will that make you happy?”

She waited for her brother to say something. The hum of the sterile hood and the occasional clink of Jack’s tubes were the only sounds in the lab. Simba scratched his forehead, then looked around the lab as though in search of a scientific reason to nix her suggestion. He drew back his shoulders and braced his hands on his hips.

“No. This isn’t about a few nights of sleep. This is about you not killing yourself and having regrets. I know our parents mean well, but the fact is, they’re from a different generation. Even I have a decade on you and can see that. You’re my sister. I want you happy. I want you to have perspective. Choices. Which is why—” he hesitated, scrubbing his jaw and exchanging glances with Jack “—I think you should take a few months and go to America.”

The chair grated the floor as Hope stood, the bolt of shock keeping her on her feet this time.

“What? Jack, tell him he needs an MRI.”

Jack held his sterile gloved palms up.

“I’m not getting in the middle. A wise friend once told Anna and me his favorite saying—‘when two elephants fight, it is the grass that gets trampled.’ In this lab, that would be me.”

“Something tells me you’re already in the middle. America? Really?”

Hope knew her brother had come through for Jack when Jack had discovered the daughter he didn’t know he had was being raised in Kenya’s wilderness. Had Simba cashed in on a favor?

“I’m helping you here, Hope,” Simba said. “Haven’t you always wanted to visit America? I’ve heard you talking to Anna. This is the perfect time. The perfect chance. Jack’s family needs some help.”

Jack tipped his head in agreement as he loaded the centrifuge.

“Don’t feel obligated or anything, but when Alwanga here told me you needed to get away, it did make sense,” Jack said. “Ben, my brother-in-law, could use help with the kids.”

Hope gripped the sides of her head, then grabbed her purse off the hook and turned back to face the crazy men. There’d be no fainting. Her blood had hit boiling point.

“You expect me to go from medicine to childcare? A nanny? That’s your idea of a getaway? A break?” she said, pointing at both of them.

“Whoa. Not really a nanny. Not in the official hired sense. Let’s not complicate visas here,” Jack said.

“He’s right. More of an exchange,” Simba said.

“Yeah. You all are like my family here in Kenya. Mine can be like yours while you’re in America. I think a visitor would be good for them right now. A distraction.”

Hope raised a brow.

“Okay, so distraction might be a bad choice of word, but you know what I mean.” Jack looked between Simba and Hope. “I should keep my mouth shut now.”

Hope closed her eyes. She did know what he meant. His parents had lost a child. His niece and nephews, their mother. And their father—Ben—had lost a wife. She sucked in her bottom lip. Was her brain so foggy that what they were suggesting had merit? An escape while saving face? She felt Simba’s hand close around her shoulder. His voice deepened, and his words came slowly and reassuringly.

“You help out, and in return, you have a place to stay, people I trust around you, so that I don’t have to worry about you alone in a foreign country. It works,” Simba said.

Hope wrapped her arms around herself.

“What if Chuki’s sister needs medicine when I’m gone?”

Simba sighed loudly.

“I’ll take it. Give her my number here in case there’s an emergency. Maybe I can convince the pulmonary doctor I got the samples from to see her once at no charge. If you go.”

Hope studied the braided leather of her sandals.

“I’ll sleep on it. But don’t go buying plane tickets or anything,” she said. She gave Jack a tired smile for his well-intentioned role of trampled grass. “Or making promises of help. We have another wise saying in Kenya. ‘Thunder is not yet rain.’”