Facing the door, and now me, are his children. His two sons stand rod straight—one crying silently—while his daughter holds her newborn in her arms, angling the baby so her father can see. It is this gesture that finally forces me to face the reality of his consciousness. Muhtar has rejoined the land of the living.
I back away from the family reunion, but then I hear his voice. “She is beautiful.”
I have never heard his voice before. When I met him, he was already in the coma and I had imagined his voice to be rich and heavy. In reality, he hasn’t spoken in months, so his voice is high-pitched, weak, almost a whisper.
I turn and bump into Tade.
“Whoa,” he says. He stumbles backward and catches himself.
“Hey,” I say, distracted, my mind still back in Muhtar’s room. Tade looks over my shoulder at the scene.
“So, Mr. Muhtar is awake?”
“Yeah, it’s great,” I manage.
“I’m sure it is thanks to you.”
“Me ke?”
“You kept the guy going. He was never forgotten, never neglected.”
“He doesn’t know that.”
“Maybe not, but you can’t anticipate what stimuli the brain will respond to.”
“Yes.”
“Congratulations, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I wait, but he makes no mention of his promise that we would celebrate the promotion.
I sidestep him and continue down the corridor.
* * *
—
Just as I return to reception, there is a scream. The waiting patients look around themselves in surprise, while Yinka and I run toward the sound. It’s coming from room 105. Yinka flings open the door and we burst in to find Assibi and Gimpe locked together. Gimpe has Assibi in a headlock and Assibi is clawing at Gimpe’s breasts. They freeze when they see us. Yinka begins to laugh.
“Ye!” she cries after the laughter is gone from her.
“Thank you, Yinka,” I say pointedly.
She stands there, still grinning.
“Thank you,” I say again. The last thing I need is Yinka adding fuel to an already raging flame.
“What?”
“I can handle it from here.”
For a moment I think she’s going to argue, but then she shrugs. “Fine,” she mutters. She takes one more look at Assibi and Gimpe, smirks, then flounces from the room. I clear my throat.
“You stand over there, you stand over there.” When they have taken their places far away from each other, I remind them that this is a hospital and not a bar by the side of the road.
“I should have you both fired.”
“No, ma.”
“Please, ma.”
“Explain to me what was so serious that you had to fight physically.” They don’t respond. “I’m waiting.”
“It’s Gimpe. She has been trying to steal my boyfriend.”
“Oh?”
“Mohammed is not your boyfriend!” Mohammed? Seriously? Perhaps I should have left Yinka to handle this. Now that I think of it, she probably guessed what was going on.
Mohammed is a terrible cleaner with poor personal hygiene and yet he has somehow gotten these two women to fall for him, creating drama inside the hospital. He should really be fired. I would not miss him.
“I don’t care whose boyfriend Mohammed is. You people can eye each other from afar or burn each other’s houses down, but when you enter this hospital, you will behave in a professional manner or risk your jobs. Do you understand?”
They mumble something that sounds like mmmshhh shingle hghate bchich.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, ma.”
“Excellent. Please get back to work.”
When I return to reception, I find Yinka leaning back, eyes closed, mouth open.
“Yinka!” I slam a clipboard down on the countertop, startling her awake. “If I catch you sleeping again, I will write you up.”
“Who died and made you head nurse?”
“Actually,” mutters Bunmi, “they promoted her this morning.”
“What?”
“There will be a meeting about it later in the day,” I add.
Yinka doesn’t speak.
THE GAME
It’s raining, the sort of rain that wrecks umbrellas and renders a raincoat useless. We are stuck in the house—Ayoola, Tade and I. I try to avoid them, but Ayoola collars me as I walk through the living room.
“Let’s play a game!”
Tade and I sigh.
“Count me out,” I say.
“Why don’t we play, just the two of us?” Tade suggests to Ayoola. I ignore the stab to my heart.
“No. It’s a three-or-more-person game. It has to be all of us or none of us.”
“We can play checkers, or chess?”
“No. I want to play Cluedo.”
If I were Tade, I’d tell her to stuff the Cluedo up her entitled be—
“I’ll go get it.” She jumps up and leaves Tade and me in the room together. I don’t want to look at him, so I stare out the window at the washed-out scenery. The streets in the estate are empty, everyone has taken refuge indoors. In the Western world you can walk or dance in the rain, but here, the rain will drown you.
“I may have been a bit harsh the other day,” he says. He waits for me to respond, but I can think of nothing to say. “I’ve been told sisters can be very…mean to one another.”
“Who told you that?”
“Ayoola.”
I want to laugh, but it comes out like a squeak.
“She really looks up to you, you know.” I finally look at him. I look into his innocent light brown doe eyes and I wonder if I was ever like that, if I ever had that kind of innocence. He is so wonderfully normal and naïve. Maybe his naïveté is as alluring to Ayoola as it is to me—I suppose ours was beaten out of us. I open my mouth to answer, and Ayoola hops back onto the couch. She is holding the board game close to her chest. His eyes forget me and focus on her.
“Tade, have you played before?”
“No.”