fluid, quite unlike the flaccid pink coils of the rest of the bowel. He could see the spot where the twist had occurred, deep in the belly. Gently manipulating the two limbs of the loop, he untwisted, clockwise, just as Cope said. He heard a gurgle and at once the blue color began to wash out of the ballooned segment. It pinked up at the edges.
He felt through the bowel wall for the rectal tube that Nurse Asqual had inserted. He fed it up like a curtain rod in a loop. When the tube reached the distended bowel, they were rewarded with a loud sigh and the rattle of fluid and gas hitting the bucket below. “And down the coil contracts and you will see, the parts arranged more as they ought to be,” Ghosh said, and the probationer, who had no idea what he was talking about, said, “Yes, Dr. Ghosh.”
Ghosh flexed his gloved fingers. They looked competent and powerful—a surgeon's hands. You can't feel this way, he thought, unless you have the ultimate responsibility.
AFTER HE CLOSED, as he was stripping off his gloves, he saw Hema's face in the glass of the swinging doors. It disappeared. He charged after her. She ran, but he soon caught up with her in the walkway. She stood panting against the pillar. “So?” she said when she could speak. “It went well?”
They were both grinning. “Yes … I just untwisted the loop.” He couldn't hide the pride and excitement in his voice.
“It could twist again.”
“Well, his choice was either me or nothing, since the other doctor here would not help.”
“True. Good for you. I've got to go. Almaz and Rosina are watching the babies.”
“Hema?”
“What?”
“You would have helped if I got into trouble?”
“No, I was just stretching my legs …” Despite herself, a twinkle showed in her eyes. “Silly. What did you think?”
With Hema, even sarcasm felt like a gift. He fought the instinct to jump forward, the eager puppy too ready to forget the cuffing it had received minutes before.
“Just yesterday,” Hema said, “I drove past the spot where we saw that first hanging, and I thought about it …” She seemed to study him meditatively “Have you eaten anything today?”
That was when he noticed: His beloved, his Madras-returned, unmarried beauty, was more
“I've not eaten since you left for India,” he said, which was almost true.
“You've lost weight. It doesn't look good. Come by and eat. There's food, tons of it. Everybody keeps bringing food.”
She walked off. He studied the way the flesh on her buttocks swung this way, and that, about to sail off her hips. She'd brought back from India more of herself to love. It was the worst time for this, but he was aroused.
He dressed and found himself thinking about the operation again. Should I have tacked the sigmoid colon to the abdominal wall to prevent it twisting again? Didn't I see Stone do this? Colopexy I think he called it. Had Stone spoken to me about the danger of a colopexy and warned against it, or had he recommended it? I hope we took out all the sponges. Should have counted once more. I should've taken one more look. Checked for bleeders while I was at it. He recalled Stone saying,
IT WAS LATE EVENING before the hospital staff gathered by the gaping cavity in the earth, now shored up with timber. There was no time to waste, because by Ethiopian tradition, no one eats till the body is interred. That meant the nurses and probationers were starving. The casket arrived on the shoulders of orderlies treading the same path down which Sister Mary Joseph Praise would come to sit in this grove. Hema trailed behind the pallbearers, walking with Stone's maid, Rosina, and with Ghosh's maid, Almaz, the three of them taking turns carrying the two infants who where bundled up in blankets.
They laid the casket down by the edge of the grave, and removed the lid. There were sobs and strangled cries as those who had yet to see the body pressed closer.
The nurses had dressed Sister Mary Joseph Praise in the clothes the young nun first donned when she pledged body and soul to Christ—her “bridal” dress. The arching, hooded veil was to show that her mind was not on earthly things but on the kingdom of heaven; it was the symbol of her being dead to the world, but in the gathering mist it was no longer a symbol. The starched guimpe around her neck hung down like a bib. Her habit was white, interrupted by a plaited white cord. Sister Mary Joseph Praise's hands emerged from the sleeves and met in the middle, the fingers resting on her Bible and a rosary. Discalced Carmelites originally shunned footwear—hence the term “discalced.” Sister Mary Joseph Praise's order had been practical enough to wear sandals. Matron had left her feet bare.
Matron chose not to call Father de la Rosa of St. Joseph's Catholic Church, because he was a man who had a disapproving manner even when there was nothing to disapprove, and there was plenty here. She almost called Andy McGuire from the Anglican church; he would have been a comfort and most willing. But in the end Matron felt that Sister Mary Joseph Praise would have wanted no one but her Missing family to see her off. The same instinct led Matron to ask Gebrew earlier that day to prepare to say a short prayer. Sister was always respectful of Gebrew, even though his being a priest was incidental to his duties as watchman and gardener; she would have appreciated how much it honored and consoled Gebrew to be called on in this fashion.
In the cool and very still air, Matron held up her hand. “Sister Mary Joseph Praise would have said, ‘Don't grieve for me. Christ is my salvation.’ That must be our consolation as well.” Matron lost her train of thought. What else was there? She nodded at Gebrew who was immaculately dressed in a white tunic extending to his knees, trousers underneath, and tightly coiled turban on his head. These were the ceremonial clothes he wore only on Timkat, the day of the Epiphany. Gebrew s liturgy was in ancient Biblical Geez, the official language of the Ethio pian Orthodox Church. With great effort, he kept his singsong recitation short. Then the nurses and probationers sang Sister Mary Joseph Praise's favorite hymn, one she had taught them and which they favored in morning chapel in the nurses’ hostel.
They all pushed forward, straining for a last look before the lid was nailed in place. Gebrew would say later that Sister Mary Joseph Praise's face glowed, her expression was peaceful, knowing her ordeal on earth was over. Almaz insisted that a lilac scent emerged as the lid went down.
Ghosh felt a message being conveyed to him. Sister seemed to be saying,
Hema, standing close, vowed silently to Sister Mary Joseph Praise that shed look after us as if we were her own.
With ropes under the casket, the coolies lowered Sister into her grave. The heavy stones required by Ethiopian tradition were handed down to the taller coolie whose feet were perched on either side of the coffin. The stones were to keep hyenas out.
At last the two men pushed the earth back to fill in the grave, the service all but over. All but the ululations.
Shiva and I, so new to life, were startled by that unearthly sound. We opened our eyes to contemplate a world in which so much was already amiss.
