Fleck+Vignette

 Anita and I are sitting in our canoe on our way to the hospital. Sara finally died yesterday after two weeks of agonizing pain. Somehow we have managed to not contract “the bug;” even after two months of being exposed to it in the hospital. Little Sukanya sits in the back humming a tune she says her mother sang to her. When we reach the hospital, Anita goes off to the ward for the most serious cases while I take Sukanya to the kitchens.

“Anjali!”

I turn around to see Carolyn, the head of the children’s ward, trotting down the hall.

“Hi, Carolyn,” Then I see her troubled expression. “Is something wrong?”

“Sara got ‘the bug.’ ”

“Oh no.” Anita and I were discussing how long she’d been working in the hospital without getting sick. We thought that we couldn’t get “the bug” because we were born in India. Sara didn’t have that advantage. It was only a matter of time before she got sick. Suddenly I realize that Sukanya has been tugging on my skirt.

“What’s wrong Sukanya?”

Sukanya doesn’t say a word. Instead she points toward the kitchen door and a pool of shattered glass. Carolyn and I rush into the kitchens to see if anything is missing. All the food is gone. Vanished. As if it had never been there. The first thing that runs into my mind is my mother’s tray of spices. I search franticly but cannot locate the bronze tray of Indian flavors. Slowly I realize what this means to everyone staying in the hospital. There must be at least 200 people in this hospital that we need to feed. Plus everyone who works here eats lunch and dinner from the kitchens.

“What on earth are we going to do?” I said while Carolyn rushed down the hall to tell the other heads. Meanwhile, I took Sukanya to go find Anita. We found her administering pain killers to the older patients. Anita could tell immediately that something was wrong.

“What happened,” she asked.

“All the food is gone. Someone broke into the kitchen and took all the food.” Then, completely out of the blue, I broke down crying. Anita was startled, but Sukanya seemed to be expecting my break-down. She began murmuring comforting words in Hindi.

“What are we going to feed the patients? What about all the kids? How are we going to get more food?”