Page 33 of Six Days in Bombay

The next night, I arrived for my shift in a brilliant mood. Mira was healthy again and back in her modern apartment. And I would get to see Amit, something that made me nervous and excited at the same time.

Last night, as soon as I entered our flat, my mother had peppered me with questions. I described to her in detail what the women at the Singh party were wearing, what people thought of my emerald dress, what Gayatri Kaur looked like, what delicacies were served, a few of the conversations I’d overheard. I left out the ones I wasn’t meant to hear. Thankfully, my mother attributed my giddy retelling to the glamour of the event, not to the moment Amit and I had shared, which I would also keep to myself.

Rebecca came into the stockroom as I was changing. “Mira Novak is back.” She reached in her locker for her uniform.

“Back?”

“She was brought in again. High fever. I heard she was at some fancy do last night. Probably not the best idea, given how sick she’s been.” She pinned her hair up and put her cap on her head. “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

I sat heavily on the bench, replaying scenes from the Singh party. Had Mira been hiding her pain?

Rebecca leaned against the closed door of her locker. A smile was playing about her lips. “She’s a bit of a princess, isn’t she? Always getting what she wants. I wonder if Dr. Holbrook would have allowed her to go home?”

I felt defensive on behalf of Amit. I wanted to tell her I was there when Mira said she was leaving the hospital and there was no arguing with her—which supported Rebecca’s claim that she was a princess. That much was true, but there was so much more to Mira than that. I opened my mouth to explain but thought the better of it. Rebecca was goading me. If I responded, I might say something I would later regret.

Rebecca pushed herself off her locker. “She may not make it this time.”

My breathing slowed. “What do you mean?”

“Just that. She’s really sick. She should never have left the hospital. But you would have known that, being her night nurse.” Did I see a glimmer of satisfaction on her face before she left the room?

I tied my apron hastily and pinned my hat on. My heart was beating fast, faster. Mira had seemed so lively at the party last night. How could she have relapsed so quickly?

I rushed to her room. Mira’s forehead was lined with sweat. I wiped it down with a cold washcloth. I took her pulse, which was slow. I checked her chart. She’d come in two hours before my shift and was administered morphine for the pain. Dr. Holbrook hadn’t seen her, but Amit had, and he’d recommended more morphine in another hour. Mira opened her eyes when I called her name.

“I’m going to take your temperature. Open your mouth,” I coaxed.

“Sona,” she said. “The paintings.”

I looked behind me. They were gone of course. The paintings had been removed yesterday when Mira was discharged. Probably sent back to her apartment.

“Downstairs,” she said.

“Downstairs?”

She nodded, just barely moving her head.

There was only one floor below us. The equipment room.

I was still holding the thermometer. “The paintings are in the equipment room?”

She nodded again. She swallowed and then let out a jagged scream. My stomach churned from seeing her in so much pain.

I put the thermometer in my apron pocket and reached for the syringe. I cleaned her skin and plunged the needle into her vein, giving her only half the amount in the vial. The other half would have to wait for another hour. Within seconds, she calmed down.

My breathing was labored. I’d almost felt my heart stop. I went to the room sink and splashed cold water on my face. Right, I told myself, I needed to do something, take action. Mira had sweat so much she would need a change of sheets. I would go to the stockroom to get fresh sheets and towels. But first, I would talk to Matron or Amit or Dr. Holbrook, whomever I saw first, about why she had relapsed.

It happened during the twenty minutes I left her room.

Don’t allow yourself to get too close to the sick. Well, it was too late now. Mira was not just another patient to me. I ran to Matron’s office. It was empty. Dr. Holbrook was in surgery. I looked for Amit on every floor. Where was he? I hurried to the stockroom to pick up a clean set of sheets and towels and get back to Mira. I was still a few doors away when I saw Rebecca leave Mira’s room and proceed down the hall in the opposite direction. I slowed. What was Rebecca doing in Mira’s room? Had Mira called out for someone to help while I was gone?

When I entered the room, I could tell something was amiss. Still carrying the sheets, I ran to her bed. Her pallor was a sickly gray and her lips were turning purple. Her breathing was so shallow her chest barely rose. Her skin was clammy. I rangthe red bell next to the bed—the one that sounded the general alarm—to summon help while I checked her pulse. Faint. Even so, I asked, “Miss Novak?” She’d been doing so well last night. What had triggered the recurrence? We had all hoped for a full recovery.

Within moments, Matron burst into the room, followed by Amit. I stepped aside to await orders. Mira’s chest was no longer moving.

Amit pressed his stethoscope on Mira’s chest. He checked inside her mouth, the needle mark on the inside of her elbow where I’d given her the morphine shot. He stretched her upper eyelids to check her pupils. He pumped her chest, then checked her heartbeat with his stethoscope again. He did this multiple times until, with a sigh, he stopped. He glanced at Matron and something passed between them. Matron kissed the cross on the chain she wore around her neck. My hand flew to my mouth to keep from crying out. Amit shot me a look, a silent apology.

Just then, Mira’s husband stepped into the room. Filip Bartos stood perfectly still, his eyes scanning the room: Mira, Matron, the doctor, me. He looked alarmed, the strongest expression I’d ever seen in his face.

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