Page 35 of Six Days in Bombay

“You do believe me, Matron?” I tried to keep the desperation out of my voice, but I needed her to know I would never have been so careless as to overdose a patient.

Her eyes strayed from mine. She said, “It won’t be just up to me. We’ll leave that decision to the board.” She stopped just shy of patting my shoulder before withdrawing her hand. The accusationstood between us. “You have other patients to attend to. Go.”

Slowly, I rose from the chair, trying to recount every minute detail of the afternoon. Did I make a mistake in her dosage because I was so upset by the turn she’d taken? Was I only imagining that I followed protocol? I’d always been conscientious. I took my responsibilities seriously. The religious sisters at Wadia Hospital were Catholic like Matron, and so were some of the Indian nurses, having been raised in convents, but since I practiced no faith, the other nurses had kept their distance. The only nurse who’d befriended me was Indira. She’d been like a sister to me until her husband drove her away. Mohan told me she’d taken a job at another hospital. She would have understood how I felt. Who would support me now, attest to my competence?

The idea of a new patient in Mira’s bed filled me with dread. They would never be as interesting as Mira Novak. How would I compensate for my small life without hearing about her large one? The biggest risk I’d ever taken was kissing Amit, and I was sure it was because Mira had made me bolder, made me feel I could do extraordinary things, things I’d never thought myself capable of.You will love, Sona, she’d said.

A worm of doubt snaked its way into my memory. Was it possible that I failed to sterilize the needle? I knew Mira had been poorly so I was saving the leftover morphine for when she needed it next. Did I forget to note it on her chart? The clipboard had been removed so there was no way for me to confirm it. And why would I have left the morphine in the room like that?

What about Dr. Holbrook’s claim to Matron that Horace had been ordering substandard drugs for the pharmacy? Had I been giving Mira adulterated morphine? Perhaps the reason she recovered briefly was because Matron had reprimanded Horace after her chat with Holbrook? And if Dr. Holbrook had been right about the pharmacist but neglected to tell Amit what he thought, was he complicit in Mira’s death?

My thoughts turned to Rebecca again. Could she have given Mira the extra morphine while I was in the storeroom? But why? To get me in trouble? To spite Mira? After all, Rebecca despised me. She thought I’d deliberately pushed her when we were tending to Mr. Hassan. She complained to Matron about my fraternizing with patients. She always thought Matron favored me and told me as much:You’d have to murder someone to get on Matron’s bad side.But did she hate me enough to risk a patient’s life? Perhaps she only meant to hurt Mira, not cause her death.

Oh, why had I left the room? Would this have happened if I’d stayed where I was? Kept watch over Mira while she slept? But I only left the room to look for the three people who knew more about Mira’s care than anyone else. I was trying to help her. That’s why I wasn’t there when she died.

I went in search of Amit. I knew I should have been attending to my other patients, but my head was filled with the void left by Mira. His office door was open, but he wasn’t there. Disappointed, I decided to check in with Ralph Stoddard. He was getting nearer his discharge date, and I would be sorry to see him go.

“Who died?” he said as soon as I entered his room. Mr. Hassan was sleeping peacefully in his bed. His new novel,Anandamathby Bankim Chandra Chatterjee, lay by his side.

My eyes became watery, but I wouldn’t let the tears fall.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear. Sweet girl.” He held out his hands for me to grasp. He looked around his bed for a handkerchief, but I got there first. I rubbed my eyes with my own handkerchief, apologizing for showing such emotion.

“Not at all. Now tell me what’s happened.”

“Mira—Miss Novak—she…” I couldn’t finish the sentence.

“But I saw her just yesterday. Timothy took me in that wheelchair all the way to the discharge station, and she was right as rain. Had a big blond chap with her.”

I nodded, struggling to keep my voice normal. “Her husband,Filip Bartos.” I cleared my throat. “Why don’t I take your pulse and your temperature?” I did that, while Dr. Stoddard looked kindly upon me.

“We could play a game of backgammon if that would help.” Through his horn-rimmed spectacles, I saw the rheumy blue eyes of a man who had seen his share of tragedy. Who was I to bring yet another to his doorstep?

I shook my head. He watched me write his vitals on the chart. “You’re being discharged in two days. You must be pleased.”

“Yes, but I will miss you, you know.”

“And I, you, Dr. Stoddard.” I forced myself to give him a smile. My lips barely moved, but it was the best I could do.

After tending to my next two patients, the new mother with the baby boy who lay next to her, and an elderly woman with piles (she took the place of the boy who’d had his tonsils removed), I went once more to Amit’s office. Still empty.

***

The broiler of the mechanical room made its own music—a low hum punctuated with a sharp clang at regular intervals. Mohan was dismantling a crate, the sort medical instruments arrived in.

I coughed politely to let him know I was there. He looked up, straightened and raised his brows. “I heard,” was all he said. Word of death traveled quickly in a hospital. Unlike Rebecca, he looked genuinely upset about Mira’s death. “How are you?”

I shrugged, afraid I would burst into tears if I said anything. I knew my eyes were red from crying.

Mohan wiped his paint-stained hands on a rag, which had seen its share of work over the years. It was a relief to know that he and I were friends once again. It would have been understandable for him to avoid me, his disappointment over my refusal to become his wife clouding our friendship.

“Did Miss Novak send paintings down here,bhai?”

He looked over my left shoulder at a corner of the room.“Yes. I have them here. I was wondering if someone would be picking them up.”

“Before she died…” I had to stop to gather myself. “She told me the paintings were here. I assumed she wanted me to package them to send to her husband.”

Mohan walked to where the paintings leaned against the wall. He had taken care to put a piece of wood underneath them to keep paint and grease off them.

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