Repeating the same fast movement, Sitara removed each of the needles from her patient's skin. They were still humming as she dropped them into the sharps container next to the bed.
"We're done," she said. "When you're ready, you can get up."
Scratching his head, Patrick sat up and swung his legs several times before he jumped down. As Sitara wrote out a receipt, he shed more energy by unfastening and refastening his watch-strap. She could see that she was still running more than forty-five minutes behind.
"Shall we book another?" she asked.
"Yes, of course. Same time next week."
Like clockwork, she thought. Something to write in his book. "Try this," she said, handing him a bottle of herbs. "It will help to resolve your phlegm."
"I will, I will. Thank you." He jittered out the door.
Sitting briefly before admitting her next patient, Sitara lifted the lid of her teacup. There was no steam, but still she took a sip. Hot, green tea is bliss, she thought, cold, it is piss. She could no longer recall his face, but a professor at college had spoken it repeatedly—his own personal mantra. Even with its lid, her thin porcelain mug couldn't keep things permanently warm.
Standing again, Sitara looked out the window. There was a breeze on Hollis Street—she could see the bare-branched trees swaying—although no air moved through the clinic. For months she had been meaning to buy a fan. Lifting the brown and white shell from its place on the windowsill, she took one last long breath before leaving her office. Cool lavender to soothe her childhood heat.
Her next patient was an eighteen-month-old baby who had been waiting, more or less quietly, on the lap of her frizzyhaired mother. The toddler suffered from severe allergies, and visits to the clinic were becoming routine.
"Come in, Liz. I'm sorry you had to wait so long."
The woman stood, brushed some of the crumbs off her warm, creased lap, and carried her daughter into Sitara's office.
"How are you, Bella?" Sitara asked.
"Her runny nose is still bad," Liz answered. "And the only thing she'll eat right now is banana."
"Actually, banana is another food you should try to avoid for awhile."
"I'll try," Liz said, putting her daughter down on the examination bed.
"Alright Bella," Sitara whispered, as she reached for the baby's small hand, "let's see if we can toughen you up some more. Show me your tongue."
Bella turned away and buried her face in her mother's shoulder.
Liz laughed. "I saw plenty of that tongue this morning, believe me—every time I tried to give her a spoonful of anything. She just doesn't want to eat."
"Is it still swollen?" Sitara asked.
"Yes."
"Do you think she'll lie down?"
"It's possible, but I wouldn't count on it." Liz turned to Bella. "Hey sweetie, it's sleepy time. Do you want to lie down and look at the stars?"
"Uh-uh." Bella shook her head.
"It would be a big help to Mommy."
"Ahhhhhhh." Bella grabbed her mother's hair.
"Alright, maybe we'll try it like this." Liz climbed onto the white-covered bed beside her daughter and, sitting cross-legged, lifted Bella into her arms.
Sitara opened the drawer and pulled out a fresh packet of needles. The baby's skin matched her mother's perfectly—identical texture, hue, freckledness. They looked like they belonged together, as if one would be incomplete without the other. Sitara swabbed at the spot where she wanted to place the first needle, while Liz sang quietly to her squirming daughter.
Sarasvati wraps two arms around me. With a third, she smoothes my licorice hair, and with a fourth, she draws spirals like smoke rings on my cheeks. I hold her sari in my hands. It is burgundy and green—smooth and silky as coconut milk. There are old Sanskrit lullabies embroidered with gold thread in rows along the border. She sings them for me as she rocks me to sleep, her breath sweet with the smell of halvah.
As Sitara placed the first needle, the baby began to scream. Bella's pale skin was irritated and impressionable. Every time Sitara held her, she made a red blotch with her thumb.
"I'm sorry, little one," she said, trying to make her work as gentle as possible. "This won't take long." Still trying to clear the baby's congestion, Sitara inserted another needle.
I take a deep breath in, although only one of my nostrils is clear, and then breathe out fast and hard trying to flap the white paper tissue that hangs over my nose. Unsatisfied, I try again. I want to make the bird fly. The tissue is a white swan and I know that if I try hard enough, it will fly back to Sarasvati, with me tucked safely under its wings. I have been sniffing for as long as I can remember. Today is the first day I can breathe without having my mouth hang open. Bapa has just given me a steam bath because in the night I kept him awake with my snoring.
"Sitara is sick," I hear him say to Parvati.
"What do you mean?"
"She has a sniffle."
"She's a child," Parvati says. "They all get sniffles. Tell her to go to bed."
And so my bapa leads me back to bed. I complain because it's Saturday and he promised to take me to the park. But he is afraid of my mother and says that we can't go out. He offers to show me his book, but I dive under the blankets and hide there until he is gone. Then I slink over to the window and, using my dresser as a chair, I look out and watch other kids playing on the street.
Sitara removed the needles from the baby's small body. Bella was tense from screaming and Sitara wondered if any of her treatment would actually help.
"Let me know what happens," she told Liz. "And call me if you need anything. My answering machine is always on even if I'm not here."
"I thank you, even if Bella doesn't," Liz replied.
"She'll be fine." Sitara smiled. "She's strong and she'll find more strength in how much you love her."
"I can only keep trying."
"You're doing great, Liz." Sitara put her hand on the woman's burdened shoulder. "Goodbye Bella."
Liz smiled but Bella hid her face again and played at being coy.
"She really does like you. She sits by the door waiting when she knows it's time to come here."
"It's alright," Sitara said, laughing. "I've always been someone people love to hate."
"Thanks again," Liz said. She and Bella slipped out the door.
Following their path to the waiting room, Sitara prepared to accept her next patient, but there was no one there. She double-checked her calendar and confirmed that Rafqa had a three o'clock appointment. It wasn't often that her patients were late, especially when she herself was running behind. Distractedly, she went back into her office and sat down. The wind whipped a maze of brown leaves past her window—they tumbled like the half-digested chunks of almonds in the pit of her stomach. She stood up and plugged the kettle in to make more tea.
I am dressed in a silky black sari that shines as much as my hair, which is pulled back softly with a gold-coloured clip. On my left wrist I have twenty-seven glass and metal bangles—almost two for every year. The high-heeled shoes I wear are borrowed from the woman across the hall and I have paper stuffed in the toes to make them fit. Bapa stands and admires me in the front hall. I think he is proud of me for graduating, but he says he simply wants to remember my beauty.
We are waiting for Parvati to finish on the telephone.