The smell. Clean, sharp, chemical. But safe. Mehret knew she was in a hospital. Why am I here? Cool bedlinen bunched in her sudden grip. Mehret opened her eyes wide.
‘Hello, Princess, how are you feeling?’
Mehret smiled. ‘Hello, Poppa. They sent me back. They said I wasn’t ready.’
‘Sent you back where? Who sent you?’ Poppa’s voice went quiet, the smile left his eyes.
‘My sisters. They sent me back to you.’ Mehret thought for a moment. ‘They’re nice; they’re so . . . shiny.’
‘You don’t have any sisters . . .’ There was puzzlement in his voice now.
‘I know.’ The light seemed very bright, Mehret closed her eyes again. It seemed strange to be in a hospital, but no more strange, she told herself, than waking up in her bed this morning, half a world and two weeks away from her old home. She heard voices, but it wasn’t them; it was Poppa speaking with a doctor. He sounded worried.
‘Are you sure that she wasn’t hurt?’
Does he mean me? I feel wonderful. Why can’t they be quiet? Mehret wanted to get back to her dream. It was fading as she grasped at it. Footsteps were coming closer, when she opened her eyes again, the doctor was looking down at her.
‘Well, little lady, everything’s going to be fine, we’ll soon have you right as rain.’
Mehret couldn’t think why rain should be right. The doctor started talking; but it all felt as if she were talking to someone else. Someone as distant as Mehret’s old home. The doctor strapped some sort of device to Mehret’s arm, taking note of the numbers, then shone a light in her eyes, still talking away. Mehret just wanted to be left alone, but she tried not to let it show, because the doctor was obviously trying to be nice. And she had a nice smile.
‘Tell me, how old are you, uh, Mehret?’
‘Nearly twelve.’
‘Really? You’ll be tall then, like your father.’
The doctor wanted to know where Mehret lived; fortunately she had memorised the address, so the strange syllables rolled off her tongue – otherwise the doctor might have thought her a bit strange, or stunned, or both. An address. It felt wrong to have an address, as though she was just an interchangeable anybody, as if nobody would know who she was without one. What school did she go to? Could she see this pen if the doctor held it here? Mehret answered without thinking, until the doctor put her clipboard down and smiled.
‘Well, young lady, I’m pleased to say I can’t find anything wrong with you. No double vision or blurring?’ The doctor smiled as Mehret shook her head. ‘Did you hit your head very hard?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t remember hitting my head at all.’
‘I see. Has anything like this happened before? No?’ The doctor made a note on her pad. ‘Well, we have a special machine, the MRI, which lets us look inside your head, using really strong magnets. Nothing to worry about; it’s probably not necessary, but better safe than sorry.’
Mehret closed her eyes, the dream seemed completely beyond her reach now, so she tried to remember what had happened before the dream. Someone had stolen a book from an old man and she had chased after the thief until he had thrown the book at her. The book hadn’t hit her; she had stumbled as she dodged it, but she hadn’t fallen over, had she? The last thing she remembered was picking the book up. That didn’t make much sense. Still, the doctor said there was nothing wrong with her.
I feel great. And I ran faster than the school bus. I knew I could. Then it struck her, she had collapsed just as the bus had caught up. How many people saw me topple onto the sidewalk like a felled tree? Oh no. They’ll all be laughing at me tomorrow. Maybe the doctor can find something wrong with me, so I don’t have to go to school.
Mehret was moved onto a gurney and taken for her scan. The porter kept on telling her jokes which she didn’t understand, she tried to laugh in the right places, but wasn’t sure how well she was doing, as he gave her some funny looks.
There was a small room where nurses prepared her for the MRI scan. The nurses were calm and friendly, so Mehret didn’t worry. She kept still, immobilised, while they prepared to slide her into a round hole in a big white metal box.
‘Don’t move now, darling, or we’ll have to do it again, and next time we’ll have to use a needle.’
Someone gently pushed an earplug into each of her ears, and everything seemed even more distant and unreal than before. She resisted the temptation to try and look around her as she was slid slowly into the circular opening. She closed her eyes. There was a noise like a washing machine with a half brick and a cat inside, she could hear it despite the earplugs. She felt oddly detached from what was going on around her. She tried to recapture her dream, but the images faded as she fought to reclaim them. Still, there was something about that dream, nagging at her, almost as if someone was tugging at her sleeve. She forgot about being in the big boxy machine, which was silent now. Mehret opened her eyes again as she was unstrapped and put back on the gurney.
* * *
‘No sign of any injury to the head, no trauma, just some scrapes and grazes, mainly on her left arm. She’ll be fine. To tell the truth we can’t see any reason for Mehret to have lost consciousness; she appears to be surprisingly healthy. And you say she has no history of seizures. Hmm . . . she may have fainted. She said she was running immediately prior to the episode, but there are no indications of hypoxia, so it may be vasovagal. Just make sure your daughter has a little peace and quiet – takes it easy for a couple of days, just in case, and let us know if it happens again.’
‘Thank you.’ Poppa smiled and turned to Mehret. ‘Come on, let’s get you out of here and let the doctors and nurses look after the people who really need them.’
Mehret swung her legs off the bed, she looked down at the gown, where were her clothes? ‘Have I been here long?’
Poppa handed Mehret her clothes; all her things were in a large lidless plastic container. ‘A few hours, maybe. I got here about half an hour after you did. There are two policemen waiting outside. They say they want to speak with you. You didn’t . . . I mean, you haven’t done anything silly, have you?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Mehret wriggled into her smock top. ‘Only someone stole a book from this old man and I chased him until he dropped it.’
‘You didn’t get hit or anything?’
‘No. I tripped. I think.’ Mehret could see that Poppa wanted to say something, but the two police officers who had spoken to her earlier were waiting. She shoved her feet into her shoes and tugged on the laces, knotting them swiftly. Poppa would be proud; she had helped an old man, now the police were going to say thank you.
After a lecture on the perils of confronting street crime unless properly trained, Mehret had completely lost her appetite.
They were about to leave when one of the policemen held up a hand. ‘One last thing before you go, the gentleman you helped, he asked us to give you his thanks, and his business card. He seemed quite concerned about you, he said he wanted to thank you in person for retrieving an, umm, a unique and irreplaceable book.’
Mehret took the card the officer held out to her, a glimmer of a smile brushed over her face. Perhaps she could eat a little something after all.