Fifteen Lanes - S.J. Laidlaw Page 0,40

it in?”

Shami furrowed his brow. I took that for an affirmative and led him through the crowd to the doctor’s office. We entered a tiny waiting room with two vinyl-cushioned chairs and one metal-and-plastic one. The nurse sat in the metal chair and reached for a clipboard. She directed us to sit as well. I pulled Shami onto my lap but he wiggled off and climbed onto his own chair. It was covered in bright red fabric that looked like leather but wasn’t. Shami pressed his finger into the cushion and giggled in wonderment when it regained its shape.

“Why are you here?” asked the nurse.

As if on cue, Shami started to cough violently. The nurse looked alarmed, though she must have dealt with this kind of sickness many times.

“How old is he?” she asked.

“Two and four months.”

She looked surprised. “He looks younger. I thought under a year. And what is the patient’s name?”

“Shami,” said Shami.

I added our family name and answered her other questions with the lies I’d rehearsed.

She had him stand on a scale and weighed him. His weight had dropped since our last visit to a doctor two weeks ago. I bowed my head in shame, though the nurse couldn’t have known. Finally she told us to wait and disappeared through an inner door, where I knew from experience the doctor would be finishing up with another patient.

Ten minutes later the nurse reappeared and ushered us into the examining room. The doctor was a woman. She looked around the same age as Ma but years younger at the same time. Her glossy black hair hung loose around her shoulders. Her back was straight, her eyes clear. The first time I’d encountered a woman doctor, I was surprised to discover women could be doctors, but now I knew they were as common as men, at least at the free clinics.

Familiar with the routine, I lifted Shami onto her examination table and took the wooden chair next to it. She sat on a rolling chair that allowed her to roam the empty space between her desk on the far wall and us. She slid up next to me and grinned. It made me nervous to have her so close.

“So, who have we here?” she asked, reading the chart.

“This is Shami. He has a cough with blood. My name is Noor. I’m his sister.” While she’d asked her question in Hindi, I’d answered her in English, for the same reason I’d put on my school uniform that day. She might know my caste from my family name, if not my too-dark skin, but I would do everything I could to give her the impression I was from a respectable family.

“Where are your parents, Noor?”

“My father is dead. My mother is sick. She wanted to come today but she was too weak.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. When did your father die?”

I didn’t hesitate. I’d told this lie many times. “Three years ago. He had a heart attack.”

“I see. And what’s wrong with your mother?”

“She has a fever. It’s probably just a virus.” I blanched, realizing what I’d just said. In our neighborhood a virus meant only one thing. “Like the flu,” I added, “or a bacterial infection.”

“A bacterial infection?” She had a mischievous gleam in her eye. It made me feel even more jittery. “Or a virus. Well, that covers it, doesn’t it? How old are you, Noor?”

“Fifteen,” I lied again. I’m not even sure why I told that lie. Fifteen was no better than my real age, twelve and a half. Either way, I was still a minor with no right to make any decisions for myself, much less my brother.

“And you go to school. What standard?”

“Nine.” This was only a minor lie. I was in eight, which was correct for my real age. I couldn’t say that though because nine was already a year behind for my fake age.

The doctor gave me an appraising look. “Your English is very good. You must study hard.”

I didn’t know how to answer this as my lie suggested the opposite.

“I’m trying to catch up,” I finally said. “I got sick last year and had to repeat.”

“Hmmm, a lot of sickness in your family. What were you sick with?”

I stalled again. She asked more questions than most free clinic doctors. Usually they were too busy. No wonder she had such a crowd waiting outside. I considered pointing that out.

“Pneumonia.” Shami had had pneumonia several times, so I was familiar with the symptoms. If she wanted