Integers, Parabolas, and Jivika

RADNYA, Part 3: Goondas and Government Spies

Radnya says, "Yes, ma'am."

"Yes ma'am what?" The "what" is drawn out like "whaaat," but the woman stays monotone.

Radnya busies herself assigning Roman numerals to the panels of the ceiling. "I am honest," she lies. "No one forces me to do anything, ma'am."

" 'Ma'am' is a formality. Try 'Ucchal,' my name. You didn't know I had a name, did you? I bet you think I power down and get put in storage once I complete my interrogations."

Radnya reaches for the woman's wrist and begins playing with the bracelets encircling it. "I am calling you 'ma'am' and that's that."

"Suit yourself. Nonetheless, a name glints in a sea of strangers, radiating among them and inspiring them to commune." The woman chuckles, partly at herself, partly with herself. "So, if you want this interview to end, give me your name like I gave you mine."

"Radnya, ma'am."

"Do you live with your parents, Radnya?"

"No, ma'am."

"How old are you?"

"Nineteen, ma'am."

"What happened to your ear?"

"A worker carrying planks knocked into me by accident on the street."

Ucchal studies her iPad, sliding her pinky across it, and Radnya tilts toward the screen. Ucchal quickly closes an app. "Nosy one, aren't you?" She seems like an alternate version of Radnya, like an elderly Radnya, proper and kempt and reeking of mukhwas. "I wish you would make my job easier."

Radnya realizes she has stolen one of the woman's bracelets. She hands it back. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

"Just how often is that ceiling cleaned?"

Ucchal looks up where Radnya is looking. "Often."

The girl scoffs. "What kind of answer is that?"

"Why does the ceiling matter?"

"Because I have never seen a ceiling that clean"—she motions downward—"nor a floor that clean, nor a bed as clean as the one I am sitting on. How do you get a room to be this immaculate? How many times do you have to clean it, specifically, in a week or a month, for instance?"

"Can't say. I don't work in the hospital."

The girl scrunches her face, squeezes her eyes tightly shut. "So let's assume a custodian cleaned this room three times a day—"

"Well, after every patient the room is cleaned, or it won't stay sterile."

"Say you have forty patients a day—"

"That might be shy—"

"Eighty patients. Eighty-eight? A hundred. 388!"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Three cleanings after each patient, so . . . 1,164 cleanings a day. Then in a week that's . . . 8,148 cleanings. . . and in a year that's . . . ehm . . . 419,040 cleanings."

Ucchal pats Radnya's leg. "Hey! Excellent!"

". . . then if you take a custodian's entire career, say, forty years . . ." Radnya massages a migraine, grinds her teeth, and goes pink. ". . . that's, uh . . ."