GINGER AND BUBBLES

11| UNWRAPPED

After a computer search at the admissions, I am directed to the floor where she is held for observation. A nurse escorts me to a ward, a soothing room painted in pale, apple-green with four zoned-out patients starting into space.

The curtains are drawn around one bed. The nurse walks towards it and, pushing her head inside, she pulls the curtain to one side, gesturing for me to come closer.

Curled into a fetal position and the sheet pulled over her head, her body is motionless. My heart skips a few beats. I am overrun by a mixture of guilt which instantly turns to waves of shame that washes over me and my floods my heart with pangs of compassion.

"Hey," I say, tapping lightly on her shoulder. "I promised I'll be back." When she does not respond, I gently lift the sheet. I will myself not to look away. "You won't get rid of me this easily, Suzan."

Sensing that I'm not intimidated by the state of her face, her body slowly stirs and comes to life. I tuck the sheet under her chin and look into her face. Set into the disfigured face is one, brown eye staring at me as if to say, there! Now hit the damn door! The orifice of the missing eye is uncovered, sewn up. The shiny, black hair is shaven off and one side of her face is patched from cheek to ear.

"Go away." She turns her face to the other side.

I walk around the bed to the other side waiting for her to compose herself while my brain computes, searching for something to say. The few seconds begin to feel like an eternity. Eventually, I muster up enough courage to speak.

"Hang in there-these quacks brought you back to life, they'll fix that face in no time."

She burst out in tears. I don't know whether it's because of my feeble attempt to crack a joke at a very bad moment or not, but I give it another shot.

"You can't give up, yet. We-You're not leaving here until we have spoken to their best plastic surgeon, how about that?"

Without looking at me she begins to speak in despite a low, trembling whimper.

"I can't do this any longer," is all she manages as her voice fades into barely a whisper. "My face... it's a monstrosity..."

She is gasping for air and her voice is low, raspy, and tired. She lets out a shuddering sigh as though she just disposed of her last breath.

"Dr. Dlamini said you must give it time to heal. They'll fix it." My effort to reassure her feels off. I cringe as her wounded wails echo through the ward, down the sterile passage of the clinic, and lodges itself into my ears. When the ebb and flow of her sobs subside her shuddering double breaths taper off until all that remains is the spasmodic spasms of her chest. That, and the unspeakable lump in my throat.

"I'm unfixable...look at me..." She meets my eyes. Why did God punish me so severely?"

"No, no, you're not unfixable. Look at me." I turn her face towards me. "Your face is fixable and, trust me, it will be fixed as soon as you are out of this mental haze."

Almost immediately the telephone call from Rowena dawns on me.

"Your memory will come back... Don't you remember what Dr. Dlamini said? Time and patience. And me. I'm here for you." She remains mute, her head turned away. "When your memory comes back we'll celebrate. That's, that's-something to work towards. That will be huge, won't it?"

"Take me home, I want to go home."

Before I can reply she's already tugging at the wires in her arm and throwing off the sheet. I step forward and help her out of the bed, and  outside the curtain to provide her the necessary privacy.

I go to the little island in the centre of the corridor outside the wards where the nurses are stationed. After they hear of her determination to discharge herself they rush to her. She's busy ripping out the intravenous drip. Two nurses are busy restraining her, talking and pleading in stern tones, but once it becomes apparent that it is impossible to convince her to stay they agree to consult with her treating psychiatrist and report back. Much later they return with a wheelchair, medication, and discharge forms as well as a patch for her eye.

One of the nurses carefully drapes a headscarf around her head and face and secures it with a concealed safety pin on the disfigured side of her face. When we make our way to the exit she barely attracts any attention.

It is 3 pm. She's settled in her room and we've agreed that I would stay and assist until the plaster from her arm and leg are removed. Very soon tiredness overwhelms me and I fall asleep on her couch. When I open my eyes it is dark and quiet. I jump up and switch on the light. It is 8 pm. I will not make it. I send Slit a message and wait a few minutes, but there is no reply from him.

I must talk to my handler. Immediately. I step outside and go down to the communal entertainment area. I only know him as B, but he is also my only link to the secret network that recruited me a year ago to infiltrate Slit's unit.

"B, we must meet. I'm in trouble."