Approaching Zero

by R. T Broughton

  By the time Suri was ten, their lives had changed completely. Suri’s name was synonymous with the word miracle and the occasional visitor had been replaced by a queue outside the home, which was now on the outskirts of the village, the waterside dwelling no longer appropriate. Suri, herself, was becoming more of the child that Kathy would recognize—the petite features forming and sharpening and the trademark smile still ever-present. Mohammad and Keajaiban still fished for their pot and for those in the village less fortunate than themselves, but there was no longer a pressure to provide. Aisyah now stayed at home with her miracle daughter and although they asked for nothing in return for the healing Suri gave, not a single visitor left without leaving something, even if it was simply a handful of rice. Consequently their home, although still modest, was far more comfortable than anything they could have aspired to previously and included the technology that was to become so precious to Suri—the TV and video player.

  One early morning, after Mustapha and Keajaiban had left for the river and Aisyah and Suri were setting about their household duties for the day, there was a knock on the door. This wasn’t unusual, even at the early hour, but they had both hoped for a little more time before the rush began.

  When Aisyah opened the door she was greeted by a plump Indian woman who spoke to her in English. Although Aisyah couldn’t understand, TV and movies had been a great teacher for Suri and they exchanged words. The woman was accompanied by two children who were also fatter than any person Suri had ever seen, coming as she did from a place of lack.

  “Please, I need your help,” the woman began in a thick accent.

  Suri smiled her illuminating smile and beckoned the woman into her home and onto a chair. The two young boys bounded in after her. They seemed completely oblivious to the serenity and calm of the space created by Suri and her mother, or in fact that their mother was obviously suffering, as they squabbled and squealed and fought with each other, all the time cramming pakoras into their mouths.

  “It is my leg,” the woman pleaded and pulled her bright sari up to her knees to show Suri the problem. What she revealed was a wound that, although not deep, had clearly become infected. “I am here visiting family and was told that you would be able to help me.”

  Suri was about to answer when a chunk of pakora hit the back of her head. When she turned to face the boys they were looking the other way, giggling to themselves. Suri rose above the obvious torment and said, “You were right to come, but this really is nothing to worry about.” Suri and her mother had developed great knowledge in the field of medicine over the years as the majority of visitors were in need of good healthcare rather than magic. They also now had a stock of health supplies so Aisyah set about cleaning and bandaging the wound as the woman spoke to her daughter.

  “But I have heard that you are Suri of the Heartlights. I have come for healing.”

  “My mother will make you a herb to drink and some to take with you,” Suri answered. “This is incredibly easy to–”

  Thunk! Another slap of food on the back of her head and now the boys were beside themselves with laughter. Their mother seemed not to notice their behavior or their existence at all, and continued her plea.

  “But I came to be cured by you. My leg will die and be parted from my body, this I know, Suri. You have to help me, please. I will die if this is not dealt with. The pain is enough to send me insane.” On and on the woman pleaded and all the time the two boys fought and swore and threw food at each other and at Suri. They then managed to smash an ornament given to Suri in gratitude by an incredibly frail woman who simply wanted to have no pain for the last few days of her life.

  “Okay,” Suri finally conceded. And Aisyah immediately recognised what she was doing. It was not uncommon for those visiting her daughter to crave the spectacle of miraculous healing, even when there was a simple salve or herb to take away their suffering. They could usually be dissuaded and leave thankful for the valuable healing that they had received, but occasionally Suri went through the motions and put on a show just so they would leave happy. The Indian woman smiled contentedly and settled back in the chair, now showing no sign of the pain that she was so desperate for Suri to take away. And the boys behind were oblivious to everything and seemed to have found yet more pakoras to gorge and waste. Suri had seen nothing like this before in her short life.

  Suri moved over to her cushioned area in the corner of the room and seated herself in the lotus position, upright, with her eyes closed and her hand on her heart. She had come to realise that she didn’t really need to do any of this for the heartlights to work. But for cases like the Indian woman, it was essential. She had also discovered that there were other conditions that needed no healing at all but for which the theatre of a miracle had great effect. She was yet to understand this kind of psychosomatic illness, but she understood the cure well enough.

  As she expelled a hum and lightly and rhythmically moved her head, her patient closed her eyes as if receiving healing and her face seemed to light up, filled with a hopeful placebo. They stayed in these positions for some time but then the sound of desperate choking cut through the silence. Suri opened her eyes to see that one of the boys was on his hands and knees, his face was purple and he was trying to force out the chunk of pakora that was obviously stuck in his throat. Beside him, his brother started to sob and slap him on the back. “Help him,” he cried, and now the mother was by his side, moving surprisingly quickly for an injured woman and slapping his back even harder than her son could manage.

  “Help us, please,” she begged Suri, but it was Aisyah who stepped forward and gripped the boy from behind. The boy was now silent but for the faint gurgling sound of panic and his bulbous eyes were glowing red and flowing with tears. Aisyah squeezed the boy in her arms, forming a fist with her hands. She pumped him three or four times before the morsel of pakora flew out of his mouth and landed on the colourfully weaved rug of which Aisyah was so fond. With the food came a forceful splutter and the miraculous return of the boy’s colour. Then came the tears.

  “She did this!” he cried at ten-year-old Suri, who had been beside her mother the whole time, urging her to save his life.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Ibrahim,” her mother scolded. “This young girl is a healer not a killer. Apologise at once.”

  “I will not!” the boy spat and marched out into the intense heat of the day, followed closely by his brother, who didn’t miss the opportunity to scowl at Suri.

  “What did he say?” Aisyah asked, but Suri simply shrugged.

  “How much do I owe you, my child?” The woman asked, who was now moving as if she had been completely healed or there was nothing particularly wrong in the first place.

  “We do not charge for healing,” Suri told her and smiled warmly once again.

  “Oh.” The woman looked around the modest room, clearly not sure of what she should do next. “Well, thank you very much then,” she finally said and followed her sons into the day.

  When the room was empty, Suri lowered herself back onto her cushion and stared at the spot where the small boy had choked.

  “He thought that you were responsible, didn’t he, Suri.”

  “Yes, Mother,” she nodded sadly.

  “And were you?”

  Suri thought for a moment before nodding her head sadly. “Yes, Mother.”

  Although this was the first time she had done anything like this and certainly the first time her mother had seen Suri inflict pain on anyone with her powers or otherwise, Aisyah appeared less surprised than she should. Perhaps she had simply seen it all since first witnessing her daughter’s gift and then playing host to mankind in all its varying colours, conditions, and dispositions since opening her doors to those in need. Or perhaps it was because deep down this young girl was still her daughter and at ten years old she didn’t need her mother to be shocked by her; she needed guidance.

  “You must never do that again, Suri. Do you understand?” Her face was ste
rn but not unkind, and Suri’s big questioning eyes absorbed every word she said.

  “Yes, Mother.”

  “You were put on this earth to heal not harm. Promise me you will never do anything like that again.”

  Suri nodded slowly, receiving the scolding as if she had been caught watching TV after dark, or she was late in from playing with her friends.

  “I mean it, Suri. Promise me.”

  “I promise,” she eventually said and it was a promise that she would keep until the day of her sixteenth birthday.

  Chapter 16

  Suri and Kathy had been sitting in the noisy, crowded waiting room at A&E for just ten minutes when a dark shadow loomed over them belonging to a man who would definitely have trouble getting that stomach into that uniform on a daily basis. Looking closer, it was clear that he was hospital security and as he spoke, it also became obvious that his imposing figure was deceptive. He was huge but he was the kind of man that any kid would love to have as an uncle—softly spoken with kind eyes and a body like a bouncy castle.

  “Are you ladies okay here?” he asked in a thick Birmingham accent that made him all the more amiable and took away any trace of danger than may have remained.

  Suri and Kathy looked at each other, not quite sure what to say. They had walked into the drab A&E without really thinking that they might look suspicious. It was a public place after all.

  “It’s just that we need you to sign in with reception. You’ll be sat here all day if you don’t.”

  “It’s okay,” Kathy began but then Suri interrupted.

  “Thank you,” she said. “We will do this right away. Come now, Aunty,” and she stood up from the orange, plastic chairs—A&E clearly sharing a supplier with the police station.

  The security guard nodded warmly and held his hand out in the direction of reception before leaving them to it.

  “What are you doing?” Kathy asked.

  “There is four hours wait time, Kathy. Our bad man will come before this. We can leave before four-hour wait.”

  Kathy was now on her feet too. “But there’s nothing wrong with us. What can we say?”

  “You look like you should be here,” Suri said and pointed to her own face to show what she meant. It was true; Kathy didn’t look out of place in the waiting room with the bruising to her face, alongside bloodied noses and broken bones.

  “But it’s fine.”

  “They do not need to know this,” Suri answered and Kathy saw for the first time that she might actually be enjoying this. Alternatively, the young girl simply enjoyed everything, whether it was being in a hot car for hours, driving back from the airport, eating an egg sandwich or staking out a paedophile with a septic penis at the local hospital. Her default setting was glee and she deviated from it rarely and only ever briefly.

  They made their way over to the reception desk and were met by another friendly face. The hospital was obviously very good at finding comforting staff for front of house duties.

  “Name please?” she asked and immediately shared a look with Suri, recognising that they were two of a kind in the smiling stakes—the sky could fall and they would be smiling at the pretty colours. Her mauve blouse was covered in pin badged with motivational slogans designed to tell patients that what they were going through would pass quicker if they were able to relax and smile—laughter, as it was, being the best medicine.

  Kathy answered all of the questions that this young receptionist asked, explaining that she only got out of hospital the day before, was now in a fair amount of pain, and decided that it would be wise to get herself checked out. She was getting into the spirit of the lie, contorting her features into all kinds of pained shapes, when she felt a familiar rising inside of her. Its cause was also all too familiar—rotten meat, congealed puke, festering dairy, all of it lingering in the air and trailing a path up her nostrils and settling on her tongue. Before she could turn around to see the source of the smell or reach into her bag for the vapour rub, she was bent over, splashing vomit onto the disinfected floor of the waiting room. She stayed in that position, her stomach aching from the depth of the retching, while the staff sprang into action around her.

  “I need a chair over here,” the receptionist called behind her and suddenly two porters ushered Kathy off her feet, into a wheelchair, before wheeling her away from Suri.

  “I’m fine, really,” Kathy protested, but she looked anything but fine. Her face had cleared of any discernible colour except for the orange vomit on her chin and she was struggling to catch her breath. Consequently, no one was listening to her. “Just wait here, Suri,” she then said, accepting her fate and as she was wheeled away she could hear the commotion in reception and knew that she was missing the moment they had both been waiting for.

  “There’s a fire in my cock!” a high-pitched voice exploded behind her. “Help me! Put it out! It’s burning!”

  Kathy could still hear his cries and the receptionist’s attempts to appease him as she was wheeled into a cubicle. She tried to peek through the curtains, but as the porters left they were replaced by a nurse who snapped them shut and ordered Kathy onto the bed.

  “I really don’t need to be here,” Kathy protested once again.

  “Let me be the judge of that,” the nurse told her, sternly but with a friendly undertone. He was the first male nurse that Kathy had seen in her recent experience of hospitals and he moved around her efficiently, checking her eyes, ears, pulse, blood pressure, before feeling around her injured face and watching for the reaction. He was extremely handsome, but her internal compatibility assessment drive, which she was surprised to see working even at a time like this, dismissed him on the grounds of his age. She may have been old enough to be his mother, which wasn’t a thought that she found pleasing.

  “Really, I’m fine,” Kathy told him.

  “Well, let’s just stay here until they get your puke up off the floor out there, eh?” The tone he now took made her feel as if he could be her parent rather than the other way round and she liked him less and less all the time.

  “Your daughter can come in after we get a doctor to look you over.”

  Now she really didn’t like him, but she let him go about his business freely while she listened out for more from their suspect. On the plus side, she knew that he would have to spend time at the hospital even if they did see his as a serious problem. Everyone had to wait at some point in their hospital experience. It was just the way it was. There would be no hurry for her to get back on her feet again, which suited her, as she felt completely hollow after purging the evil from her stomach out in the reception. She also knew that she had Suri’s eyes out in the waiting room. She knew the seriousness of all this; she wouldn’t let the man slip through their net.

  “I want to get a drip set up,” the young nurse told her and before she could open her mouth to protest again, he said, “No argument,” and was helping her out of her T-shirt.

  “But I can’t be here all day.”

  “An hour tops,” he told her and slipped a robe over her head bearing the words ‘Hospital Property’ over and over again, before slipping a needle into her arm and leaving her to it.

  “Goddammit!” she huffed and couldn’t even fold her arms to cement the protest because of the fat needle in her arm. Suri didn’t have a mobile phone so she couldn’t get a message to her. In fact, looking around her, she saw that she didn’t have a mobile phone either. Suri must have had her bag; at least she hoped she did. She thought about ripping the drip out of her arm—her T-shirt was just on the chair beside her—but she must have puked up every last morsel of goodness from inside of her and she really did feel weak and shaky. She closed her eyes for a moment and was soothed by what she found there. Far from silent, the space she found at least relieved her brain from the drab view of the curtain and equipment around her. It also relieved what pain was left in her face. She stayed in the serenity of her own darkness until the screams in the cubicle next to her brought her
raging back to reality.

  “Make it stop, you bastards! It’s on fire!”

  It was him. Kathy sat up suddenly. She didn’t need to strain to hear him, but she felt herself leaning closer to the curtains anyway despite the stench. She would have been sick again, but there really was nothing left and she was more prepared than she had been earlier too.

  “Let’s get this off shall we, Mr. Denver?”

  Kathy wasn’t sure if he was being attended by the same nurse, but he had the similar tone of compassionate efficiency.

  “Be the fuck careful!” the patient snapped at him and then let out a piercing scream that made Kathy pull away from the curtain. There was then silence from the cubicle followed by ‘Urrgh’s from at least two new voices. Suri really had done a number on his nether regions.

  “How long has it been like that, Mr. Denver?”

  “Fuck, does it matter?” Denver’s voice was now breaking into tears. “Just sort it.”

  Silence again and a few wincing noises from the patient and expressions of disbelief from the nurses and then, “I’m going to get someone else to have a closer look at this.”

  After the curtain had swished back and forth and the only sounds to be heard were whimpers, Kathy knew that the man was on his own again. She slid off the bed and made a space in the curtain that would be small enough for the man not to notice her distant glance. She was immediately hit by an encore of the reeking that her senses had just started to manage. She heaved, but was able to contain anything further. She closed her eyes tightly to compose herself and then peeked again. The man was maybe late twenties, early thirties, and had a grubby quality to him, which was all the more prominent in contrast to the clean white robe he had been forced to wear. He had the look of a man who could spend his life washing and would still have dirt under his nails and greasy hair. Her view may have been influenced by what she knew about the nature of the man, but all she could see was filth. Unfortunately, all she could hear from the man were thoughts about his penis—the look and colour of it, the fear that it would never get better and on top of all that, the pain that he just couldn’t escape. She stayed with his thoughts as long as she could bear them, but there was no sign of Joshy there or of any other kind of perversion; his current predicament was dominating him.