Flying Home

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  “I’m sure we will.” Clarissa’s smile was back. She went to the bathroom, and Liana could see her combing her blonde hair in front of the mirror.

  Choosing a silky mauve blouse with cap sleeves to go with her skirt, Liana quickly changed. She wrapped her hair up loosely and secured it with a clip. That would keep her neck cool.

  They took the back way out of the hotel, walking down the quaint red cobblestones to Suddar Street. As soon as they were spotted, a half dozen dark-skinned children ran up to them, brown eyes soulful, their small hands held out. “Please,” they chorused. “Please.”

  “Look at those colorful clothes they’re wearing.” Clarissa reached for her purse. “They’re adorable. What amazing dark hair and wonderful skin.”

  Remembering the advice of the Englishman, Liana put a hand on Clarissa’s. “Wait,” she said.

  When they had gone a short distance, the first children fell away, looking for more sympathetic tourists. More children lurking in front of other hotels took their places. Clarissa gave these some of the Indian rupees they had exchanged for American dollars at the airport.

  Liana scanned the area with interest. There was an abundance of hotels and places to eat, many with their huge signs in English. In fact, she was hearing on the street as much English—British English—as Hindi. The man on the plane had told Liana that about thirty percent of the people in India spoke Hindi but there were fourteen other official languages. English was also widely used for national, political, and commercial communication. Though the English words were sometimes heavily accented, Liana didn’t have any trouble understanding their meaning. A good thing, since neither she nor Clarissa had much affinity for learning languages.

  “You know, I can just imagine Karyn here,” Clarissa said, waving an arm that took in a beggar woman and her three small children. “This is so her. She’d want to be with these people. I mean, she was really shy, but when someone got hurt on the playground or something, she was right there with a kind word and a Band-Aid. I can imagine her here, rolling up her sleeves and going to work.” Her eyes took on a sad look. “Oh, I wish I had come to visit when she was alive. I can’t believe how much I still miss her!”

  Liana put her arm around Clarissa, who looked at her in surprise. She patted Liana’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “I’m glad we could do this together.”

  They found a clean-looking restaurant with smells so enticing they had to go in. Liana ordered chicken curry with a drink called lassi that tasted like liquid yogurt with a hint of roses. Clarissa had rice with a bread called chappatis, served with vegetables. “This is wonderful,” Liana said. She had always loved spicy foods, and this was the best she’d ever eaten.

  “It’s a little on the hot side.” Clarissa choked and reached for a second glass of water.

  After lunch, they found a taxi and gave the driver the address of the hospital, which turned out to be nearly twenty minutes away. “I’m glad we didn’t hire that man pulling his cart to take us,” Clarissa whispered. Liana smiled but didn’t reply. Her stomach was doing flips, though she wasn’t sure if that was because of the curry at lunch or her nervousness.

  Wedged between a high-rise apartment building and other offices, Charity Medical, constructed of white-painted brick, was not very impressive, but it did have a nice-sized courtyard where a few flowers were planted in spacious wooden boxes. Inside a large reception room, many Indians waited to be seen—old people with the weight of the world in their eyes, sick youngsters moaning as they clung to their mothers, more children running after each other and giggling. As they entered, the running children stopped and stared up at them with curious brown eyes.

  “Hello,” Liana said to the receptionist when Clarissa remained silent. “Do you speak English?”

  “Yes, I do,” came the reply in only slightly accented English.

  Liana glanced at Clarissa, whose eyes had fallen on a very pregnant woman sitting alone near the door. As they watched, a white nurse came out of a large door and ushered her inside. With a flash, Liana understood that Clarissa was imagining her sister here, trying to see this place as it had been twenty-five years ago. How had Karyn felt upon seeing it for the first time? Had she helped any of these people here, or perhaps their relatives? Had she been happy?

  With difficulty, Liana dragged her attention back to the receptionist. “We need to see Dr. Mehul Raji. Here’s the spelling. I’m not sure I’m saying it right.”

  The woman took the paper. “Ah, Dr. Raji, yes. But he is very busy. Could I perhaps help you?”

  Liana met the large, friendly black eyes, made to look even blacker by the generous dark makeup around them. The sleek black hair, pulled back to a severe ponytail under her white cap, was unmarred by streaks of white. Her face was unlined, and her figure short and slim, yet she didn’t give the impression of being very young. Could she have known Liana’s mother? Perhaps worked with her?

  “I really need to see him,” Liana said. “My—my mother used to work here. She and my father died in a plane crash. It’s been more than twenty-five years, but Dr. Raji knew them.”

  “Oh, you must be talking about Dr. Raji’s father. He is retired. I will call him.”

  “I don’t want to be any trouble. Could you just give me his address? We can go there.”

  “No trouble,” the receptionist said with a smile. “He lives upstairs. Third floor. He has an apartment. So do many of the employees here.” She reached for the phone before adding conspiratorially, “This job does not pay enough for an outside apartment, unless there are several to share. Many volunteers live here or with families nearby.”

  “Oh. Thank you.” Liana’s hand gripped the counter as another vision arose from her past: Mamata. She and her parents had lived with this lady. Was the house close by? Would she recognize it if she saw it? Would she remember where she had slept?

  The receptionist was speaking rapidly into the phone in a language Liana assumed was Hindi. Her lyrical voice had a soothing effect on Liana, though she didn’t understand the words. She took a deep breath.

  “He is able to see you,” the woman said. “I will show you the way.”

  An older Indian woman with graying black hair had arrived at the desk, and the two spoke briefly in Hindi before the newcomer turned to Liana and said in very poor English, “You mother saved my babe. I feel her this.” She held two small fists tightly together in front of her sunken chest. “Good woman. Good, good woman.”

  “Thank you,” Liana whispered. She put a hand on Clarissa’s shoulder. “This is her sister from America.”

  The older woman turned to the younger one, who translated quickly. Smiling in understanding, she took Clarissa’s hand in hers and held it without speaking. Tears sprang from her eyes.

  “Thank you,” Clarissa whispered at the silent tribute.

  “Come this way.” The first receptionist motioned with her hand.

  She led them through the halls of the hospital, where a mixture of English and other languages came from the employees. The entire hospital was clean, though badly in need of paint. Everywhere they looked, friendly faces—both light-skinned and dark—met them with wide, though often tired, smiles.

  A small door at the back of the hospital took them to a flight of stairs. “He lives at the top,” the receptionist said. “Second door. Knock. He is waiting.”

  “Thank you.” Liana began to climb the stairs.

  “I’m so nervous,” Clarissa said after the receptionist had disappeared.

  “That’s just the Indian food we ate.”

  Clarissa laughed as Liana had intended. “Maybe.”

  At the appointed door in the dark and narrow corridor, Liana knocked. Clarissa held a hand over her heart as she caught her breath. A gnarled Indian man opened the door. He was shorter than Liana and thin to the point of emaciation. His hair was stark white against the dark color of his skin. He held out a hand in welcome. “Come in, please,” he said in cultured British English
.

  “Thank you for seeing us,” Clarissa said.

  “You must be Karyn’s sister. I see a resemblance. But she was bigger, taller. And you”—he turned to Liana—“you are her daughter. I am very happy to meet you again after all these years.” He took Liana’s hand and held it as the woman below had done with Clarissa. “Oh, but I am forgetting my manners. Come, let us sit down and talk.”

  He led them further into the small, windowless room where an L-shaped couch and a wide coffee table took up most of the available space. There was also a bookcase, crammed with thick, musty-smelling volumes, and a small TV on a narrow wooden stand. On the floor lay a rug woven with bright colors.

  “It is very beautiful, is it not?” he asked, seeing Liana’s interest. “Perhaps you might like to buy one of our Indian rugs and take it home with you. I can give you the name of the man who sells the most beautiful ones.”

  “I’d like that.” Liana stared at the rug a minute more before raising her eyes to his. Questions rushed to her lips, but she forced herself to speak slowly. “I suppose you wonder why we’re here.”

  “To learn about your parents.”

  “Yes, I’d like to know everything you can remember about them. And I also want to know if they might have left anything behind. A journal, maybe?”

  “My sister liked to write in her journal,” Clarissa added.

  Dr. Raji opened his mouth to speak but was distracted by a movement in the hallway. “Ah,” he said as a tiny dark woman appeared. “This is my granddaughter, Mridula, bringing us tea and a few small cakes. Thank you, my dear.”

  Setting her tray on the table, Mridula smiled lovingly at Dr. Raji. “Tea?” she asked before pouring a cup for each of them. Liana’s stomach was still full from lunch, but not wanting to appear rude, she accepted.

  “Mridula is studying to be a doctor,” Raji said. “She is—how do you say it in your language?—following in the footsteps of her father and grandfather.”

  With her long black hair and innocent face, Mridula looked too young to be studying medicine. She took a cup of tea herself and settled on the arm of the couch next to her grand father. He put a hand on hers, and a look of affection passed between the two.

  “But right now what seems to occupy most of her time is taking care of me,” Dr. Raji said. “Fine thing for a young woman to have to do.”

  Mridula’s kohl-lined eyes flashed amusement. Obviously, this was a common thread of discussion between the two. “Oh, Grandfather, you know I enjoy staying with you.”

  Dr. Raji’s wrinkled face beamed. “No more than I enjoy having you. Now what were we talking about?”

  “My parents.” Liana took a sip of the hot tea without sugar, savoring the blend of unfamiliar spices.

  “Your parents?” Dr. Raji’s brows drew together. In apparent confusion, he turned to his granddaughter. “Who are her parents, Mridula?”

  “They used to work for Charity Medical,” Mridula supplied gently, casting Liana and Clarissa an apologetic look. “Guenter and Karyn Schrader.”

  Liana glanced helplessly at Clarissa, who had frozen with the sugar spoon in her hand. By the look Mridula had given them, she guessed this wandering was a frequent occurrence.

  “Schrader?” The lost look vanished. “Schrader—yes, I knew them well. Wonderful people. Very dedicated.”

  “Their daughter is here to learn about them.”

  Dr. Raji turned back to Liana and Clarissa. “Oh yes, I’m sorry. Sometimes I . . . my mind wanders a bit.”

  “Do you know if my parents left any belongings?” Liana asked, anxious now to learn something—anything—before his mind wandered again. “Belongings someone might have saved all these years?”

  Dr. Raji started shaking his head but stopped midway. “Wait. I remember Mamata said something about a box she wanted me to send to the United States. I told her to bring it here, but she didn’t.” He looked up at the ceiling, trying to remember. “Ah, yes, she became ill. Some sort of numbness in her left side. Her doctor eventually discovered a tumor. They could not operate, and she died quickly. Maybe a year or two after your parents.”

  Liana bit back tears of disappointment. Any belongings her parents might have left in Mamata’s house would have been disposed of long ago by the new owners.

  Dr. Raji smiled at a memory he alone could see. “Guenter and Karyn—they were two of a kind. I knew the first night they met that they would marry. Guenter was enamored of her from the first, but he had to do some convincing.” He laughed and leaned forward to lift his cup of tea from the table. “Karyn led him on a long chase. Yes, both extremely dedicated. Helped a lot of people. No one could operate as Guenter could, and Karyn delivered more babies in her first year here than any of the doctors. The women liked her very much.”

  “She wrote to me,” Clarissa said, “and I wrote back—twice. But I never heard from her again. It was just before she had Lara. Do you know why she never wrote? Did something happen?”

  “Lara.” Dr. Raji held his teacup in both gnarled hands, as though warming them. “Yes, that was a dark time. Very difficult for them.” He paused, staring at his tea. “When I remember, I take flowers to their graves. I’m the only one who remembers them, except for Arun. Everyone else is too young, or they’ve moved on.” He gave a deep sigh. “There are too many graves. My wife, my daughter.”

  Liana exchanged a look with Clarissa. She suspected the old man had begun to wander again. “What happened?” Liana made another attempt.

  “Happened?” His eyes lifted to hers without recognition. “I don’t know.” He turned to his granddaughter and said something in Hindi.

  Mridula took his tea from him and set it on the table. “Excuse me, please. He must lie down now. I will return shortly.” Like a small child he put his hand in hers, and she led him gently from the room. The seconds ticked into several minutes before she returned. “I am very sorry,” she said. “He is getting much worse. It will be a disappointment when he comes to himself and realizes that he has missed your visit.”

  Swallowing her own bitter disappointment, Liana set down her cup and arose. “We shouldn’t take any more of your time.”

  “Perhaps you could leave the number where you are staying,” Mridula offered. “If he becomes better, I will call.”

  “Thank you.” Liana wondered how long such a visit would last, and if he ever remained lucid for any length of time.

  “What about this Arun?” Clarissa asked at the door. “Did he or she really know my sister?”

  Mridula nodded. “Arun is actually her last name. She is one of the receptionists downstairs—the older one. She speaks only a little English.”

  “I think we met her,” Liana said.

  “Your mother delivered her last baby, oh, maybe twenty-six years ago, after they came back to work at the hospital again. Arun didn’t work for the hospital at that time, though, so she did not know your parents well.”

  “Came back?” Liana was confused. “You said my mother delivered Arun’s baby when she came back. From where?”

  “I am not sure. I was a baby then. Grandfather would know, but he—” Mridula shrugged. “Arun told me once that they had been abroad for a year at another hospital.”

  Clarissa arched an eyebrow. “Maybe that’s why she didn’t answer my letters. Maybe she didn’t receive them.”

  Her face was so hopeful that Liana felt she had to say, “I bet you’re right.”

  They both stood and thanked Mridula. “You might go to the house where your parents lived,” she said as they turned to leave. “Mamata left her house to the hospital, and there have been two couples living there recently. They are both leaving soon, and Charity Medical has decided to turn the house into a ward for sick children. It is not certain, but perhaps you may find something still there in the house.”

  That the house belonged to the hospital was more than Liana had hoped. “Do you know the address?”

  “I will write it down for you.” Mridula d
isappeared into the small apartment.

  Clarissa touched Liana’s arm. “Don’t worry. We’ll try to come to see him later, and maybe we’ll be able to talk to the receptionist downstairs. Something will turn up.”

  Liana’s attempt at a smile failed. She didn’t know exactly what she had expected to find in India but certainly not that the only keeper of her parents’ memories was a frail old man with frequent bouts of senility.

  “There you are.” Mridula handed them a paper with two addresses written in neat letters. “You can’t miss it,” she said. “It’s the only white house on the next street. Very old and tall. It was an English house once. I have also written the address of the cemetery my grandfather mentioned.”

  “Thank you so much,” Clarissa said. Liana nodded.

  They went down the stairs, their hollow footsteps loud in their ears. As they entered the hospital, a team of medical personnel bustled toward them with a gurney that held a patient writhing in pain, and Liana and Clarissa stepped back to allow them to pass. Retracing their steps to the front desk, they asked for the older receptionist, but she had gone on an errand.

  “Does she work tomorrow?” Clarissa asked. After learning what time the woman would be there the next day, they left the hospital.

  CHAPTER 20

  Diary of Karyn Olsen

  Wednesday, July 4, 1972

  What a party! Not only was practically the entire staff at Charity Medical there but also the American representatives for several other charities and many Americans who live and work in India. It was really fun. The only time I felt awkward or out of place was when the representative of a charity asked me if I would help teach reading to some of the poor people. I said I couldn’t possibly teach anyone to read, but she said that we would really be teaching hygiene and that sort of thing. The promise of reading was to entice people to come. I thought that was a little dishonest, but she said teaching them to read was easy enough, as most of them have already been exposed to many other languages, which has increased their cognitive abilities—whatever that means. I agreed to go once a week to help.