She shows us to a smaller room. “This is Dr. Deng’s office. There’s a TV, a couch, and even a mini fridge,” she says, though we can see all that clearly.
“Where is your office?” I ask.
“I don’t have one. Not anymore. I work from anywhere I’m sent.”
Gabi hesitates by the door. “Won’t Dr. Deng get mad if I watch his TV, or eat his food?” she asks.
Indranie laughs. “No. He knows you’re here. And anyway, he almost never leaves his lab.”
She turns on the TV for Gabi and even gets her a soda from the mini fridge. My sister’s face is a mix of exhaustion and worry.
“I’m only a few steps away. And you’ll be okay here. Just like the detention center.” Safe, comfortable. For now.
“I know. I’m good,” she says.
“Come on,” Indranie says once Gabi is settled on Dr. Deng’s couch drinking a Coke. “She’s fine.”
We take an elevator down a few floors to what must be Dr. Deng’s lab. I barely have time to take in the details of the room before Indranie leads me to a small side room.
“Doing okay?” she asks.
I nod and try to copy her smile.
“Excellent. I’ll leave you to get ready. Once you undress, put on this gown here—you can keep your bra and underwear on—and put all your belongings in this white bag. See? It has your name on it. It will all be returned to you.”
I hesitate.
“I promise, no one will steal anything of yours. I give you my word as a government employee. I’ll keep this somewhere safe.”
“Will there be X-rays?” I blurt out.
She looks confused, as if that was not what she expected me to ask.
“Yes, a few. A CT scan and some other scans—all just to make sure you’re healthy enough to begin the trials.”
I’ve never had an X-ray. I know they show things, see through your clothes, right to your bones. But if I unpick the stitches on Mrs. Rosen’s hundred-dollar bill and remove it from my belt, the only place I’ll have left to put it is in my bra. Will the X-ray see it there? I know it’s stupid to worry so much about the money. I don’t know how much or even if it could help us now. And we have another chance. This experiment could be our bad luck, changing again into something sweet. But I don’t want to let go of the last bit of our plan.
Indranie holds out the white bag to me. “Don’t worry, okay? It will be all right. I’ll be with you the whole time.”
“Don’t be with me. Be with Gabi,” I say, suddenly incredibly scared.
“I’ll be with both of you.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze and leaves me to undress. I put my shirt, sweatshirt, and shoes into the white bag, then roll the belt into a coil and tuck it into my jeans before pushing it into the white bag too. Then I put the gown on. It opens in the front, so I wrap it around myself and tuck it under my arms so it stays closed. I keep my socks on. I hope that is okay.
Indranie walks me back to the lab, and the first thing I notice is how very cold it is. Dr. Deng sits in a chair on wheels—the only kind they seem to have in this building—and is rolling from one computer to another. A padded table sits in the middle of an already crowded room. This isn’t what I thought a laboratory would look like. I thought it would be more like the ones on TV, with blinking lights and important-looking machines.
Dr. Deng motions for me to sit on the padded table, then motions again for me to lie. I push the gown down around my legs, as if that can protect me at all.
“This won’t hurt, Marisol.”
“Okay.”
“It’s usually the first thing people ask.”
A nurse appears wearing a mask. I can’t tell, without seeing her face, if she’s frowning or smiling. My heart is thudding in my chest, even though I try to convince myself that everything is fine, that this is normal. I just have to get through one more thing to land in the safe place. That is what I told myself on the carretera, in the walks through the jungle. On the other side of this is safety.
Indranie stands next to Dr. Deng, her arms crossed tightly against her chest. She smiles at me as the nurse takes my arm.
“It won’t hurt,” she says.
It does hurt. Not a lot, but it pinches and stings. Then I feel a coldness spread through my arm, then a hot feeling through my whole body. It’s nice because the room is so terribly cold. Now I can feel warm even without a blanket. I think about how wonderful that would be for people who do not have enough clothes or a house to live in. A medicine that makes you warm even when wearing only a hospital gown. And I think, Maybe that’s what alcohol is anyway, and why my father drank so much. To make himself warm. And then I think that I am falling asleep, and I panic, as if I’m slipping off a cliff I didn’t know I was standing on. Indranie is next to me.
“It’s okay, Marisol. You can sleep.”
* * *
When I wake, I’m still warm, wrapped in white blankets. I turn my head away from the blinding light above the table. A hot pain spreads from the back of my neck down my spine.
“How are you doing?” the nurse asks.
My throat is dry. I am careful not to move my head again, not to speak too loudly. “Okay,” I whisper.
The nurse bends down close to my face. “You’re going to be sore for a few days. Headaches are normal. Nausea and vomiting are not.” She lifts my arm and injects something into the suero on my arm. What is the English word for suero? I think. I cannot remember. Maybe I never knew.
In a moment, I feel better, though my head feels as if it is floating, like a balloon, high above my body. The nurse unwraps me from the blanket, helps me sit up, and even helps me walk to the little room where my bag of clothes sits. Without a word, she leaves me to get dressed.
Though my head only hurts now if I move it too quickly, I feel slow and unfocused. I pull my belt from the white bag, uncoiling it to find the hundred-dollar bill exactly as I left it. I sit on a window ledge, a little dizzy with relief. After that, I put my clothes on, slowly, clumsily. There is a knock at the door. I wait. Then Indranie’s voice asks, “Can I come in?”
“Yes,” I say, tying my shoes.
Indranie is smiling. “You did great in there.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I know. It’s a pretty mild procedure—the implant is subdermal, but only just.”
“I didn’t know there would be an implant,” I say.
Indranie smiles again. “Oh yes, it was in the paperwork you signed. But it’s no big deal. Easy to remove. Though, it will ache. Does your neck hurt now?”
“Only a tiny bit,” I say.
“Fantastic.” She takes out her phone and shows me the screen. “I went to check on Gabi, because I know you worry. Just took this photo a few minutes ago.”
I look at the photo of my sister. She is sprawled out on Dr. Deng’s couch, blissfully asleep, an empty bag of some kind of potato chip next to her. I have seen Gabi asleep many, many times, from when she was an infant and would fall asleep sitting up to when she fought to stay awake with me on the journey here. Seeing her asleep, relaxed as a baby, is another relief.
“See? She’s completely fine. I never thought she’d fall asleep with that much caffeine in her.” Indranie laughs.
If you knew what that little girl has seen, what I couldn’t keep her from seeing, you would be surprised she could sleep at all, I think. But I only nod in agreement. “Am I finished?”
“Not yet. A few more things today, okay?”
I nod again, then, because it feels so strange, I put my cold fingers to the back of my neck. There is a bandage there, square and stiff. Underneath it, I am healing. I can feel the herida, the skin hot and pulling. But what did they do to me?
Chapter 6
How did your brother die?”
“He died in gang violence.”
“Was
he murdered?”
“Yes.”
“Did you see it?”
I have tried to keep my eyes on the pillow in my lap because I don’t like answering this doctor’s questions. But now I look straight at her. “Excuse me?”
Dr. Vizzachero slides her glasses onto her head. In a moment, she’ll remember she needs them again, and pull them onto her face. I’ve seen her do this at least three times. She’s always touching them.
“Did you see your brother die? I know it’s a stark question, but I’m asking, Marisol, so I can gauge how much trauma you have already suffered.”
When we sat down, Dr. Vizzachero said to call her Liz. So many Americans want me to call them by their first name. I sit on a leather sofa across from her, and Indranie stands next to the sofa, like a guard.
“No,” I say, eyes back on the pillow. “I didn’t see him die. His friend Tato came and told us the next day. Mamá went to get his body.” As Dr. Vizzachero scribbles on a pad of paper, I flick the fringe on the pillow in my lap. This is much more painful than the cut on my neck.
“How did you feel about your brother’s death?”
Tía Rosa said I should tell them about Pablo, that it was important. Proof, she said. But I have to be careful not to tell them too many bad things. If they think I’ve had too much trauma, they might not let me do the experiment. So I don’t mention Antonio or Liliana or anything else that hurt me before. I’m strong. I can handle it.
Indranie only said Dr. Vizzachero was a doctor, but she must be a psicóloga to be asking so many questions about how I feel. I’m exhausted. I want to see Gabi and sleep, not answer more questions.
Indranie interrupts the doctor as she asks the same questions with different words. “I think that’s enough for today.”
The doctor looks up from her notes. “Yes. Of course. I have enough information for an initial report.”
“We’ll need that report tomorrow, Liz. As soon as you can.”
“Such a rush?”
“I’m afraid so. It’s top priority.”
“Well, I better call my husband and tell him to order pizza for the kids,” she says with a sigh.
* * *
“Are we finished?” I ask Indranie once we climb into the elevator.
“For now. How’s your neck?”
My hand reaches up to touch the bandage. Whatever medicine Dr. Deng gave me is wearing off. I feel the herida throbbing.
“It’s okay.”
“Remember to take your medicine for pain every four hours. Dr. Deng doesn’t want you to be a hero. You might be uncomfortable tonight from the implant.”
“What does the implant do?”
“Well, it lets someone who is suffering transfer some of their grief to you,” she says absently, looking at her phone.
“Yes, but how does it do this thing? Does it read that person’s mind? Do I feel the same things they feel? How does it work?”
She looks at me, surprised. “No! I mean, of course it doesn’t read anyone’s mind. That’s sci-fi stuff, Marisol.”
The elevator stops and a woman in a raincoat steps in. She greets Indranie with a smile. “They say it’s going to rain. I bring the raincoat, the rain boots, everything.” She gestures at her colorful rubber boots, then her umbrella.
“And then, of course, it doesn’t rain,” Indranie says. “Never fails, Joanne. Never fails.” As the elevator continues down, I catch Indranie’s eyes.
“It’s okay, Marisol. I’ll have Dr. Deng explain it tomorrow. Don’t worry. You’re doing great.”
* * *
In Dr. Deng’s office, Gabi is awake and upset.
“You were gone so long.” Her eyes ask me if I am all right. If we are all right. After weeks staying silent on the road, I can read the words on her face.
“I’m sorry. Are you okay?”
“Bored. I left Harry Potter in Indranie’s car.”
“Oh, there are lots of books upstairs. You’ll have plenty to do,” Indranie says, picking up the food wrappers and the empty soda cans. She puts the garbage in the trash can, making sure there’s not a crumb left anywhere. “Come on, I’m tired. I bet you are too.”
Back in the elevator, Indranie presses the button with PH on it. When the elevator doors open, the room we walk into is grander than anything I’ve ever seen on TV, and that includes Cedar Hollow. Several families could live in this apartment that Indranie calls the penthouse. I want to sink into the soft cushions of the sofa. Even the thick white rug would be wonderful to sleep on. Windows that go from the shiny white floor all the way to the ceiling surround the apartment.
“How do you sleep in the morning with the light coming in?” Gabi asks.
Indranie presses a button, and the clear glass of the windows darkens until I can’t see the city below.
Gabi’s mouth opens in amazement. “¡Qué chivo!” She grins. Indranie pushes the button again, the magic glass clears, and we can see the city—the dome of the Capitol and the river. The sun is setting, in almost the same colors as the sunrise, only deeper and somehow sadder.
We sit on high stools in the kitchen and eat noodles as Gabi tells us about the TV shows she’s watched today. I’m happy to let her do all the talking as she describes telenovelas in English and the commercials to buy vacuums that are really robots and clean houses by themselves.
I can tell she’s tired because she leaves noodles hanging from her fork, forgetting to eat. But she rallies to ask how my day was.
“It was good,” I say, touching my bandage.
“That’s it? Just good?”
“Yes. All is good.”
I eat steadily, like it is my tarea, my task. When my bowl is empty, Indranie takes out ice cream. Gabi is thrilled, but I cannot eat any more.
Indranie scoops ice cream into a bowl for Gabi. There is crema, but there is also chocolate sauce and a small glass jar of cherries. Indranie opens the bottle of pills Dr. Deng gave me and hands me one.
“What’s that for?” Gabi asks.
As if she is answering the question, Indranie turns to Gabi with a confidential look. “While your sister did very well today and is generally healthy, she’s a bit anemic.”
“What’s that mean?” Gabi asks, her mouth full of ice cream.
“It means that Marisol wasn’t eating as well as she should have been.”
“That’s because she gave me most of the food,” Gabi says.
I push my empty bowl away. “No, I didn’t. I just wasn’t hungry.”
Gabi uses her spoon to make her points. “On the carretera and in the detention center. And in the shelter en Tapachula. You gave me your food. I put the food back on your plate sometimes when you weren’t looking. It was easy.”
I’m surprised. That she noticed and that, without my knowing, she gave me food back.
“¡Traviesa!” I say, pointing my finger at her, pretending outrage.
“What does that mean?” Indranie asks.
“It means naughty, or tricky,” I say.
“Tra-vi-esa. I have to remember that one with you girls,” Indranie says.
“Marisol is the tricky one,” Gabi says.
I snort.
“Why is she so tricky?” Indranie asks.
“Because she’s always sneaking away when she doesn’t think anyone notices.”
My face burns, first with surprise, then with shame. I don’t do that anymore.
“Mentiras,” I say. Lies. I put on what I hope is a convincing smile.
Gabi jumps up. “If I were an inventor, I would take the robot vacuum thing from the commercial and fix it so that it could follow people around.”
“That sounds like a great idea,” Indranie says, still smiling.
“Don’t let her have any more crazy ideas,” I say.
Gabi demonstrates ho
w the robot vacuum from the commercial could follow people around while clearing the streets of garbage at the same time. She’s very funny, pretending the vacuum is chasing her. I remember how she used to make everyone in the family laugh with her imitations of our neighbors. Indranie laughs and claps at her performance. I feel my body relax in a way I have not felt in a long time. I know there is so much to do, so much we can lose. But for now, I’m not hungry and Gabi is happy, and there is a way to get Gabi to safety.
Indranie shows us to a bedroom with a huge bed that four people could sleep on. “Tomorrow, I’ll buy some clothes for you girls, just to tide you over,” she says. I nod sleepily and tell her good night.
When I climb into bed next to Gabi, thinking she is already asleep, she puts her hand on my arm. “I could have done it.”
“¿Qué cosa?” I ask.
“The test. The thing they are doing to you. I would have done it.”
I push her hair behind her ear, like I used to do when she was little. “I know. But I need to do it. It’s better this way.”
“Okay, but I will help,” she says, yawning the last word.
“Por supuesto. ¿Qué piensas? I’m going to let you be una haragana?” She tries to shove me away, but I give her a good-night kiss anyway. I wonder if I’ll ever be able to fall asleep with all the worry I have. Then I tell myself it doesn’t matter how much I worry, only what I do.
* * *
“Do you know what a neurotransmitter is?” At first, I don’t think Dr. Deng is talking to me. I sit on the padded table, dressed in the hospital gown again. There is a sticky bandage on my forehead, with wires coming out of it into a little box on my lap. The box looks like part of a toy, like for a remote control car or a video game. When he calls my name, I look up, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you. Can you repeat the question?” I ask.
Indranie stands behind Dr. Deng, her straight black hair loose and her face free of makeup. She looks younger and more tired than she did yesterday. “I barely know what a neurotransmitter is, Dr. Deng,” she says, swallowing a yawn. “I’d be very surprised if Marisol does.”
The Grief Keeper Page 5