Hell Mary

Chapter Twenty-three

Aminu walked in, folding his stethoscope so that the metal end danced with his every unchanged step. He smiled and neared Mary who was provoked to smile as well. Her teeth was tearing the hard beef and she used her fingers to aid the slicing of the tendon in two. She chewed and swallowed, reaching for a bottled water to drink hurriedly from. Beatrice was excited about the short mothering experience and knew sadly she would hand Mary over to her rightful parents. The thought pricked her but she was glad nonetheless. It gave her a reason to appreciate life and live it. Mary was the blessing guised under that unfortunate event of an accident.

As her eyes lingered into those glassy eyes of Mary's, which still clamoured for more beef under short strips of Basmati rice- she could tell because Dominic ate from the very expensive packaged rice that were longer than the normal rice she prepared for every other person, a nurse trod in. Her tag bore Nurse Doris. She neared the Doctor and whispered something into his ear. Mary could still hear her audibly even with the smooth sliding of the polythene cotton material from the gay doctor's lab coat and the nurse's gown which stopped briefly after her knees.

She bore a worried expression. A patient was in need of urgent transfusion and the reserves from the blood banks had no matching blood group. "She's B negative," Nurse Doris said.

"I'm B negative," Mary said immediately, downing a drink in a single gulp. Beatrice looked worriedly at the pale lanky Mary who already looked like she was blood impoverished. 

"I'm sorry Mary, I can't take blood from you. You are just recovering and still need rest," The nurse said. She was slightly robust and so sweated with every single flex. Her breasts filled her puffy cups and shot out in an odd fashion giving off slight ripples and this subtly nauseated Mary.

"I'm fine. You just said the woman is dying and I'm your best shot ma." The nurse stared pitiably at Mary, at the beeping machines and many numerous narrow pipes that flowed with colourless fluid, at her short cornrows still entrapped with dirt and finally at Beatrice who nodded slowly and approvingly. The doctor shrugged and gave a single nod as well.

Doris proceeded with the test, spending extra time in checking just how compatible the donor and recipient were. Shockingly, they had similarities in disorders but none to hinder the smooth flow of blood transfusion. Out of curiosity, Doris set a mental reminder to confirm more tests after she had been done with the transfusion.

Mary was led into a different room and a needle pierced her skin, drawing out sticky dark oxygen poor blood and filling a bag. She watched the sternness and caution the nurse used to extract the thick red fluid and feared she might puncture an important vein which would leave her limp for the rest of her life. After a brief moment, the nurse was done and she quickly sealed the opening.

"When is your birthday?" The nurse asked.

"I don't really know ma. At the orphanage, we celebrated our birthday once in a year," Mary replied.

The nurse immediately flagged off her throbbing thoughts. The lady in desperate need of blood, had been a good friend of the hospital for many years and had delivered her children in the hospital, including the obsessively quiet first born, the avid reader, who sat calmly at the reception sipping a drink and not even in the slightest bothered when her mother had been pregnant with the second one. Perhaps it was just coincidence. 'She definitely didn't have twins,' Doris thought. She knew this because she participated fully in all the birthing processes.

Mary hadn't noticed how she chewed gum in a bit of porousness or how she squashed the bubbles that would form and then continue grinding. She had learned Doris was the best nurse and wondered just how nonchalant and completely loose the rest of the other nurses were.
She had returned back to her damp bed after the decency of a wash to distill the ooze that lingered for days on her skin. Her skin was starting to form flakes of dried sores that would fall off if scratched with the tip of a nail. They glowed brighter and were cooler after the bath. She was strong enough, she knew, but the doctor demanded she rested enough. The cold thought of returning back home shrunk her. She would rather follow the lavish woman who sat by her side for days home and then work for her.

Just as her mind pulsated in the many things that could be while staring into the artistic ceiling, the lady dazed in. Her skin was fine and without blemish. She shoved her hand into Mary's hair and felt the moistness immediately telling she had just had a bath. She smiled, holding a different bag from the one she had brought from a day before but all had the same design. The nurse in her friskiness pushed her head into the room and blew a gum, squashing it louder yet again. Her fingers were entrapped within a now pair of brownish yellow rubber gloves which were formerly white and she appeared to be looking for Doctor Aminu but she wasn't.

"The lady wants to thank you," she said to no one in particular.

"Me?" Mary asked deftly.

"Let me go instead," Beatrice opted, resting Mary's back on the hospital bed with creased sheets. She left the room and sauntered into a bigger room where a lady laid, her legs ajar and her eyes dimmed. The lady turned wearyingly and met Beatrice's immediately recognizing her in her demeanour. She beamed, showing off red gums that felt painful.

"Thank you ma," the lady said. "I'm a very big fan of your magazine ma. God bless you." Beatrice wanted to say 'Thank you' and add that she wasn't the donor but a pale innocent child who still struggled to live, but said neither.

"Honey how are you?" A man walked in in a hurried panic. The voice was coarse but yet soothing in the way she had grown to love it, or to long for it. The way she had envisaged her name being called in the morning with a tray of mouth watering meals and a small table laid before her for breakfast, or at a long night in one of the very many loud African parties as opposed to the cold slowly suiting American jams she would listen to over a cup of hot coffee while reading an article from Daily Times or reviewing what best fitted her magazine for the next month.

She dreaded visiting France. While acknowledging the art and music and lovely culture with even lovelier people, she hated it reminded her how lonely her success seemed. Every little corner had lovebirds snuggled in warm thick jackets, laughing at incomprehensible things and then kissing- long hurried kisses that aimed at devouring the other and finally staining their lips brighter pink.

She still remembered the man she had dated. He lived in a small house at a resettlement in Abuja. She paid his bills and clothed him in exchange for loyalty and a remake of all she picked up from her visits. He was OK for a long while riding different lush cars, putting on million naira accessories until he flared up. The thought that she was the provider of the income wounded his ego. 'I'm the man,' he often said in a grump. 'I should provide the needs,' he said another time. She would plead back that it never mattered, that she was OK with it until she wasn't anymore and they parted their separate ways. So when the voice of the lady's husband boomed, she smiled a weak defeated smile and watched him hug her and then place his hand on her raised knee.

"I'm fine. This kind lady offered me blood," the lady said, pointing to Beatrice who yet again wanted to reject such undeserving appraisal but her words were choked in by the familiarity of his firm grip when she held out her hand for a handshake and his crowded eye brows. The tall firm youthfulness still glowed and had been unchanged since the last seventeen years.

"Dominic," she said in an unsure certainty.

"You know him?" The lady still exposed on the bed asked. Her lips were cornered with a freakishly grateful smile.

"Yes, I know him. He was the father of my child."

Author's note: Thanks for reading 🙏

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Today's chapter is dedicated to bisolalayo 💕