Trail of Broken Wings (19 page)

“Every day I pray,” Ranee says, dropping her head, never having revealed their secret to anyone. “But God does not always hear our prayers.”

“No,” Nita agrees. A number of women join them. “He is mysterious in his ways.”

“But we have no choice but to keep asking,” another friend interjects. “If we do not ask, then how will God know our requests?”

They all murmur their agreement. “It is always the strongest and best that suffer,” Nita says, clasping Ranee’s hand in her own. “As if God knows that you have strength the rest of us lack.”

A polite way of explaining her heartbreak, Ranee thinks. Nodding her head, she accepts their condolences with graciousness. A common belief among Indians is that if you spend too much time around someone experiencing bad luck, their energy can transfer to you. Their bad luck may become yours. If you are invited to a wedding and have an unexpected death in the family, no matter how distant, you must decline the invitation. It was why her decades-old friends came to visit but never stayed. Before Sonya came home, friends made sure there was dinner waiting for Ranee at the house. In the mornings, another friend would bring breakfast. A carousel of meals constantly available but no one to share them with. It was why Ranee never revealed her
truth to any of them—if they knew her misfortune, they would cease to be her friends.

“It is with the strength of your friendships that I am able to continue every day,” Ranee returns, offering each of them a warm smile. “Without all of you, where would I be?”

The guru starts to ring the bell, motioning for everyone to gather around. The men take their seats on the floor on one side, while the women sit on the floor on the other side. The genders refrain from intermingling while in prayer to keep the air pure. Once everyone is seated, the guru begins the prayer.

“We are here to bless the new home of our friends Nita and Sanjay,” he says, adding melted butter to the small fire in the pot. Over a small statue of Lord Ganesha and Lord Shiva, he pours milk and water, following it with a sprinkle of rose petals. “Let there only be happiness in this home, prosperity, and great health. Let God smile on this home and its owners. No one deserves it more.”

The mantras continue, the guru calling on each deity to bless their home and to repel any misfortunes. Ranee wishes it were so simple. So often, she longed for a simple prayer to change her course in life. If only the deities were all-powerful—like a child with a simple request, she could ask them to bequeath the gift of a perfect life. But Ranee knows it is not so. Helpless to offer her daughters the childhood they deserved, she acknowledges there is no magic wand or prayer to erase the mural of her life.

With that knowledge comes her acceptance that to have the life she wants, she has to repaint the painting. Redefine the rules and reject all the beliefs she had been raised with. She has no need to honor the husband who dishonored her. To continue fearing the rejection of her community means living the life they accepted. But since it is all a lie, what does that make her if not a liar?

Ranee closes her eyes, allowing the memory of standing atop the mountain in India and the songs of the gurus then to intermingle
with the songs being sung now. The same incense smell, decades apart, brings tears to her eyes. Surrounded by strangers, then and now, she welcomes the knowledge that she belongs because of who she is, not what they need her to be.

She used to have a recurring dream after she married—one where she fell out of the temple and down the mountain. It was a free fall, past the thousand steps and everyone climbing them. She kept falling and would awake with sweat covering her body. After Brent’s admission into the hospital, she had the dream again. This time, she landed in someone’s arms. When she turned to thank the person, she came face-to-face with herself.

As the fire burns and the smoke billows around them, Ranee smiles. Hidden by the haze, she is secure in the knowledge that she is finally living and somehow, she is sure, the world is watching.

SONYA

I spent four months in a gang-infested neighborhood for my first assignment as a photographer. I watched as young boys were initiated into their new families at the age of nine, some even younger. Each one trained in warfare before they reached puberty. They carried guns like appendages, and shot their weapons with the expertise of those who had been shooting their whole lives. Infractions as simple as crossing the wrong street could be cause for execution. Boys who had once been friends now fought like archenemies.

One of their leaders was hunted down for taking out an opposing leader. A hit was put out on him with a reward for the first one who could offer his bullet-riddled body. When he was cornered, two of his underlings stood in front of him like a shield and took the bullets instead. The leader escaped the carnage and hailed the two boys as heroes. At their funerals, their mothers laid themselves over their caskets and begged for an explanation. None came. As I stood in the procession of mourners, I wondered why children so easily accepted it as their place to absorb the sins of their elders, even if it meant losing themselves in the process.

I arrive at the hospital with my portfolio in hand. Pictures from all over the world. I find the Human Resources Department easily, and wait to meet the department chair. I interviewed for the other two jobs first. Both wanted to hire me, but the work was only for a week or two. I needed something longer. When I told Linda the news, she bit her tongue and notified the hospital immediately that I was interested in getting more information. No promises I would accept, she warned them. They set up a time for us to meet. In the meantime, I researched as much as I could on photography as a means of therapy; there was not much to be found. But bundled in with other creative endeavors, such as music and even video games, it had shown promise in helping patients increase their endorphin levels and help fight the illnesses invading their bodies.

When I drive into the parking lot, it feels odd to be here for a job rather than for my father. My need to see him wanes with each day. There is nothing I want to say to him; I know if he was awake, he’d have no desire to see me. My only purpose in remaining is for Trisha. Once she no longer needs me, I will move on.

The Human Resources Department is large and fills an entire wing of the hospital, with people in and out of offices. Everyone here is dressed in suits, not the hospital scrubs and white coats you expect to see on the floor of the hospital. “Sonya? I’m Sean.” A tall gray-haired man approaches me with his hand outstretched.

“A pleasure to meet you.” His grip is firm, filled with warmth.

“I have to tell you,” he says as he motions me into his office, “when I received the call from your agent, I was floored. Someone of your caliber being interested in this position—well, I don’t have to tell you what a coup it would be for us.”

“Thank you.” I have never gotten used to the praise my work elicits. When Linda receives feedback, she forwards me the e-mails or letters. I usually delete or trash them without reading the words. The few times I tried, it proved impossible to believe they were talking about me. “I would love to hear more about the opportunity.”

“Our board just passed a budget for out-of-the-box therapy.” He hands me documents to review. I glance at the glossy brochure about the hospital, touting its achievements. “Innovation in health care. We, of course, have art therapy, music, even video games in Pediatrics. But photography has made headlines recently, and since our hospital is always on the leading edge in health care, we decided to see what we could do.”

“What would the position consist of?” Returning the documents to him, I lean back in my chair. I am unsure about this step. More than just about the decision to stay, I worry about working with people. All my assignments before have been me, alone, behind the camera.

“Working with patients, teaching them about photography. Our first focus will be on Pediatrics. Children may benefit the most from it right now. Usually they haven’t had much exposure to cameras, prints, the entire process of photo-taking. We hope it will open another world to them in a very simple way.”

That’s the beauty of photography. One picture, taken a thousand miles away, can make viewers feel as though they are standing in the same place. Their imaginations can take them on a journey without ever leaving their house. A collage of photographs can create a whole new experience, and allow people to enter places they couldn’t have imagined going. I have never underestimated the power of a picture.

“Your agent mentioned that your father is currently a patient here. I took the liberty of finding him and learning who the attending doctor is.”

“Dr. David Ford,” we both say at the same time.

“David is one of our best,” he says.

“So we’ve been told.”

“He’s also on the board of directors. When I told him you were interested in the position and would be coming in today, he was understandably thrilled. Asked if he could give you the tour himself.”

There’s a knock on the door just as he finishes speaking. David pops his head in, smiling at the sight of me. “Sonya, wonderful to see you again.”

I stand automatically to return his greeting. “Pleasure to see you again, Doctor.”

“I thought we agreed on David.” He turns his gaze toward Sean, a perfect professional. “Sean, the hospital owes you one. If we can hire Sonya, we would look pretty brilliant.”

“I may not be the best fit for the job,” I warn David as we walk alongside one another down the hall. Doctors and nurses pass us, each one offering a greeting. He is well liked, respected by his peers. “This was just an exploratory meeting.” He pushes the “Up” button when we reach the elevators. “Where are we going?” I ask.

“Wait and see.”

He is playing and enjoying it. His happiness is infectious. Caught up in his excitement, we take the elevator up two floors. Stepping out, I am overwhelmed with the colors. Walls covered with every shade of the rainbow. Murals of balloons, zoo animals, every creature imaginable painted with precision. Large enough to catch a child’s eye and offer them comfort.

“Whoa!” David grabs my wrist and pulls me back as two young boys go screeching past. Embroiled in a fight to see who pushes the elevator button first, they barely notice us.

“Sorry.” Their mother runs after them, a blur of blond hair pulled into a ponytail, jeans, and a sweatshirt. “You would think after giving blood they would be a little tired.”

“Not a problem.” The fraternal twins continue their battle, pushing one another in their mission to get into the elevator first. “Don’t forget your mom, boys,” David says.

When they dutifully hold open the door, their mother gives David a grateful smile. As the doors close, I turn toward him. “Pediatrics, I assume?”

“One of the floors. This one is primarily oncology.”

I follow him down the hall toward a glass window. Behind it, a dozen children play in a small room. Most are bald, and all of them have tubes in their bodies. Their ages are mixed, and I imagine they all are older than they look. They are laughing, enjoying the assortment of toys available. They take no notice of us standing, staring. Maybe they are used to adults watching them, searching for a sign that they are on the mend. I can imagine doctors like David jotting down notes. The patients’ every behavior critical. The way they share toys or handle conflict an insight into the state of their health. Or maybe they just don’t care who is behind the window. It is irrelevant to them whether they are passing or failing an unknown test. Because they are already facing the greatest battle of their lives. One that determines if they will be the ultimate victor or the greatest loser.

“You want me to take pictures of them?” I ask.

“With them,” he corrects, waving to a young boy. He turns toward me but my eyes remain on the children. “Did Sean mention various forms of therapy to you? Such as animal therapy?”

“Yes.” Studies showed that an animal’s unconditional love helped to heal what medicine could not. I often wondered what it would have been like if I had one growing up. Would a dog or cat have been strong enough to diminish my pain? “It can work miracles.”