The One Immigrant
The boy never forgot the morning when he woke up with a severe sore throat after he tried to swallow his breakfast. His stepmother moistened two of her fingers, pushed them into the ash-filled fire pit, and then wrestled with the swell. It did not work, but he threw up a twenty-centimeter-long worm in his vomit. She then sent the ailing boy to his mother for help. Robab Khanom, the mother, did not have any medicine at home, but she sent him to a public dispensary near his school for help. That clinic was closed in that early morning, but the custodian gave him the address of the Morsaleen Christian Hospital. He walked and found the place, entered through an open iron gate, sat on the edge of the water basin in the yard, and waited until a tall nurse in her white gown came and took him to the examination room. She took his temperature, counted his pulse, and examined his ears, nose, and throat. She then told him a few soothing words, had him swallow a spoonful of a syrup. She then gave him a small box with some pills and a bottle of some kind of cough syrup to take home and to swallow one spoonful after each meal. He was fascinated by one shiny silver necklace around the nurse's neck. To him, it looked like the plus sign in his arithmetic book but with one longer tail. He asked and the nurse said with a mild smile, "This is a cross. We all have one for its healing power." She then gave the boy two one-Rial coins--each worth about one American nickel--and said, "One for your bus ticket and one for your breakfast. I will pray for you to get better soon." When he was in the bus, he kept hoping for the days when he and his family would live in Emrica or Oroupa, where all people are kind and helpful like that nurse-lady.
Customer Reviews
ThriftBooks ® and the ThriftBooks ® logo are registered trademarks of Thrift Books Global, LLC
