older than the one she had just treated, stood up. He avoided Zahra’s eyes. “How’s Ohannes?” he asked, looking at Diya.
Zahra said edgily, “Diya, please ask this man for information for my report to the chief director. I assume both these men”—she indicated the surgery—“are miners?”
Diya repeated the question.
“Yes,” the man answered.
“And will you ask him, Diya, what happened last night?”
Diya repeated her words again. The young miner had the grace to hang his head, and even to blush beneath his dirt. Zahra doubted he could be more than twenty or twenty-two.
“Well?” Diya asked.
“I’m—I’m sorry, Kir IbSada,” he mumbled. “We were having a drink, after the Doma rites. We were down in the Medah, you know, and there was a—” He broke off in utter embarrassment, eyes shifting from Diya to the street and back again. Zahra tapped her foot and waited, lips pressed together in exasperation. A gentle snore sounded from the surgery, and the miner looked up in alarm. “Is Ohannes all right?”
Diya repeated that, too.
“Diya, you may tell this man that his friend will recover,” Zahra said. “He’s sleeping now, and I still have a lot of cleaning up to do. . . She looked pointedly at the blood-spattered floor. “So if this man doesn’t mind?”
“Yes, yes, I’m—uh, there was a fight over a—um, a woman,” the young miner finished in a mumble, his eyes cast down. “Some of the street women—um, unveiled women—were working the place. There were only three of them, and about fifteen of us. A fight broke out, and somebody hit Ohannes with a broken bottle. I don’t know who the other fellows were.”
At this his eyes met Zahra’s directly, obstinately. She knew perfectly well that was one piece of information she would never get from him.
“Ask if any of the women were injured,” she said to Diya.
He stared at her, his thick lips pursed. “Surely you don’t expect me to ask that?”
Zahra glared at him. “Repeat my question, Diya.”
Diya said offhandedly, “The medicant wishes to know if the women were injured.”
The miner shrugged. “Who knows? They were only prostitutes!”
Diya didn’t bother to repeat the answer.
Zahra was suddenly exhausted, and she was sure Ishi must be, too, though the child stood straight, as tall as she could, right beside her. “Just get our patient’s name and his barracks number, and this man can go. I’ll keep Ohannes in the surgery overnight. Asa will call his squad leader in the morning.”
In a rush of relief, the young miner handed over the other man’s identity card to Diya. He nodded to them both, and backed out the door. Diya passed the card to Zahra.
“Call Asa for me, would you, Diya?” Zahra said, rubbing eyes wearily. “He’ll have to watch over our patient. There’s no danger, I just don’t want him waking alone in the surgery.”
Diya went to the desk and picked up the wavephone.
“And Diya,” Zahra added. She put her hands on her hips. He looked up at her with sullen eyes. “Don’t make me repeat my requests again. Ever. In my clinic, you do as you’re told.”
Diya turned his back on her as he spoke into the phone.
“Come on, Ishi,” Zahra said. She didn’t want to look at Diya anymore. She and Ishi went back to the surgery. Ishi stayed beside her as she bent over Ohannes, her hand on his wrist, her eyes scanning the monitor for anything untoward.
“He’ll be fine,” she whispered. “Let’s go to bed.”
Together they walked down the hall, through the small surgery, into the house. After the brilliance of the clinic lights, the hall was dim, the wall niches in shadow. They trudged up the stairs to their own room. Zahra helped Ishi into her bed, kissing her forehead and tucking her quilt around her, before she climbed into her own rumpled bed, shivering a little with fatigue. She drew the quilt up to her chin.
“Zahra?” Ishi murmured sleepily.
“Yes, Ishi.”
“I think
Zahra said edgily, “Diya, please ask this man for information for my report to the chief director. I assume both these men”—she indicated the surgery—“are miners?”
Diya repeated the question.
“Yes,” the man answered.
“And will you ask him, Diya, what happened last night?”
Diya repeated her words again. The young miner had the grace to hang his head, and even to blush beneath his dirt. Zahra doubted he could be more than twenty or twenty-two.
“Well?” Diya asked.
“I’m—I’m sorry, Kir IbSada,” he mumbled. “We were having a drink, after the Doma rites. We were down in the Medah, you know, and there was a—” He broke off in utter embarrassment, eyes shifting from Diya to the street and back again. Zahra tapped her foot and waited, lips pressed together in exasperation. A gentle snore sounded from the surgery, and the miner looked up in alarm. “Is Ohannes all right?”
Diya repeated that, too.
“Diya, you may tell this man that his friend will recover,” Zahra said. “He’s sleeping now, and I still have a lot of cleaning up to do. . . She looked pointedly at the blood-spattered floor. “So if this man doesn’t mind?”
“Yes, yes, I’m—uh, there was a fight over a—um, a woman,” the young miner finished in a mumble, his eyes cast down. “Some of the street women—um, unveiled women—were working the place. There were only three of them, and about fifteen of us. A fight broke out, and somebody hit Ohannes with a broken bottle. I don’t know who the other fellows were.”
At this his eyes met Zahra’s directly, obstinately. She knew perfectly well that was one piece of information she would never get from him.
“Ask if any of the women were injured,” she said to Diya.
He stared at her, his thick lips pursed. “Surely you don’t expect me to ask that?”
Zahra glared at him. “Repeat my question, Diya.”
Diya said offhandedly, “The medicant wishes to know if the women were injured.”
The miner shrugged. “Who knows? They were only prostitutes!”
Diya didn’t bother to repeat the answer.
Zahra was suddenly exhausted, and she was sure Ishi must be, too, though the child stood straight, as tall as she could, right beside her. “Just get our patient’s name and his barracks number, and this man can go. I’ll keep Ohannes in the surgery overnight. Asa will call his squad leader in the morning.”
In a rush of relief, the young miner handed over the other man’s identity card to Diya. He nodded to them both, and backed out the door. Diya passed the card to Zahra.
“Call Asa for me, would you, Diya?” Zahra said, rubbing eyes wearily. “He’ll have to watch over our patient. There’s no danger, I just don’t want him waking alone in the surgery.”
Diya went to the desk and picked up the wavephone.
“And Diya,” Zahra added. She put her hands on her hips. He looked up at her with sullen eyes. “Don’t make me repeat my requests again. Ever. In my clinic, you do as you’re told.”
Diya turned his back on her as he spoke into the phone.
“Come on, Ishi,” Zahra said. She didn’t want to look at Diya anymore. She and Ishi went back to the surgery. Ishi stayed beside her as she bent over Ohannes, her hand on his wrist, her eyes scanning the monitor for anything untoward.
“He’ll be fine,” she whispered. “Let’s go to bed.”
Together they walked down the hall, through the small surgery, into the house. After the brilliance of the clinic lights, the hall was dim, the wall niches in shadow. They trudged up the stairs to their own room. Zahra helped Ishi into her bed, kissing her forehead and tucking her quilt around her, before she climbed into her own rumpled bed, shivering a little with fatigue. She drew the quilt up to her chin.
“Zahra?” Ishi murmured sleepily.
“Yes, Ishi.”
“I think
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