Zoe smiled. “I do. What kind would you like?”
“Can we play Johnny?” She hummed for a moment, and Zoe tried to make out the tune. Suddenly, Kuyeya said, “‘The one on the right was on the left.’”
Zoe laughed. It was the name of the song and also the first line of the chorus. She recited the next line: “‘And the one in the middle is on the right.’”
Dr. Chulu emerged from the lobby and greeted them. “One of the intake rooms is available. Shall we?”
At the sound of the doctor’s voice, Kuyeya stopped humming and began to moan softly. Sister Anica took her by the hand and led her into the waiting area, and Zoe followed. Nurse Mbelo stood beside an open door, holding a clipboard.
Dr. Chulu pointed at a chair beside the bed. “I need her to sit while I look at her neck.”
“I have your iPod,” Sister Anica replied, handing Zoe a canvas bag.
As soon as Kuyeya sat in the chair, Zoe placed the earphones over her ears.
“Can we play Johnny?” the girl said again.
“Of course,” Zoe said, selecting “Ballad of a Teenage Queen”.
When Kuyeya began to rock to the rhythm, Zoe joined Joseph by the door and watched Dr. Chulu perform the examination. He placed one hand on the girl’s forehead and used the other to probe the region between her hairline and collar. He asked Sister Anica a series of questions about the fall and Kuyeya’s discomfort, and then he observed her standing still and walking.
Eventually, he shook his head. “Her muscles are underdeveloped, but that’s common in children with Down syndrome. She shows no sign of imbalance, nor does she seem to be in obvious pain. The fall gave her a jolt, but I think she’s all right.”
Zoe wondered about an X-ray, but she knew the answer she would get. In state hospitals, technology was a luxury reserved for acute cases.
Afterward, Dr. Chulu walked with them to the parking lot. Zoe held Kuyeya’s hand until Sister Anica pulled the St. Francis van up to the curb.
“It’s time for you to go home,” Zoe said, removing the headphones and looking into the girl’s eyes. “I’ll come visit you soon.”
“Home is where the bee-eater lives,” Kuyeya said, swinging her monkey.
The Zambezi, Zoe thought. Charity left you with her happy memories. “Would you like to see a bee-eater someday?” she asked.
“Yes. And a hippo.”
After helping Kuyeya into the van, Zoe tucked the iPod into her seat and slid the door closed. She stepped back and waved as Sister Anica drove the van toward the street.
“Are you sure she’s okay?” she asked Dr. Chulu.
“Kids get bumps and bruises,” he replied. “You don’t need to worry. What’s the status of her case? Have you found any new evidence?”
Joseph glanced at Zoe and said, “We found a new witness. It’s complicated.”
Dr. Chulu shook his head. “I still can’t believe we lost the DNA. My staff … I can’t believe one of them …” He clenched his fists. “Put me on the stand at trial and I’ll make Flexon Mubita so angry at Darious that he won’t be able to sleep at night.”
Zoe pictured Mubita with Patricia Nyambo and thought: I hope you’re right.
“I should be going,” the doctor said. “Call me if she starts to have pain again.”
Zoe walked with Joseph to the Land Rover. In the privacy of the cab, she asked him the question she had been suppressing for a month. “Did you get tested again?”
He nodded. “My CD4 count was 330. I started on ARVs.”
She exhaled, both anxious and relieved. “How are you doing?”
“I had some vomiting at first. I’m hungrier than I used to be. Otherwise, I’m okay.” He stared out the window. “The good news is the drugs seem to be working. I went back two days ago and my CD4 count was 625. My viral load was almost undetectable.”
God, the jargon is dehumanizing, she thought, taking a left onto Independence and merging into the thick of afternoon traffic. Once a person, now a lab rat.
A wave of doubt washed over her. This is his life now—drugs twice a day, side effects and opportunistic infections. Being with him won’t be easy. The virus will overshadow everything. Almost immediately, she felt a backlash of guilt. How can you think like that? You adore him; you want to be with him. The ARVs will let him live a reasonably normal life. If you let him go, you’ll never find another like him.
Suddenly, she remembered something from the past, something her mother had told her at an Ethiopian orphanage surrounded by malnourished children wearing irrepressible grins: “Life is a broken thing. It’s what we do with the pieces that defines us.”
“Look, Zoe,” Joseph said, “I won’t blame you if you’re having second thoughts.”
“I don’t regret loving you,” she said, struggling to hold back her tears.
He studied her intently. “Does that mean …?”
She nodded. “I don’t know how to do this, but I’m willing to try.”
PART FOUR
An angel rides in the whirlwind.
—John Page
Darious
Lusaka, Zambia