Stephanie de Velasco - Tiger Milk

The nurse opens the door next to the clown and there are two beds in the room. The one in the back, by the window, is empty but there’s someone in the closer bed, I don’t know if it’s a boy or girl, I mean I could probably tell if I looked but all I can do is stare at the legs in the bed, they distract me from anything else. The legs are charred, born to a crisp you could say in O-language, it would be a bit of an exaggeration but you’re allowed to exaggerate in O-language, in fact O-language is made for exaggerating because you use it either for a laugh or because things are way too cross and mossed up and regular language just can’t express how cross and mossed up things are, but anyway the legs are burned.

This is your bed here, says the nurse pointing to the empty bed. She pulls up the shade and opens the window, sun streams in, I have to squint. Outside is a big park with lots of trees and in between the trees are bushes with white flowers, the only thing missing is a lake, then it would be like it is in Italy.

So, says the nurse walking around the bed and fluffing the covers, we’ll see if the anaesthesiologist has time to meet with you.

I look over at the other bed again.

What happened, I ask.

The nurse sighs.

Nylons. Matches and nylons. She’s still very weak. She was in intensive care until yesterday.

She goes to the door and her nurse shoes clop on the floor like my flip-flops, just healthier. As I unpack my things and stow them in the drawer of the nightstand I feel pretty grown-up, in a different way from on Kurfürsten. I look over at the girl. Her wounds are yellow and red, the scabs are spiky and saw-toothed and in between are big black spots. Hospitals are something serious, you don’t mess around, and that’s good because everyone here knows not to mess around. I stretch out on the bed and wonder to myself whether anyone has ever died in this room or even right here in this bed. It wouldn’t be so bad, with a view of the park, the sun shining in your face, there are worse ways to die. People who say hospitals are creepy places really don’t have a clue, it’s such a throwaway thing to say. I mean sure, this isn’t a playground, but anyone who seriously thinks it would be nicer to die at a playground than here must have lost their chador.

There’s a knock at the door.

Come in, I say.

It’s Jameelah.

Salam! What is this the Four Seasons, she says letting herself drop onto the bed next to me, couldn’t wait to check in, could you?

I put my arms behind my head and smile.

It’s almost as nice as Italy, I say.

Wait until you see the food, it’s usually crap, says Jameelah and then she looks over at the other bed.

What happened to her, she whispers.

Nylons, I say, and matches.

Really?

There’s another knock at the door. Three doctors in white lab coats come into the room. You can tell which one is the boss right away. He’s the tallest, looks great, and he walks ahead of the others.

Guten Tag, he says smiling, I’m Doctor Berkenkamp, I’ll make sure that you are fast asleep before the operation tomorrow. We’ll give you a shot and then send you off to a beautiful island, what do you think?

Sounds good, I say.

He sits down on the bed next to me. His eyes are deep blue like Tarik’s.

Can I come to the island too, asks Jameelah flopping into the wicker chair next to the window.

The lead doctor laughs. He gently feels my neck with his cool fingers. He taps on my cheekbones and asks if it hurts and then he looks down my throat.

Which would you prefer, Greece or Italy, he asks tossing the tongue depressor into the bin next to my nightstand.

Italy.

Good, in that case we will send you to a beautiful island off the cost of Italy.

Fine with me, I say, but the important thing is the anaesthesia.

Don’t want to have to wake you like Sleeping Beauty, says the lead doctor pinching my cheek, his hands smell like expensive cologne and I think that it wouldn’t be so bad if he woke me like Sleeping Beauty.

The next morning a nurse wakes me. She rolls me down the hall in my bed to the lift. We go down to the basement, past fluorescent lights and through some thick glass doors that swing open and then the lead doctor is there. I recognize his blue eyes even though the rest of his face is covered.

We’re off to Capri, he says putting a needle in my arm and attaching it to a long hose but after that there’s nothing, no Capri, nothing at all.

I wake up slowly. Mama and Jessi are sitting at the table next to the window. Jessi is playing with her rubber hand clackers and Mama is looking out at the park and the first thing that comes into my head is what Mama would have answered, Italy or Greece.

Nini, calls Jessi jumping up and sitting at the end of the bed, you look like a Chinese mental patient.

So do you, I say. It hurts a lot to talk. The stitches in my jaw hurt.

How do you feel, asks Mama.

Okay.

Mama looks at the time.

We have to go, she says and kisses me goodbye on my forehead, you slept for such a long time.

It’s fine, I say and fall back to sleep.

I only wake up again when a nurse pushes a trolley in with two trays on it. On one is normal food, on the other one, the one the nurse puts down on my nightstand with a smile, is a plastic container filled with puree, it looks like diarrhoea with a straw in it. I start grumpily slurping.

Come on another bite, says the nurse to the burned girl holding a piece of bratwurst under her nose, but when she turns her head away again the nurse gives up. As she goes to the door Jameelah comes in.

She grins at my container of diarrhoea.

Tasty?

Ha ha.

I told you.

She gets a great meal and doesn’t even touch it, I whisper nodding at the burned girl.

She must have private health insurance.

I’m hungry.

Go ahead and take hers, says Jameelah.

Very funny.

What, are you scared, she says walking over to the other bed.

Hello, she says, your food is getting cold, hello, she repeats waving her hands in front of the burned girl’s face. I can’t help giggling.

Well then, as long as you don’t give a shot, Jameelah says grabbing the tray and sitting back down next to me.

Give me some, I say but Jameelah shakes her head and shoves another delicious looking piece of wurst into her gullet.

You were too scared to take it, so enjoy your diarrhoea.

Come on just a piece of bratwurst.

Man you’re not supposed to eat any solid food with those stitches in your mouth, they’ll pop and then it’ll be a huge mess.

Then mosh up a piece for me.

Mosh for mash, that’s good. But don’t give a shot wasn’t bad either, eh?

Give me a piece.

I’m going to call the nurse if you take any, says Jameelah putting her hand on the red call button next to my bed.

Blackmailer, I say.

The squeaking sound of the food trolley wakes me. A sweet guy in white clothes walks in.

Sorry for the delay, he says picking up a tray with another container of diarrhoea. He looks at me, uncertain.

That’s for her, I say pointing at the burned girl.

Sorry I’m just filling in today, he says putting down a tray with a plate of spaghetti on it next to my bed. With the fork I cut up the spaghetti as small as possible and carefully start to eat it. It doesn’t hurt, or barely hurts, only when the stitches stretch. I go into the bathroom and look in the mirror. I’m slowly starting to look less and less like a Chinese mental patient, more like a hamster with a fat lip, or somebody with two super balls in their mouth who refuses to spit them out. When I return to the room Nico is sitting on my bed.

Hi cutie, he says.

I can feel my face flush with happiness.