Free The World We Found by Thrity Umrigar Page A

the spot where she’d buried the two dead cardinals. Sitting down, she began to weed near the area. After a few minutes, as always, she felt her heartbeat slowing down. Let the Christians have their Sunday mass and the Muslims their call to prayer. This was her church, her temple, her religion, this soft soil that got under her fingernails, this thin morning air, this single note that the robin struck over and over again. This large backyard with its looming trees and its merry flowers and trilling birds was the only taste of heaven she would ever need.
    After fifteen minutes of weeding, she reached for the flat of petunias Diane had brought home last evening. She was eager to plant them over the grave.
    She swiveled on the stool, ready to pop a plant out of its plastic container. She missed. Her right hand couldn’t find its way to the bottom of the container. Her fingers missed their mark, clutching air for a few puzzling seconds. She frowned and tried again. And was unsuccessful. Her mind told her that her hand should be curling around the green box, but somehow her fingers remained a few millimeters removed from their destination. She turned her whole body around this time and, holding her right wrist in her left hand, tried again. There. Now her fingers were gripping the plastic.
    She let go of the container, shaken by this abrupt refusal by her body to obey her commands. She sat still for a moment, waiting for whatever this thing was to pass. After a few seconds she reached for the box but struggled with coordinating the movement of her hands with what her eyes were telling her. Once again, she gripped one hand in the other before she could get hold of the box. And when she protruded her index finger to push the delicate plant out, she felt the same frustration as her finger kept missing the hole in the container. Finally, more by touch than sight, her finger found its target.
    She spent ten minutes on this fruitless task before giving up. During that time Armaiti fought a rising terror. What was going on within her body? How would she manage if her coordination was this bad? And how could it have come on this suddenly? She wondered if she should call out for Diane, but dreaded facing a fresh bout of condemnation from her daughter. Maybe this thing is not related to the brain tumor, she told herself. Maybe I’m dizzy, maybe it’s a touch of vertigo or sunstroke that will clear up as soon as I go indoors.
    She rose cautiously from the stool and stood still for a minute before she risked taking a step. She almost cried out in relief when she realized that the strange thing that was affecting her hand didn’t seem to be affecting her balance or her gait. Still, she was careful. She took another step toward the house, and then another. She was walking fine. Whatever was affecting her hand had spared her legs.
    “Hey, Mom,” Diane called as Armaiti walked into the house. “Want some brunch?”
    “No thanks,” Armaiti replied as she came up behind her daughter.
    Diane turned around. “How about I make you a waffle?”
    “I already ate. Hours ago.”
    Diane’s blue eyes settled on Armaiti’s face. “What did you eat?”
    Armaiti looked away, flustered. The truth was she had not eaten a thing since she’d had some pasta last night. “What is this? An interrogation?”
    “Damn straight.” Diane’s brow furrowed. “Mom, you gotta eat. You can’t lose weight when—”
    Armaiti smiled. She caught the indignant look on her daughter’s face and tried to stop.
    “What? You think everything is funny?”
    “I’m sorry, darling,” Armaiti said. “It’s just that you sounded so much like I used to when you were a child that I’m—I guess I’m just laughing at the role reversal. You know what I mean?”
    “What are you talking about? I never gave you a hard time about food.”
    “Are you kidding me? Do you know what you ate for dinner from the time you were two until you were four? A boiled egg. Every