Free The Cinnamon Tree by Aubrey Flegg Page B

dear.’
    Then she was gone, still fluttering anxiously. Yola opened her hand and there was a worn, but well polished, white metal medal of a saint, a child on his shoulder and waves about his feet.
    Yola hoped she’d see the little woman again to thank her, but she didn’t. She was wheeled out by side passages and concrete tunnels to the baggage-reclaim area. When they emerged, her case was circulating on the carousel alone and her immediate anxiety now was whether or not there would be anyone to meet her.

9
Catherine
    A nun, just like Sister Martha but much younger and dressed in a neat suit, had met her at the airport. She introduced herself as Sister Attracta. She had a funny sing-song accent. She said she was from Cork so proudly that Yola didn’t like to ask where Cork was. Yola was amazed to find the car parked on the roof of the airport. Sister Attracta wanted to hear all about her flight and how she had managed in Brussels. Yola told her of her confrontation with Knutt and she laughed.
    ‘Poor boy, he probably felt pretty awful if he’d had malaria,’ she said. The traffic was getting thicker and she changed the subject. ‘We wanted to bring you to our house here in Dublin Yola, so you could rest, but it is getting close to the beginning of term and it would be nice to get you fixed up with your new leg before the autumn term starts. I hope that is all right; I’ll be taking you straight to the clinic. They are expecting you there.’
    A huge articulated lorry crowded them against the pavement and Sister Attracta leaned on the horn. Yola noticed her lips moving as they ground to a halt at the curb.
    ‘Ought I confess what I nearly said?’ she said with a sheepish grin. But Yola didn’t smile, she was beginning to panic.
    ‘So many people, so many cars!’ she said as a flow of office girls and young men in suits and jackets surrounded them. Shewanted to shrink. The journey and the new sights were beginning to tell. Her stump felt hot, which was often a prelude to it hurting. All these confident young people who knew where they were going intimidated her.
    ‘You must be dying to get rid of those old crutches,’ said Sister Attracta. For no reason that Yola could think of, tears started flooding into her eyes. She liked her crutches, they were part of her and of home. Uncle Banda had made them for her. She didn’t want anyone messing around with her leg; it was throbbing and sore. She wanted to see the sea again and then go home exactly as she was. They crossed a bridge; they must be near a harbour because there were ships. She turned to stare at them. Perhaps one of them was going to Africa. Homesickness flooded over her. Sister Attracta paid money at a kiosk while Yola managed a surreptitious wipe of her face.

    When they had arrived at the clinic, Yola was walked for miles down corridors, crutches slipping on polished floors. Finally, they had turned into a bright, clean ward with four empty beds that looked so comfortable, Yola would gladly have climbed in, clothes and all. A nurse helped her undress and then pulled the curtains around her bed, but Yola was already asleep.

    She was woken by someone peering at her between the curtains . It was a girl, but she was so fair and fuzzy that Yola found herself blinking at her in disbelief.
    ‘Oh, hello. Are you awake?’
    She was younger than Yola, but it was difficult for Yola to tell how old Europeans were. The girl slipped in through the curtains.
    ‘I’m Catherine. I can’t shake hands because I don’t have my arms on. I was in physio when you arrived. You must havebeen tired. I’ve looked in on you a couple of times and you were asleep. Wasn’t I good not to wake you? It gets boring in here sometimes.’ She plonked down on the edge of Yola’s bed. ‘You don’t mind, do you. Sister gets furious when I sit on people’s beds. There’s three of us in here, and now you. Susan’s only little. She’s got callipers ’cos her leg’s all