Stranger Read Online Free Page A

name?
    She said that she was called “Eee-so.” She spelled it: Í-S-O. She said that sometimes patients called her “eye-so.” You’re free to do that, of course, but I might not come when you call. She knew that she was being cheeky, but she couldn’t help herself. She was nervous.
    He said he hadn’t heard that name before.
    She said it was short for Paraíso.
    He tried out her name, Paraíso, but the vowels were all wrong.
    Ãso is simplest, she said.
    Of course.
    And you’re Doctor Mann, she said. Her statement appeared to be a mock greeting, but it wasn’t. It was the first time she had addressed him directly, and because English didn’t allow for the formal voice, she was off balance. She was also a little in awe, and still nervous, and when this happened, she tended to be dismissive. She knew of him. All the keepers were aware of him. They gossiped. They observed. They gossiped some more. Doctor Mann was impossible to miss as he strode through the corridors and gardens of the clinic.
    Ãso and the doctor were standing at the foot of the girl’s bed. He was wearing his lab coat. The sleeves of the coat were too short and Íso noticed his wrists and the blond hair there. His fingers were slender. His stethoscope hung to the middle of his chest. His eyes were green or blue, and only later did she realize that they were like the waters of the lake, which shifted in moods from dark blue to green to light blue. At that time, at that moment, she didn’t imagine that he had even noticed her, except as a translator. She had no designs. She was simply observing.
    The doctor said that if the girl wanted to save the baby, she had to stay in bed. Even so, she might lose it.
    Ãso translated.
    The girl nodded.
    She asked the girl if she had someone to help her with the older child.
    The girl said that her abuelita lived with them.
    Good, Íso said.
    She turned to explain this to the doctor, but he was gone.
    A WEEK after Íso had translated for Doctor Mann, he stopped her on the path that wound down to the pool area and inquired about the girl. Was there news? Íso said she hadn’t heard, but she could drop by the family’s home and check on the girl. She knew the house.
    In the evening, around dinnertime, Íso made her way to the home of the girl. The sun had set. The houses were lit. Young boys walked hand in hand in the streets, and a child squatted near the entrance to her family’s tienda. Nearby, an old woman sat before her fruit press, her clean glasses stacked beside the basket of oranges. Íso greeted everyone she met, and they greeted her in return.
    The house of the pregnant girl was built from cinder blocks, the roof was corrugated metal, the floor was packed earth upon which there were scattered various rugs of bright colours. The girl was lying on a bed in the front room. Her abuela sat beside the bed. Íso was offered tea. She declined. She stood before the girl and asked if all was fine.
    The girl nodded.
    No more blood? Íso asked.
    The girl said that she had not bled since leaving the clinic.
    Ãso asked if the baby had been moving at all.
    The girl nodded.
    Like before?
    Yes, the girl said. The baby is very strong.
    The abuela listened and nodded. She held the older child in her lap.
    I’d like to look, Íso said. Okay?
    The girl said that she could look.
    Ãso lifted the girl ’s T-shirt and touched her abdomen. She pressed against the wall of the uterus and asked if there was any pain. Here? And here? There?
    Each time the girl shook her head.
    And you’re staying in bed as the doctor said?
    Yes.
    She told the girl that she wanted to see if there was blood. Okay? The girl agreed. Íso slipped the girl’s underwear down to her thighs. She saw no fresh blood. She pulled up the girl’s underwear and replaced the blanket. She smiled. It was much easier to work with a Tz’utujil woman than with the