Chapter 24 Chain Mail
Muya is innocent. I have, following in the footsteps of Usha, horribly mistreated perhaps the only person who has tried to help me from the start.
And if Muya is telling the truth, then his honest advice for me is to give up.
Things are ugly outside the clinic. This Monday marks day thirty-five, even though it’s been almost six weeks since Ash Wednesday.
Only six days left to survive. There is a veritable sea of protesters across the street, extending in an unbroken chain that’s longer than our clinic.
They’ve looped around the boundaries of the property, confidently standing in the street and opening a link to allow cars to pass through before closing it back up.
It’s illegal, and absolutely nobody gives a damn.
In fact, I read the other day that the current administration is actively pardoning the few people who have been convicted of obstructing clinics.
“Human chain is new,” JJ calls from behind me. I’m standing on the street corner, staring at this travesty.
“I thought you had work,” I say.
“I called out. Today through Friday. I have way too much vacation accrued, and this is important.”
“You seem better,” I tell her.
“Much,” she says. “And I talked to my dad. He’s going to send you an email. I am still serious about getting you out of here.”
I want to tell her about the success of our fundraising night, but something stays my tongue.
Probably embarrassment, since it’s nothing like the fundraising I saw at the Art Institute.
Besides, this current scene is pretty demoralizing.
“Any patients who walk to the clinic won’t be able to get through.
And even the ones who drive—this is… this is… maybe we should have closed.”
“Come on. Let’s go get our vests. We do what we can, right?”
“How are you so calm?” I demand.
“You always figure everything out,” she says.
Diane waves me inside, and JJ grabs a vest before heading back out. What she’s going to do about the literal human chain I’m not sure.
“We heard more about Lauren’s case,” she whispers to me. “The police say someone here recorded her, that they’ve been sharing videos of patients on their forums to shame them.”
“What the fuck?” I hiss. “Whoever sent the video to her boyfriend is an accessory!”
“Honey, the boyfriend is pleading emotional duress or something. Saying that she murdered his child, so his response was excusable.”
“That’s… not the law,” I say, but I’m only half confident because it’s Texas. And Texas certainly won’t prosecute the recorder, since that would require caring about the lives of women. “So they’re just going to drop it?”
“They’re still moving forward with the case, but only for now. Once the whole thing dies down, I’m sure they’ll make him a sweetheart deal. We need to warn patients…” She trails off, because we both know if we do, some simply won’t come in. And they might be right not to.
“Don’t they have any shame?” I mutter. “Surely it’s bad for the pro-life brand if they get a woman killed.”
“They get women killed every day,” Diane says. “That is their brand.”
“We’ll think on it,” I tell her. “In the meantime, can you give me the volunteer umbrellas? We’ll use those for now. By the way, any ideas on the human chain?”
“I called the police, reported a traffic violation.” Diane shrugs. She’s usually positive, but her shoulders are slumped and her face is devoid of any attempt at optimism.
“Right, well, when the police show up in five hours, I’ll be sure to let them know what they missed,” I say. It’s a bad joke, but Diane gives me a forced pity snort and hands over the umbrellas. I take them and head back outside, expecting to find the antis encroaching farther onto the street.
Instead, I see a horde of what looks like… desi uncles? They’re arguing very loudly with the protesters and have managed to disrupt the chain. JJ comes up to me, looking confused and flustered.
“They just appeared! I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who they are.”
But I do. I hear a heavily accented “Absolute idiot!” shouted from one corner, followed by an “I am a doctor!” from the street. It sounds like Sanjiv Uncle.
“What’s going on?” JJ asks.
“We just held a fundraiser for the clinic. I guess the people who attended are feeling extra motivated… and I bet my Aai had something to do with it.” I look down to text her.
Did you send the uncles here?
She doesn’t immediately respond, and when I look up, the chain is fully broken.
“What happened?” I ask JJ, who is watching the scene with a mix of awe and fear.
“They rushed it.” I stare at her, sure I’ve misheard. Old Indian men rushing a line of screaming white people? “They just barreled through them. One guy shouted something in a language I couldn’t understand—it was kind of scary.”
“You’re kidding me.” I burst out laughing.
The antis are trying to regroup, but as they attempt to link hands and block the road again, a car drives through and they jump out of the way.
The person driving it rolls their windows down to wave at the uncles.
“Is that Ajoba?” I ask, more to myself than anyone else.
We all just call him Grandfather, since he’s been in this area longer than the rest of us have been alive. “Is he legally allowed to drive?”
“Look, there’s a patient!” JJ exclaims. Suddenly the mirth of the last few minutes is gone.
I run toward the woman, holding an umbrella. As I approach her, I push it open, but the woman tries to shove me.
“Get away, creep!” Then she blinks at me and offers a sheepish look. “I thought you were one of them.”
“Thankfully not,” I say. “But they’ve been recording patients, so I wanted to protect your privacy.”
She huddles under the umbrella, and we take slow, careful steps toward the clinic. “I’m here for an abortion. I forgot to take my birth control, and of course the one… okay, two times—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” I tell her.
“Sorry. I’m a nervous talker.” She rubs her arms, and I feel bad. It’s always hard to judge these situations.
“In that case, tell me about yourself. You from around here?”
She nods. “I’m from the South Side. There are closer clinics, but this one is far enough away that nobody will recognize me. My mama had an abortion, and my sister, but people still judge you.”
“We get people from all over the country. South Side is practically our backyard.”
She laughs. “Not to someone from the South Side.”
“Fair enough,” I say. As we near the door, she looks a lot steadier. “You’re in good hands. It was nice to meet you.”
“Do they train you on how to calm people down?” she asks. “Because you give off the calmest energy. Thanks.”
“I’m going to tell my mom you said that,” I say, and she laughs and enters the clinic. I watch Ajoba reverse down the road.
“Good work!” JJ calls out. “Do you need to go inside? We can probably hold it down.”
JJ’s words dissolve in my ears, because I spy another woman walking toward us.
“Aai?”
She can’t hear me over the protesters. They swarm her immediately, shouting and shoving flyers in her face. Surely even they are smart enough to realize that she’s postmenopausal? But the uncle squad descends upon them, and soon enough Aai is free to make her way to me.
“So it worked?” she asks.
“I can’t believe you had a plan for this, too,” I say.
She laughs. “I started a WhatsApp forward, telling everyone to come to the clinic at such and such time to make their displeasure heard! Take back their neighborhood! You made quite the impression at the fundraiser, you know. I had so many messages about you, how smart and committed you are. It made me worried about nazr, but don’t worry, I dispelled the evil eye from you already. ”
We look at each other for a moment, and then Aai sighs. “What is the matter with you, Nisha? Why are you being this way?”
“I’m trying to be independent, to stop burdening you with my problems. I know you would do anything for me, but I hate that you’re stuck with a depressed girl who never achieved her potential.
I know you gave up everything for a kid you didn’t even want to have, and I ended up not being worth it at all. ”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Aai snaps. My brain short-circuits—I’ve only heard her swear in traffic. “Where did you get that idea?”
I gesture miserably around me. “Come on. I know you wouldn’t have chosen to have me if you had any other option. You had to leave everything—”
“What is it about you Americans and inventing stories in your head?” Aai says.
“My country wasn’t as backward as yours.
Women could get abortions in India without any fuss if they wanted to.
But I didn’t want one. I wanted you. This is ridiculous.
” She pulls some Tupperware out of her purse.
“You clearly haven’t been eating. Here.”
I’m gaping at Aai. This doesn’t feel like the right place or time for earth-shattering revelations like this. “Even if it’s true that you wanted a child, you must be so disappointed that you got me. I tried everything. And it got me nowhere. What do I do?”
“Be happy?” Aai phrases it like a question, but it’s not. It reminds me of Heera. My throat aches.
“That’s not going to happen, Aai.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m mediocre and I can’t cope with being mediocre. Because I can’t even protect this one clinic. What’s the point of trying? I’m just wasting resources.”
“Sometimes I regret deciding not to slap you as a child,” Aai says. “I certainly did not raise a quitter. You know, most people don’t change the world, and yet, most people still matter. You’re smart, you’re capable, you’re driven. Your sincere effort is enough.”
“You don’t believe that,” I choke out. “For everything you gave me and all your sacrifices, I haven’t done enough. I haven’t—”