Time Corps 22

Gradually, as if from an immense distance, I start to perceive things.
I'm really warm, yet that isn't logical, should be chilled halfway to death. Slowly I realize the warmth emanates from a thick load of blankets and a young girl who's wrapped herself tightly around me, hanging on like a drowning person.
She's saying something in a language I don't understand, yet it sounds very familiar from childhood days. Oh of course, the Muslim form of prayer, I've heard that before, a minority of neighbors back home were Muslim.
Somehow or other, I slowly realize she's actually praying over me. So, am I dead or alive? Truth is, at this point I don't know.
She switches to English, knows some, "all you Indians, all speak English. Talk to me, tell me something."
I open my mouth, no sound comes out.
"Good. I know you're alive. Open your eyes."
I do.
At that, she holds on even tighter, starts crying. After sometime, "you hungry? Thirsty?"
"Not hungry dear, deathly thirsty."
She makes tea, fairly fast, kero stove.
After a cup, my throat is lubed, I can talk a bit. As I start to sip the second, I ask, "so where am I?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know."
"Mother and I here, don't know how. She's dead now."
"I see, so how did I get here?"
"I prayed. Told God send me another mother. Don't steal from someone. Just take someone who'd die if she weren't here."
I feel my shoulders go tense, this is getting too wierd. After a moment of pondering, "well that seems a sensible prayer. Don't want to steal. So, why were you still praying when I was already here?"
"Different prayer. You were out in place, maybe dead, maybe alive. Prayed you stay alive."
I groan inwardly, but what can you say? She seems earnest enough.
I realize we haven't even exchanged names, "I'm Indira, what's your name?"
"I'm Fatima," smile, "come, we find clothes. My mother was bigger but not much."
This proves somewhat inaccurate. Guessing from the clothes, I'm say 2 inches shorter and 40 pounds lighter. Still, Afghan clothes are meant to be loose, so I don't look too bad.
Once they are on (I had no choice, being just in a nightgown), she looks at me totally differently, very proprietorial, "there, you are my mother now. Rest today mum, show you the place tomorrow."
I change back into nightgown, lie back down, feeling utterly washed out. Instantly she crawls in under the covers with me, wraps her arms around me, presses close.
"What happened mum? Why so cold when you get here?"
"Fatima dear, I was in a plane crash, Arctic, coast of Greenland."
"Where's that?"
"Far north, chunks of ice in water big as ships, where Eskimos are."
"Wow mum, why do you travel there?"
"Long story, I'm so tired, tell you another day."
"Ok mum, just rest, you'll be fine."
I suppose my mind should be running mile a minute, trying to figure it out. Was it sabotage? Lousy maintenance? Metal fatigue, related to cold temperature?
Somehow though, her close presence relaxes me. I feel all the warmth coming off her, just peacefully drift off. After all, what good would it do knowing those answers? Regardless of which, I'm still here.
I'm almost asleep when it hits me, why she looks so familiar. Very similar in appearance to Nilofar. Who knows - maybe even one of Nilofar's ancestors.