They say they won’t admit you here, Dad whispers.
“Ahmad, for God’s sake! I’m dying,” Mum shouts.
“WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO?”
“Just do something! ― God.”
God is one of those words I’ve heard a lot since, I remember.
“Sakineh, stop walking,” Dad says.
“Don’t even mention my name you bastard ― A-Good-For-Nothing husband ― Nurse, please do something, my child will die if you don’t hospitalize me ― if you know God!” Mum begs.
“I’m so sorry but there’s nothing that can be done ― there’s no Gynaecologist in the hospital right now as Dr. Amini left two hours ago, and Dr. Karami won’t arrive until tomorrow morning. She’s in Turkey right now.”
“There should be something you can do. What do you mean there’s no Gynecologist in the hospital right now?” Dad has anger and depression in his voice.
“The private hospital is less than three kilometres away,” a quiet voice says.
“What don’t you understand? I DO NOT HAVE MONEY.”
Money is the second word I remember having heard, a lot.
There must be some relation between God and Money.
It’s getting hot in here.
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