I am looking at Grace, and Grace is looking at me, and I am hearing Cantonese lullaby that she is singing to me back in Nigeria. It is sounding and feeling like thing that is happening in remembering that is not mine, hazy and sometime with static, but my body is telling me that it is thing that I am experiencing. Even though it is feeling like dream, my body is telling me that this is truth. Grace is singing to me in language that she is knowing and that Ngozi and Ify are not knowing, language that we are sharing. Something inside me pushes me to smile at Grace, and she smiles back, then she bows to me and leaves.

Now it is just being me and Ify who are the only breathing thing in this room.

Ify is going to her desk and turning machine on and preparing machine and then she is looking at me. I am thinking that she is seeing something in my eye, because her face is becoming softer and she is looking like how mother in remembering is looking at child. She is looking at me like her whole face is saying it will be okay, and at first I am not trusting her because some part of me, deep inside past my skeleton and my organs, is remembering that everybody I trust—even Xifeng, even Enyemaka—is sometime telling lies to me, and I am tired of people telling lies to me. But Ify is putting hand on my shoulder, then she is asking me, “Do you want to see them?”

For a long time, there is only question in my eye, because I am not knowing what she is meaning, then I am knowing, and I am knowing now that I am nervous. I am having purpose and I am knowing that I am to be serving others and doing good thing and that I am being good person, but I am nervous to be doing this thing. Ify is looking at me, and I am nodding my head.

Then the wall we are facing is opening like it is blinds on a window turning from vertical to horizontal, and I am seeing before me row and row and row and row and row of hospital bed with body that is in it and that is not moving. It is going on forever, like sea that is never-ending. And I am not even trying to be counting them. It is different, seeing them this way, than seeing them from the office in Ify’s apartment. They are closer. Their danger feels greater. I am wanting even more to be helping them.