p..p..p..Philippa

p..p..p.. Philippa

The girl had been lying with her eyes closed, trying to ignore the bustle around her. She had no urge to move or run; she had spent years dreaming of this moment, wondering, hoping, fearing.

Soft voices, sharp clangs, the doors at the end of the corridor that squeaked when they were thrown open, only to slam again; it all grated on her nerves. In the artificially cold room, she shivered and ran a hand up and down her arm to warm it. Outside, the sun blasted on the carpark, so alien from her home in the Transvaal where the cattle outnumbered the cars. She’d shut her eyes to block it all out. But then she heard the man walk into her room and felt the chart being lifted from the foot of her bed.

‘Hello.’ He crouched beside her.

‘This is Philippa.’ The woman behind him read from a chart.

‘Hello Philippa. D’you know why you’re here?’ he asked and smiled at her.

She couldn’t speak. She gazed at him. His smiley eyes crinkled at her, seared deep into her soul. Something inside her heart went, ‘Whumph!’ His curly brown hair was edged with silver, his eyes crinkled with smiles and above his lip was a scar. His lips didn’t quite match so his smile arched on the left, fell on the right, made a rogue out of him.

She couldn’t speak. Her lips opened a few times like a goldfish; gawping, without sound. Minutes passed. She gazed. He gazed back. She obsessed on his lips, saw them move, watched jealously as they framed words.

‘You know why you’re here? And why I’m here?’

She wouldn’t speak. She nodded and her lips formed, ‘Mmm.’

‘Can you tell me?’ he prompted.

‘Clef’ hallet,’ she mumbled and turned her head, embarrassed.

‘Yes. But not for long. Open wide for me.’

Philippa opened her mouth as wide as she could. For the hundredth, thousandth time the roof of her mouth was examined. The doctor moved her cheeks with a wooden spatula and frowned into the broken cavern that twisted her face. Finally, he stood back and smiled.

‘Say for me: ‘The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog’. Please?’

She breathed deeply; her shoulders heaved with the effort. Screams of laughter echoed from the past. Hurled insults. Wounded by words. Hounded by scorn.

Tears coursed unevenly across deformed cheeks. ‘Fuh kik bwown foss jumms ova a lavy dokh.’ Her brown toes curled in embarrassment inside her slippers. Her fingers wound into knots. He reached out and covered her hand with his; his strong brown fingers conveying confidence.

‘Tomorrow, when you wake up, I will have repaired the cleft in your pallet. From tomorrow on, you will have a little lisp. A cute one. People will smile and say, ‘You’re so cute!’’ He touched her gently on the cheek, stood and left.

The nurse smiled. ‘We’re going to take you down to theatre now, Philippa. You ready?’

It wasn’t a question. There wasn’t an option. There wasn’t a doubt. The girl nodded and relaxed as the gurney banged its way through the squeaking, swinging doors, manoeuvred into the lift, paused in the corridor and then, as the last doors swung closed, she was gently lifted onto the operating table.

‘Just a little prick and then you’ll go to sleep. Here we go…’ The man in the mask patted her hand and smiled. His brown eyes reflected the bright lights just before she slipped into the darkness.

***

The sun still lingered below the horizon when she woke. Outside, the crickets chirped in the last shreds of the night and the dark African sky promised a bright dawn. Her room was lit by the glow of lights off the ward and threw long shadows across the bed. She looked around, remembering.

I need to pee, she thought. Her skinny brown legs swung down off the bed and dangled, some inches above the linoleum. She jumped and landed, lithe as a cat in the dark.

I need to pee, she thought again. But first, I need to try something.

She stood in front of the window, watching the fingers of light reach the huge buildings and glaze the windows. She ran her tongue across the sore roughness of her mouth. Her lips pursed, summoning up the courage to try.

‘Petah Pipah picked a peck of pickled peppahs. Philippa,’ she whispered, saying her own name for the first time.

Her lips stretched as she smiled. ‘I can P.’

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Please support Operation Smile and The Smile Train for their amazing work in repairing cleft palettes.