Together, we walked into the hospital, Takumi asking where exactly I had been hiding the past few weeks. Apparently, the Chunin exams had created an explosion of excitement and several surprising outcomes. As usual the shinobi wannabes were causing a stir and I was unable to keep up on the action. Sasuke Uchiha was the name on everybody's lips, but as for this Gaara… never heard of the guy.
Ahead, a flock of doctors and nurses surrounded Matron Shun, shouting and complaining. The elder woman looked distinctly annoyed, her usually immaculate bun coming undone. The wispy grey strands stuck to her sweaty reddened face, and the Matron's deep emerald green apron (which she wore to distinguish herself from everyone else) was in a sorry state of rips and tears. Suddenly, she pulled a male doctor aside and they spoke in whispers, trying to maintain a sense of calm.
"But Matron Shun, he threatened to kill me!" the male doctor whimpered.
"Don't talk such nonsense, he's a twelve-year-old brat!" she hissed back. "You're supposed to be a senior doctor! Grow a damn backbone. These young whipper-snappers are looking to you to show them how it's done and you're whining like a baby."
"And you, madam," the doctor fixed his shirt and belt, sharply trying to reassert himself, "have failed to notice that not one member of our experienced staff wants to go anywhere near him! Why can't you deal with him? Oh, that's right – you tried and came out covered in sand!"
I watched the two adults eyeball to eyeball with each other and coughed gently. They both jumped and turned to look at me.
"Nurse Takumi said that you needed me?" I asked.
The two seniors suddenly smirked in agreement. I didn't like the look of that smirk; it was very evil, in the sense that they were getting out of doing something nasty and giving it to me instead.
"Miss Katashi, so glad that you could finally turn up for work!"
The jibe, I expected, but the use of my surname rather than 'young upstart', 'slacker' or 'squirt' was a big surprise. It was no secret that Matron Shun and her right-hand man, Doctor Sora, did not appreciate my appointment to the team.
Looking back, I still can't decide whether finally completing my training was the start of my dream or a terrible nightmare. Mother was so proud – of herself, of course, for getting me through med school. I was never going to be a member of the medical core (too dangerous, she said) but she was a powerful force when it came to reviewing for exams and endless spot questions. Naoki, too, ended up learning a fair proportion of nursing ethos and jargon by the end. When I felt tired and wanted to quit, the emotional blackmail would begin: the shame I would bring, father's memory tarnished because I was too lazy, or perhaps I did not care about the family's reputation in the village. There were times when I felt that the pressure of trying to live up the Katashi family expectation sucked. Did it make sense that just because my mother was a practitioner that I should be a nurse? Or that Naoki should follow in Father's footsteps? Even the famous Sasuke became a ninja despite being the last of his clan. He had the freedom to choose a brand new career for himself but he didn't – I wonder why?
Matron disturbed my thoughts. "There's a… patient," her pause was noted, "I'd like you to take care of him personally. He's a boy, only a little younger than yourself, but he's having trouble settling into the hospital routine. Now, I'm sure that even you - from one child to another - can bring him around. This is all to be kept confidential. so don't go blabbing…"
I stared blankly at Shun, not quite comprehending what was being asked of me. Was I actually taking care of a human being? "Until the council leaders have made a decision regarding a treaty, he is to remain under the protection of the hospital. I can't afford to lose crucial members of staff to baby sit. We have more important jobs to do! You, however, areexpendable."
"Excuse me, but why are the doctors afraid of him? Is he dangerous in some way?" I asked, noting the cruel remark.
"He's a spoilt boy with a talent for mind games and throwing sand." She furiously brushed at her face. "He can be quite the little monster, so you better watch yourself, slacker. Well?! Don't just stand there, here's the notes and get down to the isolation ward immediately!"
I made a swift exit round the corner and stopped to read the notes that Matron Shun had thrust upon me. What I had been given revealed very little about the patient. His personal history, biological makeup, and even his surname were unknown. He was to be put on a drip to avoid dehydration, but this action had resulted in several mysterious attacks on nurses, the details of which were not clear. His right arm had a serious wound with suspected internal bleeding, and there was severe facial bruising which was result of an assault.
A brief glance through the window showed that the blinds were firmly shut and only a few thin threads of light had broken through. It wasn't completely dark, but certainly shadowy and dim. In the bed, faintly visible, a figure was laying perfectly still, his eyes open and glaring at the ceiling. I took a deep breath, knocked on the door and stepped inside.
"Good afternoon," I began brightly; there was no reply. The atmosphere was as still as the body in the bed. As I walked toward the blinds, something crunched underneath my feet. I decided to ignore it for the moment. I twisted the blinds open gently. "It's such a lovely day outside; it would be a shame for you to miss the sunshine."
Again, there was no reply. I could see now that I was standing in a pile of sand strewn around the tiled floor. Despite the warm rays of the sun, goose pimples began to appear on my arms - there was something not quite right. The silence was eerie – usually, the twittering of birds, or at least the faint bustle of shoppers at the market could be heard from the window, but there was nothing at all. It felt like time had stopped and I was moving in slow motion; there was no marker to gauge movement or sound. Even the leaves on the trees were frozen and the watch pinned to my uniform had stopped dead. A tiny feeling suggested that moving towards the door, walking out and never returning would be a smart move.
I fought the overwhelming urge to leave and made a brief analysis of his injuries. It was obvious he'd been trying to take care of things himself without medical intervention. His shoulder was loosely bandaged with ripped strips of white cloth from his own clothing. The white had been stained with deep crimson drips of blood. Somehow he'd managed to wrap the cloth around the shoulder wound. I was surprised the boy hadn't gone into shock; he was deathly pale.
"My name is Yasu. I'm here to look after you for the next few days, so if you need anything, please ask."
There was a quick glance from dull turquoise eyes before they returned to the ceiling. The irises reminded me of the rock pools that I used to investigate at the beach when I was little: much deeper than they seemed, concealing nipping crabs or stinging by the sand mites that attacked the unwary.
"I noticed that your shoulder is bleeding. It might hurt a little less if it was treated properly. Would you like me to change the bandage, too?" Again there was no reply.
As I moved slowly towards the bed there was a hissing, and the next second, the grains of sand that had been scattered across the floor rose up and formed a solid wall in front of me! Curious, I reached out to touch the sand. It formed an outstretched palm and pushed me sharply towards the door. The speed with which the grains of sand had moved to build the structure was incredible. As I stole a glance at the bed, the boy was still motionless on his back, not even muttering a jutsu or creating hand signs. It was as if the sand was acting of its own accord.
"You don't have to protect him from me," my voice sounded croaky. "I only want to change that bandage so the shoulder can heal properly. If it isn't looked at soon, he could lose the arm. Do you understand? I only want to help."
I felt slightly silly talking to sand, but if it had a mind of its own, surely Gaara's wellbeing would come first. I turned back to the sand, careful to keep a good metre away from it. Gaara frowned but sat up; his hand flew the bandage, which was beginning to unravel. I could now see the ninja's full attire; a jet-black jumpsuit with a full brown leather body belt that stretched from his shoulder to his waist. The belt was secured with straps and buckles and pinned to the base was a headband showing the symbol of the village hidden in the sand. Just below the short sleeves of his arms were wire mesh bands. Wrapped around the ankles white bandages and on his feet open toed sandals.
"What do you mean, 'I could lose my arm'?" The voice was slow and deep, almost hypnotic in the way the words were spoken. I took a double take unsure whether he had spoken at all.
"If we don't stop the bleeding, you could suffer from gangrene. In many cases, we've had to amputate limbs to prevent further spread of infection."
"The sand will heal me. I have no need for your meddling. Leave me be." Gaara sniffed dismissively.
Outraged, I immediately stood taller and spoke up, "I will not! Sand is an irritant with rock and mineral particles. If you put that into the wound you'll make things worse. That sand has just been lying on the floor and no matter how many times the wards are cleaned, it's still probably picked up dirt and bacteria! Are you prepared to take a risk like that?"
"I've never felt pain until Uchiha penetrated my barrier with that accursed jutsu. You know nothing, your concern is wasted. The sand and I are as one. It cannot let me die, for its survival relies on my own. You talk of the sand as an irritant, something that disturbs the harmony of my body… and yet we are the same."
What he was saying didn't make much sense.
The sand was hissing again, much louder this time. I normally wouldn't say sand has a personality, but these grains were getting more and more agitated. This was no ordinary kid - he was warped! How was I going to get through the next few days? I certainly wasn't a psychiatrist! The boy thinks he's one with the sand?
In absence of my common sense I reached out to touch the sand again, only this time the grains made a fist and punched my stomach. Toppling backwards, I landed roughly on my arm. I clutched my stomach with the other and tried to breathe, a tight crushing pain below my abdomen and tears blurring my vision. I felt like I was choking; unable to take big breaths, I was gasping for small, painful pockets of air. My ribs felt tight, too; I 'd been winded by the fall.
With horror, I could see the sand moving towards me. Gaara stood behind, glaring with anger. The fight or flight instinct waged a war inside; I felt annoyed that a child younger than me had lashed out and hurt a nurse, and yet my hand was already grasping for the door handle. With a final effort, I collapsed into the corridor and slammed the door shut, my back pressed against the door just in case he tried to leave the room. For the next ten minutes, my shaking body fought to keep itself under control. I felt nauseous and beaten. Matron Shun thought I was the person to handle this - now I knew for certain she wanted me dead.
