The Yellow Hibiscus Chapter X
As we approached the bodies, the smell of formaldehyde became intense.
I waded through water-soaked charcoal, wood, and rubble that was a testimony to the gallant firefighters’ efforts. Shattered glass heaped around the house’s periphery of what had once represented the pride of a family’s dream. Now, there are only images of haunting, sooty black columns and fallen beams. Partially upright walls bore the indelible scars of one of nature’s most feared and angry vices… fire.
Miraculously, in the face of the roaring blaze that took my parents’ lives, there was only minor damage to both sides of the houses. Mainly because of the firemen purposely hosing down the houses on both sides to prevent the fire from spreading.
Though the fire had been extinguished, both the Police and the Fire Department teams were still there ferreting for evidence. Again, my ‘tear glands’ open up. Only twelve hours before stood an elegant home, now reduced to ashes. I scanned the remains for anything familiar. Riveted to the spot, lost are the dashed dreams of my parents. I barely heard when Sergeant Willoby suggested that I needed to identify the bodies.
He escorted me to the morgue. Then he prepared me for what was going to be a gruesome task, as the bodies had been burned badly. Since no fingerprint could be obtained, and they had not yet been able to secure dental records this soon, it would be up to me. I had the unenviable task of identifying the charred remains of my parents. That burden now was all in my court, and I was beyond grief.
The morgue was located in the basement of Clinton Hospital, situated on 149th Street in the Bronx.
Two men attired in surgical attire were examining two charred bodies lying on stretchers. The bodies seem unidentifiable. I could observe everything from the huge glass window where Officer Johnson had instructed us to wait.
He knocked on the steel-framed glass door on which a brass embossed sign read ‘Coroner’ and entered. They conversed for a while, then he signaled, inviting us in. Willoby’s eyes lingered on me, revealing a tinge of concern tracing his face.
“I can handle it,” I pretended, steeling my innards as I followed him inside.
“Dr. Erik Huber and Dr. Pedro Colon,” Officer Johnson made the introductions. “The coroners.”
I nodded.
As we approached the bodies, the smell of formaldehyde became intense. I shook my head in repulsion and cringed as my lids swelled with tears, “I can’t. I am sorry, but these bodies could be of anyone.” I couldn’t even differentiate whether they were male or female. All that was discernible to me was that one was slightly larger.
Both doctors casually approached me from opposite directions. Each carried a file.
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