Matron remains unconscious for only a few seconds, and when others want her to leave the room she is adamant that she will stay. She takes a position near Sister Mary Joseph Praise’s head and massages her fingers as blood is being transfused into her arm. She looks at the hands of the younger woman and knows they had been used as “instruments of God.” In contrast to Sister’s long, slender fingers, Matron’s are rough and have clearly been used in much more physical labor. Tears track down Matron’s face as she prays for this daughter she could never have and wonders why the Lord did not spare all of them this agony. Matron feels her body shaking and tells the Lord He can take her any time, but she hopes it will not be right now because she does not want to be a distraction from the work at hand.

As her thoughts wander, Matron wonders what prompted this woman on the table to always try to hide herself, her body, beneath a nun’s habit or scrub suit and mask. Whatever part of her was exposed shone with her beauty, even if her face was surrounded by a wimple. There was a time when the Ethiopian government was persecuting anyone caught proselytizing, and Matron wondered then if she and Sister Mary Joseph Praise should discontinue wearing their habits. But when she saw the younger sister in a skirt and blouse and the reaction men had to her, Matron determined that habits would be better for everyone. The Sister was a beautiful, sensual woman, and even her habit did not hide that. She was a woman at peace with God, and her equanimity is what undoubtedly equipped her to work with the rather stern and uncommunicative Thomas Stone. This hospital is where Matron finds her identity—in this place and in this position. She has a maternal affection for those who work here, even the irascible doctor of internal medicine, Ghosh.

A sudden exclamation by one of them, Dr. Hemlatha or Dr. Stone, captures Matron’s attention. She is still feeling woozy and has tried not to look at the bloody work happening at the other end of the table. Now, though, she looks in that direction and what she sees will change her life forever. The doctors and others are gathered around the gaping uterus like “hyenas over carrion.” The rays of the sun are poking through the gaps in arms and hips, directing themselves, it seems to her, directly onto the bloody opening; the uterus rose and glowed in the light as if it were in the very presence of the Holy Ghost. She would like to call it a miracle, but nothing really happened; Matron’s rule for actual miracles is that something must happen. Those rays of light seem to place a seal of holiness on the twins. Their place on earth, in the universe, has been secured for them before they have even been born. Matron knows that nothing, not one thing, will ever be the same for her again.