Aye-Aye Fady
Ilnah lay back on the cot, the blood-spattered handkerchief in her limp hands. Every few minutes her bony body was wracked by shattering coughs that sounded like her lungs were coming apart. Sister Ignatia stood in the doorway of the hospital hut, running the Rosary through her fingers. After Henintsoa’s death the previous afternoon, Ilnah…