Rich lay on a mattress behind the desk, his mask pulled down. He twitched in his sleep. There was an empty cup on the floor beside him and a small yellow bottle half full of meds.
He mumbled something. Said, No, I need it. You can’t. And shook his head and swore fluently.
She said his name but he was lost in it. One hand started to shake. She stood, undecided, looked around, rather than watch him. At the IV stand beside the exam table, tube dangling. The hazardous-waste bin overflowing with gloves and masks and soiled cloths. Piles of paper and half-drunk cups of koffee on the desk.
Rich started breathing faster, his hands clenching and unclenching. Get away from. There isn’t any. Then he shouted something and the shout brought him upright, fists ready. He looked at her, unfocused and breathing. After a moment he said her name, his voice slurred with sleep. He said, I’m glad.
You look like shit, she told him.
He cleared his throat. Yeah, well you look about a hundred per cent more gorgeous than yesterday.
She remembered the hands lifting her, the cool, the water. You were in the coughbox?
I was for about ten seconds. It was disgusting in there, dunno how you put up with it. He groped for the empty cup, knocked the pills over. Squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again, some of his alertness was back. He looked at the door. Anyone waiting?
She shook her head. How many people have you treated for this?
How many people have I treated? He said it back to her slowly and she thought he was going to put his head in his hands, but he pulled off the mask instead. His hand was still shaking. Well, we run out of everything a week ago – antibiotics, antivirals, whatever they were letting us have. He laughed. They give me a good supply of towelling offcuts, though. So I guess since the last time I saw you I been wiping a lot of foreheads with a lot of flannels and doing status updates for dead bodies. Is how many people I’ve treated for this.
She emptied the koffee dregs from two cups and filled them with water at the sink. Drank down three cups straight and brought one back for him. You told Megan you wanted to see me.
Yeah. He drank, nodded slowly. Yeah, I remembered something after you left the other day. I didn’t know if you wanted to hear it and then there wasn’t really time. He got up off the mattress and went over to the computer, pushed papers out of the way and leaned over the keyboard, running a search. After a minute he moved aside. You should sit.
She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. Not a child. Not a photo of a child with buzzcut hair and brown eyes out of proportion in her too-thin face, thinner than any camp kid Li had seen.
Li looked up at Rich. I don’t know who that is, she said.
He nodded. She got brought in to me just after I took over as medic. Woman who brought her in said the kid turned up on her own in Family the week before. They heard one of the drivers found her wandering and snuck her in. She wasn’t in the system. They don’t tag the under-twelves, so once she was in, there’d be no reason management’d know.
Rich fumbled in a drawer and found two sachets, tore them open and poured hot water from a thermos into their cups. The salty smell hit the back of her nose, made her salivate. How long since she’d eaten?
They reckon it’s soup, he told her.
She picked it up in both hands, burned her mouth on the first gulp, settled for sipping and blowing.
Anyway, the parents in Family were keeping an eye on her but everyone had their own kid to look out for. She wasn’t getting fed enough. They thought maybe I could file an unacccompanied-minor claim on the quiet.
Li felt something stirring in her chest, something unsafe. She concentrated on the taste of the soup, the grit between the keys on the board, how the ‘e’ was almost rubbed away. Kept her eyes below screen level.
So, I done a physical, Rich said. She was borderline malnourished, broken arm at some point that hadn’t been set, lot of cuts and bruises. Some frostbite damage, too. We were just in time there. He paused. She was really, really quiet. I had a bit of a queue, so I made a follow-up to do the interview for the claim. He put his cup down and leaned over the keyboard, bringing something else up. He said, You don’t have to look, Li, but I need you to listen.
She heard him say, Can you tell me your name?
I already told you. Heaps of times.
Yeah, but when you get as old as me you forget stuff. Come on, help a fella out, will ya?
The child giggled, sighed. Lavinia Rioli.
And you reckon you’re six?
Well, I was six, but I might be seven now. Because Alex said I looked more like a seven-year-old.
Alex was one of them?
He was a big boy.
In that mob of kids you were with?
I already told you.
Li’s fists were pushing down on her thighs, hard enough to bruise. A trembling in her body beyond her control, like it came from underground. She lifted her eyes to the screen. The child’s face had filled out a bit from the photo and she had a new dark fuzz of hair. She was looking up at Rich offscreen, half annoyed, half smiling.
Rich said, Don’t forget to look at the camera. Where the green light is.
Oh yeah. The child looked, down, up. Straight at Li.
Lavinia, this bit’s important. Where were you before that?
In the big camp.
And who were you with?
My dad.
Okay. And what’s your dad called? What do grown-ups call him?
The child
