The lady who worked for the doctor said nothing for a little while; then she said, “We’ll try anyway,” and took Little Tib’s hand and led him to where a bright light machine was. He knew it was a bright light machine from the feel and smell of it, and the way it fit around his face. After a while she let him pull his eyes away from the machine.
“He needs to see the doctor,” Nitty said. “I know without a pattern you can’t charge the government for it. But he is a sick child.”
The lady said, “If I start a card on him, they’ll want to know who he is.”
“Feel his head. He’s burning up.”
“They’ll think he might be in the country illegally. Once an investigation like that starts, you can never stop it.”
Mr. Parker asked, “Can we talk to the doctor?”
“That’s what I’ve been telling you. You can’t see the doctor.”
“What about me? I’m ill.”
“I thought it was the boy.”
“I’m ill too. Here.” Mr. Parker’s hands on his shoulders guided Little Tib out of the chair in front of the bright light machine, so that Mr. Parker could sit down himself instead. Mr. Parker leaned forward, and the machine hummed. “Of course,” Mr. Parker said, “I’ll have to take him in with me. He’s too small to leave alone in the waiting room.”
“This man could watch him.”
“He has to go.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Nitty said, “I sure do. I shouldn’t have stayed around this long, except this was all so interesting.”
Little Tib took Mr. Parker’s hand, and they went through narrow, twisty corridors into a little room to see the doctor.
“There’s no complaint on this,” the doctor said. “What’s the trouble with you?”
Mr. Parker told her about Little Tib, and said that she could put down anything on his own card that she wanted.
“This is irregular,” the doctor said. “I shouldn’t be doing this. What’s wrong with his eyes?”
“I don’t know. Apparently he has no retinas.”
“There are such things as retinal transplants. They aren’t always effective.”
“Would they permit him to be identified? The seeing’s
“I suppose so.”
“Could you get him into a hospital?”
“No.”
“Not without a pattern, you mean.”
“That’s right. I’d like to tell you otherwise, but it wouldn’t be the truth. They’d never take him.”
“I understand.”
“I’ve got a lot of patients to see. I’m putting you down for influenza. Give him these; they ought to reduce his fever. If he’s not better tomorrow, come again.”
Later, when things were cooling off, and the day birds were all quiet, and the night birds had not begun yet, and Nitty had made a fire and was cooking something, he said, “I don’t understand why she wouldn’t help the child.”
“She gave him something for his fever.”
“More than that. She should have done more than that.”
“There are so many people—”
“I know that. I’ve heard all that. Not really that many at all. More in China and some other places. You think that medicine is helping him?”
Mr. Parker put his hand on Little Tib’s head. “I think so.”
“We goin’ to stay here so we can take him, or keep on goin’ back to Martinsburg?”
“We’ll see how he is in the morning.”
“You know, the way you are now, Mr. Parker, I think you might do it.”
“I’m a good programmer, Nitty. I really am.”
“I know you are. You work that program right and that machine will find out they need a man running it again. Need a maintenance man too. Why does a man feel so bad if he don’t have real payin’ work to do—tell me that. Did I let them put something in my head like you?”
“You know as well as I,” Mr. Parker said.
Little Tib was no longer listening to them. He was thinking about the little girl and her leg.
