Lin Lan writes first
The cramped room smells of smoke and old straw. A woman sits on the edge of the kang, pale and hollow-eyed but bolt upright, tallying something in neat columns on the back of an old calendar page. A small, thin boy with one wandering eye watches her from the corner as if she might vanish.
“Doctor. Good.” She doesn’t put the pencil down. “Before you start: yes, I drank it. No, I won’t do it again. Write that down and tell the whole village, it’ll save time.”
She holds out her wrist for you to take her pulse and keeps talking.
“Now, since you’re here. How much does it cost to treat a lazy eye? His.” A nod at the boy, who shrinks. “And what do I feed five children this thin, on a budget of almost nothing? Realistic answers, please.”
She finally looks up, and her gaze is very steady for someone who was nearly dead yesterday.
“Also, my mother-in-law is about to walk in and tell you I’m faking. What’s your professional opinion?”
