Chapter 327: The Printout from the Kiosk

At 1:40 p.m., the bus pulled up in front of the hospital. Chai Guizhi held onto the door for a moment before stepping down, her cloth bag clutched to her chest, her face pale.

"Dizzy?" Shen Zhixia reached a hand toward her back.

"No." The old woman pressed her lips together. "The bus just turns too much."

Ge Xiaoyu got off through the rear door first and waited on the platform. He wasn't looking at the bus—he was staring at the big glass entrance of the hospital, where a row of posters was taped, dust gathering at their corners.

"Xiaoyu, hold your grandma's arm."

The boy took his hand out of his pocket and slipped it under his grandmother's elbow, gripping only a fold of her sleeve.

The outpatient lobby was packed. The heat was on full blast, and the smell of disinfectant mixed with the sweetness of roasted sweet potatoes drifting in from the stall by the entrance. All four rows of blue plastic chairs were full. A child cried while an adult held him down on a lap, the sound coming in starts and stops.

"Register first," Shen Zhixia said.

"Where do I do that?"

"Third window over there. You line up yourself. I'll wait behind you."

When their turn came, the woman at the window asked which department. The old woman looked back, and Shen Zhixia answered for her: "Pediatric care." The window stated the price. Chai Guizhi pulled a rolled-up handkerchief from her cloth bag, opened it layer by layer, and set the coins on the counter one at a time. Shen Zhixia reached to add money, and the old woman pressed her hand back down.

"I brought enough."

Along the east wall stood a row of machines, their screens blue with white text. Six people waited in front of them.

"Is this it?" the old woman asked.

"Self-service kiosk. The hospital keeps the blood test records on file. You insert the card, and it prints the report for you."

"I insert it myself?"

"You do." Shen Zhixia stood half a step back. "Photo side up, push it in all the way. If it spits it back out, push it again."

It was her turn. Chai Guizhi tucked the cloth bag under her arm, took out the blue card, and fed it in by the edges. The first try didn't go all the way in; the machine beeped and ejected the card. She held it and looked back.

"Try again," Shen Zhixia said.

The second time, the card slid in. A box appeared on the screen, and she pressed the spot Shen Zhixia pointed to—an icon shaped like a sheet of paper. Something inside the machine whirred, and a sliver of white appeared at the output slot, inching forward.

Ge Xiaoyu leaned in close to the slot.

"There's writing on the paper," he said.

"Yes."

The paper came out—a single sheet. The old woman reached for it with both hands, cradling it. It was still warm.

[Thud. Original printout. This sheet came from the hospital's own machine.]

Shen Zhixia took it and spread it across her palm, reading aloud.

"Jiangzhou Children's Hospital, laboratory report. Name: Ge Xiaoyu. Specimen: venous blood. Test: blood lead." She paused. "Result field: two twelve. Reference range says one hundred—zero to one hundred."

"Two twelve."

"That's right. Reference range goes to one hundred."

"So it's high."

"It's high."

The old woman held the paper in both hands, not moving. Her lips moved, but nothing came out. The boy looked up at her.

"Grandma, is my name on it?"

"It is." She said. "Your name's on it."

Only then did Lu Jibai step over from beside the kiosk. He glanced at the bottom section of the sheet.

"Is it stamped?" he asked.

"It is." Shen Zhixia turned the paper around. A red seal sat in the lower right corner.

"Don't fold it, and don't put it in a bag," he said. "Third floor. The doctor will want to see it."

Pediatric care was on the third floor. The hallway was narrow, and a slogan on the wall had faded in the sun. Seven or eight adults sat in the waiting chairs, and a few children leaned on the windowsill counting cars outside. Shen Zhixia found two seats together and left the window-side one open, placing the old woman on her left. Lu Jibai stood across the hallway, watching the room numbers.

Their number was called. They went in. The doctor was a woman in her forties, her white coat open over a dark gray sweater, her name badge pinned to the top of her pocket. She took the report, checked the date first, then the result.

"Blood drawn December 21st?"

"The factory sent a car that day," the old woman said.

The doctor glanced up at her but didn't acknowledge it. Her fingers tapped at the keyboard.

"Capillary blood—the kind where they prick the fingertip—only works for screening. It doesn't count for a diagnosis. For that you need venous blood, twice. Once isn't enough."

"Once isn't enough?" Shen Zhixia asked.

"The number this time is enough, but there's only one test." The doctor turned the monitor slightly toward them, then back. "Classification goes by the blood lead level. One hundred to one ninety-nine is called elevated blood lead. Two hundred and above is lead poisoning. Two hundred to two forty-nine is mild. Your child here: two twelve."

Shen Zhixia wrote it down line by line. When she got to "twice," her pen stopped.

"Come back January 18th," the doctor said. "Nine in the morning. Blood draw station is on the first floor. Results in three days."

"Three days." The old woman repeated it under her breath.

"Has he complained of stomach pain recently?"

"He has." The old woman wiped her hand on her apron. "Says it after meals. I thought it was from eating cold food. And he grinds his teeth at night—loud enough I wake up twice."

"Headaches? Weak legs, no energy?"

"One day after school he said his legs felt heavy. I had him lie down and rest. Next day he was running around same as always."

The doctor kept typing. Then she asked: "Where do you live?"

"Qingshi Village."

The doctor's hands paused. She set the report down half an inch, then picked it up again.

"That ditch below the factory—don't let the child play there."

Shen Zhixia looked up. "What about the ditch?"

"I only see children here." The doctor said. "What goes into the record is only the medical part."

Lu Jibai, standing by the door, asked: "Do other children from there come to see you?"

The doctor put her pen down and looked at the stack of charts on the corner of her desk.

"What you're asking about is something else," she said. "Then you should ask the people who are supposed to answer. I only see children here."

The old woman cut in herself: "We don't drink from that ditch. We use well water."

The doctor didn't respond. She wrote a few lines in the chart, then pushed it toward the old woman: "The date's written here. The 18th, nine a.m. These next few days, make sure he gets eggs, lean meat, vegetables too. Don't let him run around all day on an empty stomach. Take the book home with you."

"Who issues the diagnosis?" Lu Jibai asked.

"I do," the doctor said. "I'll only write it when I have two test results in front of me. One, and I don't write."

"How much?" the old woman asked.

"Registration was ten yuan. Nothing extra today." The doctor said. "The blood draw—you pay then."

She took a small card from her drawer, a cartoon dog printed on it, and pushed it toward the boy. Ge Xiaoyu didn't reach for it. He looked at his grandmother first.

"Take it," she said.

He picked it up, flipped it over to look at the back, and slipped it into his padded jacket pocket.

On the way out, the hallway window was open a crack, and the draft made the slogan on the wall flutter. The old woman stopped at the door, took the report back from Shen Zhixia, and ran both palms over it from top to bottom. Her fingertip stopped at the lower right corner.

"This is the seal?"

"The lab's seal. Red."

"Red I recognize," she said. "The rest I don't."

Shen Zhixia pointed to the top line: "This line says the hospital's name. This middle line is your grandson's name. Below that is the date, December 21st. And below that—two twelve."

"I know which line it is now," the old woman said. "Fourth line from the top."

"Fourth line."

She started folding the sheet in half, her hands freezing in mid-air.

"Don't fold it." Shen Zhixia pressed her hands down. "When we get back, it stays flat at the office. If you want it, come get it any time."

"If the paper's with you, I won't feel easy about it."

"The outside of the envelope gets a date," Lu Jibai said. "Who gave it, what day, how it came into our hands—all written on the envelope. You watch us write it."

At 4:20 p.m., they turned into the alley. The noodle shop's padded door curtain was propped open at one corner, steam leaking out.

He Xiufen looked up from the stove. "Back?"

"Back."

"Go on upstairs and rest. Water's on the table."

She didn't ask how the child's test went. The old woman nodded once and climbed the stairs with one hand on the railing.

Lu Jibai switched on the lamp by the window first, then went to the metal cabinet and took out the kraft envelope, laying it on the table. He pulled a pen from the holder.

"Three lines on the envelope," he said. "Who gave it, what day it was given, and how it came into our hands."

"Write," the old woman said.

"Before I write, one question: these two sheets stay in our office for safekeeping. Do you agree?"

"If they're with you, can I still get them back?"

"You can. Any day you come, they're yours. When you take them, I'll add one more line here."

"Then keep them."

He wrote, head down. The old woman stood at the edge of the desk, watching the pen move across the envelope from half a table away, stroke by stroke, unhurried.

When he finished, he turned the envelope around and read it to her.

"Line one: brought by Chai Guizhi."

"Line two: January 11th."

"Line three: one printout from the Jiangzhou Children's Hospital self-service kiosk, in person; one document delivered to her home on January 5th."

The old woman listened, her eyes still fixed on the three lines. Only when he finished did she nod.

"I'll remember," she said. "The papers are with you. The date's on the paper."

"Give the sheet to me," Shen Zhixia said.

The report came out of the cloth bag, its edges already fuzzy from handling. When it was smoothed flat, she pressed it down twice with her palm. The agreement from the case file folder—left there since morning—was also spread out, its folded edges softened, that bit of gray dust still in the crease. The two pages lay side by side on the desk.

Lu Jibai placed them in the envelope one after the other, the report on the bottom, that other sheet on top. He folded the flap once, put it back in the metal cabinet, and shut the door.

[Thud. Paper in the envelope now. Three lines of provenance, two sheets.]

"How much did today cost?" the old woman asked.

"Ten yuan registration—you paid that yourself. Bus fare, yours too. The office didn't spend your money." Shen Zhixia said. "The fee for the blood draw on the 18th, you pay first and keep the receipt. As for how it all gets settled, when his father comes back, we'll go over it line by line with him."

"I'll keep the receipts," the old woman said. "I can't read, but I know a red seal."

Ge Xiaoyu smoothed the cartoon dog card flat at the edge of the desk, pressed it three times with two fingers, then pushed it to the middle of the table.

Shen Zhixia opened her notebook and added a few lines at the bottom of the Qingshi Village page: two twelve; reference range up to one hundred; the 18th, nine a.m.; doctor said to note the stomach pain, teeth grinding, heavy legs. Then one final line: pediatric doctor—don't let the child play in the ditch below the factory.

Lu Jibai saw that last line and stared at it for two seconds.

"Keep that line," he said. "Don't use it yet."

"I know," she said. "That's just what I heard. What goes on paper is what's in the patient record."

At 5:10 p.m., she walked the grandmother and grandson downstairs. The curtain at the noodle shop lifted, and He Xiufen leaned half out: "Take care on the road."

"Will do," the old woman answered.

There was a bus stop at the alley's end, a shallow groove under the sign holding half-melted snow. No one spoke while they waited. The boy took the card from his pocket and looked at the dog again.

"On the 18th, I'll be waiting at the hospital entrance for you at 8:40," Shen Zhixia said. "Don't go upstairs alone trying to find people. Call me when you reach the gate, and I'll come down to meet you."

"I'll leave early."

The bus came. The doors opened and a gust of heat mixed with gasoline fumes rushed out. The old woman took the child's hand, one foot already on the step, and suddenly turned back.

"One more thing."

"Tell me."

"There are four households who signed," she said. "The ones I know of."

The door closed behind her. She looked down through the glass, one hand on the child's shoulder. The bus lurched forward, the gray headscarf behind the window swayed once, and the bus rounded the corner and was gone.

Shen Zhixia stood under the stop sign, still holding her pen.

"Four households," she said.

"The names haven't surfaced yet," Lu Jibai said.

"She said four that she knows of."

The wind cut through the alley, rippling the thin layer of snowmelt under the sign. She opened her notebook and added one more line at the bottom of the Qingshi Village page.