by Cindy Pon
The aircar glided gently to a stop across from the Blessed Mercy Children’s Clinic’s front entrance. The low building was farther away from the canals and the popular shopping areas, surrounded by a six-foot-tall stone wall. It was tucked at the end of a residential street filled with older traditional houses with slanting tiled roofs. Although it was less crowded than when we had seen the news broadcast, a few reporters still lingered on the perimeters.
The area wasn’t policed, and Arun and I stepped easily over the yellow-and-black caution tape that had been haphazardly pulled across the main entrance leading into the clinic’s courtyard. We both wore dark caps pulled low on our heads and large face masks that obscured everything but our eyes. No one gave us a second glance. We waited at the front entrance as two paramedics carried a tiny covered body out on a stretcher. Its entire length was smaller than a hand towel. Arun made a strange choking noise beside me, and I averted my eyes.
“We have to find the director,” Arun said brusquely, pushing his way in after the stretcher had moved into the courtyard toward the main gate.
I followed him and almost reared back at the wall of humid heat in the dim clinic. Emergency lighting flickered overhead, not providing enough light in the long, narrow hallways. The clinic was eerily quiet, except for the occasional shrieking cry of a child. The silence was also punctuated by thick, ragged coughs that reminded me of my mom on her deathbed.
Arun cursed loudly; his voice sounded too loud and out of place in these somber surroundings. “If they don’t die from the bad air quality, they’ll all die from heatstroke.” We passed a reception area with one lone woman sitting at a desk, frantically dictating into her Palm. Her words slowed when she saw us, and she put her Palm onto the table. “We’re in crisis here,” she said. “What do you want?”
“We’re here to help,” Arun replied, going up to the faded blue counter. “Can I speak with your director?”
The woman gave Arun a doubtful look but appeared too exhausted and stricken to argue. “I’ll page Ms. Wang,” she said. She picked up her Palm again and dictated a short message into it.
Five minutes later, I recognized the woman with the short hair from the news broadcast. She was wearing dark blue hospital scrubs, but her pink face mask hung around her neck. “Yunli said you’re here to help,” Ms. Wang said without so much as an introduction. “Unless you have a stable of doctors or top-notch hospital equipment to give or a working generator on hand, you won’t be of any use to me.”
Arun pulled off his face mask, and Ms. Wang’s dark eyes widened with recognition. He was well known in the field for manufacturing the antidote that had saved Taiwan from suffering Jin’s avian flu epidemic. “My name is Arun Nataraj, and this is my friend Zhou. I’m not a doctor, but I help run a clinic in Taipei, and I want to donate equipment. We can start with a working generator. This kind of heat will only raise the death toll.”
Ms. Wang grabbed for Arun’s hand and clasped it for a moment. “We don’t have time.”
“Do you have leads, anywhere we can get equipment fast?” Arun asked. “Money is no object.”
She nodded emphatically. “I know someone who can sell us a good generator and deliver it right away. I just didn’t have the money the seller was asking.” She looked Arun in the eyes. “The one we have, I was forced to buy on the black market for cheap. It failed us.”
“Buy everything you need,” Arun said. “My one request is that I remain anonymous. No one can know I’m here.”
Tears had sprung into Ms. Wang’s eyes. “We won’t say a thing.” She turned to the younger woman, who was standing behind the counter now, gawking at Arun. “You heard him, Yunli. Make the necessary calls for us.”
Arun leaned over the counter. “I’ve a cashcard account that’ll cover everything. I already let my assistant know to expect and approve forthcoming equipment purchases.”
Yunli nodded and bowed when she proffered her Palm. Arun added the info she’d need, and the woman returned to the desk, her mouth thinning in determination as she got to work.
“Can you show us around, Ms. Wang?” Arun asked. “I’d like to see the kids and assess how best we can help.”
The older woman let out a loud sigh, and I could feel the weight of the world on her shoulders in that one breath. “They’re all in danger, Mr. Nataraj. Only some are closer to death’s door than others.” She swept an arm out down the dim corridor. “Please follow me.”
I hesitated and walked behind the director and Arun, not certain I was ready to face this.
“The children came to us with compromised health already, many with pulmonary issues caused by diseases like cystic fibrosis, chronic asthma, and bronchitis,” Ms. Wang said.
Arun shook his head. “They don’t have a chance under these conditions.”
“The government never responded to our pleas,” Ms. Wang said. “We’ve been running on donations for years. It’s why that air filter was such a gift.” She wiped a hand over her eyes. “It was able to purify the air of an entire wing of our clinic. It truly was a miracle machine. Then those men came.” Her voice cracked and she stopped herself.
“Who gave you the air filter, Ms. Wang?” I asked.
Her gaze slid to my face, scrutinizing. I hadn’t removed my mask, and I could tell she tolerated my presence only because of Arun. I didn’t inspire trust at a glance.
“Why are you asking?” She didn’t bother to hide her suspicion.
I had to tread carefully, and treading carefully was not my strength. Arun gave me a sidelong glance in warning.
“Because,” I said, “this air filter seems one of a kind. Powerful and unique. We know someone, a friend, who has invented something like this. I think we might know the same person. . . .”
Ms. Wang stopped mid-stride and turned to face me. “The person who donated this filter to us made me swear I’d never mention it.” She flushed. “I tried contacting them after the theft but have not been able to speak with them. I had to report the theft to the police; I was desperate. But the police have been of no help either.”
I nodded. “We’re here to help Ms. Tsai—”
“You know her too!” Ms. Wang looked relieved. “I feel awful that she donated this so generously, and it was taken right in front of me.”
“It’s not your fault,” Arun said. “We’re dealing with brutes.”
“Arun’s right. You did everything you could.” I paused. “Are you friends with Ms. Tsai?” She didn’t need to know that Jany had been murdered by Jin.
Ms. Wang gestured, indicating we should move on, and we continued down the hallway as she talked. “We’re only acquaintances, but I admire her so much. We are indebted to her.”
The emergency lights flickered and buzzed overhead. I pulled my mask off, unable to breathe in the humid and still air within the clinic.
“She just appeared at the clinic one day carrying a box,” Ms. Wang went on. “When she showed us what that compact filter could do! Well, I thought the heavens had sent her to us.” She cleared her throat, and I felt her studying me again. “Jany said that no one knew about this filter except me.”
I heard the suspicion creeping back into her voice. “It was true. But she came to us for aid—”
“Is she all right?” Ms. Wang interjected.
Arun said, “We’re doing our best to help her.”
It wasn’t a lie.
Ms. Wang glanced at Arun, and something in his expression stopped her from pressing further. “I’m glad, because I didn’t like the looks of those men. They were dangerous,” she said instead, then opened a door to our left.
Arun paused at the threshold, and his dark complexion paled. He entered the room, and I stopped short just behind him.
“We’ve lost three infants already.” Her gaze flew to an empty incubator. The white blanket and sheets dotted with elephants and giraffes were marred with specks of bright red blood. “These incubators are very old and barely functioned, but we had to make
do.” Ms. Wang’s voice broke. “When the power went out, we scrambled, but we couldn’t save them.”
Two more incubators were in the small room, both draped with white sheets. The sight evoked an ominous dread in me, and my skin prickled despite the heat.
“Their health was always in delicate balance,” Ms. Wang said.
Arun scrubbed his face with his hands, his shoulders drawn so taut I was worried for him. “Are we too late?” he finally asked in a hoarse voice.
The older woman patted Arun’s shoulder, sensing the same distress I did. “I think there is hope for some of the older children with less severe illnesses. Come.”
Arun followed, and I trailed behind, closing the door on the room that had been decorated with cute animal wallpaper in pastel colors. My chest constricted suddenly, and I remembered holding my mother’s hands in those last days. Her skin was so frail—paper thin—so the veins stood out on the back of her hands. She, too, had coughed up blood in the end. Grief rose, unexpected and staggering, and I leaned on the closed door as Arun and Ms. Wang walked farther away from me, speaking in low voices.
I had to get out of there. It didn’t feel like I could take a full breath in the oppressive heat of the building. I stumbled back the way I’d come, passing Yunli, who was speaking rapidly into her Palm, and tripped on my way out the glass doors. The daylight was blinding for a moment, and I covered my eyes, taking a long breath. It was hot out here, too, but a faint breeze stirred, giving some respite. I pressed my hand against the wood frame of the door and took a second to steady myself, when I felt a presence in the quiet courtyard.
I spun around, my eyes sweeping across the few trees and stone benches, when I glimpsed a figure half-hidden behind a large ginkgo tree. They wore a jacket despite the heat, their features shadowed by a hood and face mask. But the familiarity of the figure, in the curve of her neck and her wide stance, as if claiming the space, made her instantly recognizable to me.
Daiyu.
I almost turned around to disappear into the dark clinic again. But I knew she had seen me before I had spotted her, our awareness of each other like passing through a magnetic field. She stepped out from behind the tree.
There was no running away.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
She shook her head but didn’t lower her hood. “What are you doing here? I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”
I might have felt guilty before, but not now. Not after everything my friends and I had gone through. Not after knowing how she’d deliberately lied to me for months. Not after seeing more bloodstained sheets.
“Arun and I are here to help,” I said. “I might have lied to you about where I was going, but you lied to me, too.”
She tensed.
“It’s been all over the news, Daiyu,” I continued. “Hell, I even saw you broadcasted across Jin Tower—the heir of Jin Corp come to Shanghai to celebrate your next moneymaking venture.”
“Jason,” she said in a voice so low it barely carried to me.
“Tell me I’m wrong.” I couldn’t keep the pain or anger from my voice. “Tell me it’s not how it seems.”
“It’s not,” she said.
“Are you still the heir of Jin Corp?”
She didn’t reply for a long time. Then finally, “Yes, but—”
I laughed; it sounded cold and cruel. “I guess in the end, you really are your father’s daughter.”
She flinched.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
“I didn’t know you were here.” Her fists were clenched in front of her, pale against her dark jacket. “I came to help too.”
“Help? Did you know about this beforehand, Daiyu?” I gripped the splintered doorframe. “Your father did this. The blood is on his hands.”
“Jason,” she said again.
I could barely keep from shouting. The rage I felt was all-consuming; my vision went dark for a moment. “Do you know how many deaths—” I saw my mother in my mind, Dr. Nataraj sprawled on her office floor, the man who’d caught Jin’s avian flu and collapsed in the square beside me, Victor grinning, saying something sarcastic but taking the sting away with his wicked humor, the tiny body carried away beneath a thin sheet, specks of blood—bright red blood everywhere. A relentless montage that grabbed me and wouldn’t let go. “Could you have stopped this?” I managed to choke out.
Daiyu stepped forward and lowered her hood. I knew her features, every line of her body, better than I knew myself. She looked tired, and her eyes were bright with tears. I glanced away, unable to hold her gaze. “I didn’t know. I saw it on the news.” Her voice wavered. “If I could have stopped him, I would. No one knows I’m here.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because I didn’t want the publicity,” she replied. “It’d just be an all-media news circus.”
“Or did you not want your father to know you were helping?” I asked. “Because you know deep down that what you’re doing—spending his money to help those in need—is everything he would be against?”
“Why are you judging me for using my trust fund for good, if I can?”
I lowered my head and drew a slow breath to try and calm myself, to quiet the rage inside of me. Finally, I looked Daiyu square in the eyes. “I know you want to do good.” I had no doubt about that. She had showed me she cared, wanted to change the world, in everything she did. “But I don’t know if things can work”—I struggled to keep my voice even—“between us like this. Lying to each other. Always hiding from your father. How can I ever fit into your life?”
She took a stumbling step backward, as if I’d hit her.
Shouting from outside the clinic walls startled us both, and Daiyu slid behind the gingko tree again, hiding from two beefy men who maneuvered a huge generator resting on a large four-wheeled dolly through the main entrance. “Where should we leave this?” one of the guys yelled at me.
“Zhou!” Arun emerged at the door. “Come help.”
Ms. Wang followed behind, and her face lit up at the sight of the generator. “This way, men.”
I followed them and glanced back once, but could no longer see Daiyu.
CHAPTER TEN
Arun worked with Ms. Wang, determined and relentless in his focus on saving the children. The generator got the air-conditioning working again in the clinic, and the temperature dropped so the kids were no longer living in an oven. It couldn’t have come at a better time, as the day only got hotter by the afternoon. A handful of volunteer doctors and nurses showed up, and around three p.m., six new state-of-the-art incubators arrived along with ten new ventilators and two hospital-grade filters. Ms. Wang accepted the delivery with cries of joy, but when we were wheeling the equipment past Yunli with the help of the volunteers, she said in surprise, “I guess they could deliver the ventilators today after all.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I ordered a dozen new ventilators for the kids, but no one could deliver them today,” Yunli replied. “The company who could have them here the soonest promised me tomorrow morning.”
“Only eight ventilators were delivered today,” Arun said.
“And six of the newest incubators,” Ms. Wang added.
Yunli’s forehead creased. “I didn’t order any incubators. You hadn’t asked specifically, Ms. Wang, so—”
“I think I know what happened,” I said in a low voice. Arun glanced at me and I nodded at him. Daiyu’s purchases had arrived first. “You can expect more ventilators arriving tomorrow morning.”
Ms. Wang, eager to get the equipment in place, had barely been listening. “You’ve been far too generous, Mr. Nataraj,” she said. “We are forever indebted to you.”
Arun shook his head. “If you need anything else, buy it. These kids now actually have a chance.”
I came to help too, Daiyu had said to me. And I never doubted it. But how tied she was to her father, how beholden she was to him, I didn’t know. It was more th
an I could contemplate at the moment, because there were lives to be saved.
Everyone worked tirelessly past midnight. Almost all the children’s conditions were stabilized, and for the few who needed better support and care, the volunteer doctors were able to find places for them in the bigger hospitals where they worked. I mostly helped move equipment, did grunt work, and stayed out of people’s way.
We were kept so busy that I was able to check in with Iris only once. She said in her succinct way that Lingyi was still working on establishing a secure VPN to transfer Jany’s data, but we’d regroup and discuss the situation when we returned to Les Suites. I didn’t even think of Daiyu again until Arun and I finally left the clinic, and I walked past the giant gingko tree she had hidden behind. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and I almost expected her to appear again, so she could explain herself. So I could explain myself, too. But knowing Jin, he was probably keeping tabs on her, and she couldn’t stray far or for long while in Shanghai. Not when she was the star of his opening ceremony at Jin Tower.
Exhausted and emotionally worn, I found it impossible to think straight. I almost brought up seeing Daiyu to Arun, but then decided not to say anything to him or my friends. What was the point? My heart wanted to trust Daiyu, but I knew my friends didn’t. And for good reason. We staggered down the empty, dark street toward a main boulevard, hoping to find a taxi so far out from Shanghai’s city center. If anyone decided to attack or mug us, we would have been easier prey, but despite looming shadows and the occasional strange night noises, we managed to find an old taxi reeking of stale cigarette smoke willing to take us back to the Bund.
It was past two a.m., and most of the streets were empty of pedestrians and traffic. But when we saw a still-lit corner shack near Yuyuan with tables and a few customers sitting outside, eating large bowls of noodles, Arun asked the driver to stop. He ran out and disappeared into the tiny shop, emerging again some time later holding a cardboard box filled with round containers. He thanked the taxi driver when he climbed back in. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving,” Arun said.
