eyes—indeed, an emptiness—that oppressed her. Her eye fell on the portable reader that lay on the other chair. She picked it up and held it out. “Oa. Will you show me your reader?”
That sudden white smile blazed, lighting the girl’s face. Apparently the child felt on certain ground over the reader. She accepted the instrument, and flicked it on with a deft touch.
“Who gave it to you?” Isabel asked.
Oa grinned again. “Ship lady,” she said. She thought for a minute, one finger pressing into her cheek. “A gift,” she finally added.
Isabel smiled back at her. “How nice, Oa. The ship lady gave you a gift.”
The reader came to life, and began to reel off a series of pictures. A clear voice read the text beneath them. Oa held the screen so that Isabel could see it, and recited with the voice while the book played. “Dog,” she said. “Cat. Child. Mother. Father. House.”
It was a reading primer, and she had memorized it.
“The child plays with the dog. The dog runs after the cat.” Oa spoke every accent and emphasis in perfect imitation of the narrator. Isabel listened. Her heart sank when Oa recited, “No one is inside the house. The house is empty.”
For ten minutes, Oa spoke in unison with the narrator, right to the final sentence. “. . . after school, the children are hungry. Mother gives them milk and cookies.” She flashed her white smile once more, and laid the reader down.
“Thank you,” Isabel said. “I enjoyed the book.”
“Oa has two more books,” the girl said.
Isabel was about to ask to see those as well, but she was interrupted by the opening of the infirmary door. Oa retreated to her bed as a quarantine-suited guard brought in two trays of eggs and rice and juice that he set on the table in front of the row of toys. Isabel asked, “Could I get some coffee?”
The guard hesitated at the door to the sterile bubble. Again Isabel heard the hiss of the airflow, and wondered whom Adetti was trying to protect. It wasn’t Oa, certainly, not with a reverse quarantine. In any case, the medicator would have inoculated her against any diseases she lacked antibodies for.
The guard said, “I could ask—all I know is they gave me the trays. Someone brought them over from the cafeteria.”
“Oh, never mind, then. I understand. Jin-Li said I should ask—”
“Jin—you mean Johnnie? Oh, sure, Mother Burke. Listen, I’ll tell Johnnie.”
“Only if it’s no trouble. You must be Jay.”
“Right. Jay Appleton. I’ll look up Johnnie for you.”
“Thank you, Jay.”
The guard withdrew, and Isabel drew her chair closer to the table. It was too small for comfort, but it was all she had. “Are you hungry, Oa?”
Oa took a step toward the table, glancing at Isabel with a little furrow between her brows.
“You know the word, don’t you?” Isabel urged. “It was in your book. Hungry. Wanting food.” She touched her stomach and smiled. “I’m hungry.”
“Yes,” the girl said. “Yes—Oa is hungry.”
Isabel hesitated, and then said, as gently as she could, “Can you say, ‘I’m hungry’?”
The girl dropped her eyes. Her head drooped. The fragrance of hot rice and scrambled eggs filled the room, and the muscles in Oa’s slender throat worked as she swallowed saliva.
“Never mind,” Isabel said. “It doesn’t matter. Oa and Isabel are both hungry. Let’s have our breakfast together.”
*
ISABEL WAS IMMERSED in the medicator reports when Paolo Adetti and Gretchen Boreson arrived. She had set up her reader on the low table, with a chair in front of it, and she slid the boxes of disks beneath it. Her computer she parked on the smooth plastic surface of the exam bed in the empty surgery, pushing the medicator to one side. Periodically she left her reader and went to the computer to make notes or look up a reference file. With her things unpacked and her equipment set up, the little infirmary seemed more like a home. Isabel brought out a sweater of her
That sudden white smile blazed, lighting the girl’s face. Apparently the child felt on certain ground over the reader. She accepted the instrument, and flicked it on with a deft touch.
“Who gave it to you?” Isabel asked.
Oa grinned again. “Ship lady,” she said. She thought for a minute, one finger pressing into her cheek. “A gift,” she finally added.
Isabel smiled back at her. “How nice, Oa. The ship lady gave you a gift.”
The reader came to life, and began to reel off a series of pictures. A clear voice read the text beneath them. Oa held the screen so that Isabel could see it, and recited with the voice while the book played. “Dog,” she said. “Cat. Child. Mother. Father. House.”
It was a reading primer, and she had memorized it.
“The child plays with the dog. The dog runs after the cat.” Oa spoke every accent and emphasis in perfect imitation of the narrator. Isabel listened. Her heart sank when Oa recited, “No one is inside the house. The house is empty.”
For ten minutes, Oa spoke in unison with the narrator, right to the final sentence. “. . . after school, the children are hungry. Mother gives them milk and cookies.” She flashed her white smile once more, and laid the reader down.
“Thank you,” Isabel said. “I enjoyed the book.”
“Oa has two more books,” the girl said.
Isabel was about to ask to see those as well, but she was interrupted by the opening of the infirmary door. Oa retreated to her bed as a quarantine-suited guard brought in two trays of eggs and rice and juice that he set on the table in front of the row of toys. Isabel asked, “Could I get some coffee?”
The guard hesitated at the door to the sterile bubble. Again Isabel heard the hiss of the airflow, and wondered whom Adetti was trying to protect. It wasn’t Oa, certainly, not with a reverse quarantine. In any case, the medicator would have inoculated her against any diseases she lacked antibodies for.
The guard said, “I could ask—all I know is they gave me the trays. Someone brought them over from the cafeteria.”
“Oh, never mind, then. I understand. Jin-Li said I should ask—”
“Jin—you mean Johnnie? Oh, sure, Mother Burke. Listen, I’ll tell Johnnie.”
“Only if it’s no trouble. You must be Jay.”
“Right. Jay Appleton. I’ll look up Johnnie for you.”
“Thank you, Jay.”
The guard withdrew, and Isabel drew her chair closer to the table. It was too small for comfort, but it was all she had. “Are you hungry, Oa?”
Oa took a step toward the table, glancing at Isabel with a little furrow between her brows.
“You know the word, don’t you?” Isabel urged. “It was in your book. Hungry. Wanting food.” She touched her stomach and smiled. “I’m hungry.”
“Yes,” the girl said. “Yes—Oa is hungry.”
Isabel hesitated, and then said, as gently as she could, “Can you say, ‘I’m hungry’?”
The girl dropped her eyes. Her head drooped. The fragrance of hot rice and scrambled eggs filled the room, and the muscles in Oa’s slender throat worked as she swallowed saliva.
“Never mind,” Isabel said. “It doesn’t matter. Oa and Isabel are both hungry. Let’s have our breakfast together.”
*
ISABEL WAS IMMERSED in the medicator reports when Paolo Adetti and Gretchen Boreson arrived. She had set up her reader on the low table, with a chair in front of it, and she slid the boxes of disks beneath it. Her computer she parked on the smooth plastic surface of the exam bed in the empty surgery, pushing the medicator to one side. Periodically she left her reader and went to the computer to make notes or look up a reference file. With her things unpacked and her equipment set up, the little infirmary seemed more like a home. Isabel brought out a sweater of her
Similar Books
