On Such a Full Sea by Chang-rae Lee Read Free Book Online Page B

removed her wet sneakers, her wet socks. She bucked and tried to twist away when he unbuttoned her trousers but he pressed his hand on her hip and said, Don’t move. He then lifted her with the other hand beneath the small of her back as he inched down the soaked, binding fabric. He did not touch her underwear. When her trousers were off, he examined her injury, pressing gingerly as he probed the splotchy, deep bruise on the outside of her thigh. He was as serious and focused as any nurse practitioner in B-Mor. He bound it tightly with a bandage and then left.
    Loreen reappeared while he was gone. She scrounged about a drawer and found a quick-eat pouch of pork and beans. It was dim in the room and she looked older than Quig but maybe it was because she was heavier, her hair long and scraggly. She had a mouthful of gray crooked teeth. She cut off the top of the pouch and ate little spoonfuls out of it cold as she stared at Fan, talking to her between chews.
    Where the hell did you think you were going?
    You can’t be more than eleven or twelve.
    You shouldn’t feel good that he’s bothering. He’s got plans for you, like he’s got for everyone.
    Quig returned with a sack of assorted items and tools, including a handsaw, a drill, a length of soft cord, bungees, and then an old rake with mostly broken tines. He unscrewed the rake head from the plastic handle and then held the handle against the inside of her leg, marking its length. He turned it around and did the same with the unmarked end against the outside of her leg. Then he sawed the two pieces to size. These were the splints, which he joined with screws to a short crosspiece at the bottom; her foot would sit on this. With the bungees, he bound the splints to her leg, Loreen holding everything in place while he wound it around. He rigged the cord to secure her foot to the crosspiece and then twisted it until there was a tugging force on her leg; this was the only way, he would tell her later, that it would heal right, keeping it in traction. When it was done, Quig carried her to a small room of shelves and bins that was almost completely filled with random equipment and appliance and car parts, but there was a cot in the corner with a sleeping bag and he placed her on top of it. He hadn’t said more than two words to her, nor said anything now, just giving her another injection, this one to make her sleep. She was losing consciousness when Loreen appeared and tugged the sleeping bag out from beneath her, saying it was her son’s. She tossed a thin, musty blanket atop her.
    Better heal up quick, Loreen said, looming. Her breath smelled of alcohol and was sugar-sweet, from the beans. Or you won’t be around long.
    •   •   •
    FOR ALL OF US HERE, it is difficult not to think often about that first night of Fan’s. Even now, after all that’s transpired, we still discuss how we might have fared in her place, being maybe seriously injured, stuck in a faraway counties house deep in the Smokes, and not knowing what would happen next. It’s an unnerving scenario. In fact, the circumstance is so far beyond what any of us could imagine that it seems like some evening-programs story line dreamed up with the help of one of those edgier young B-Mors you hear about these days, who, of course, still work in our facilities but “consult” for the Charter creators of such shows and sometimes even take a hand in writing them. Maybe Charter people don’t ultimately care about what happens outside their gates, but they’re certainly curious, and so you see more and more characters like us popping up in the shows, if not in starring roles. We’re mostly bystanders or else hardworking service people for Charter heroes and heroines, but sometimes more prominent foils, too, like a recent character in
St. Clair Beach
named Ji-lan, a beautiful woman from D-Troy, the big midwestern facility, who captures the heart of a married Charter executive and causes him much