Outrun the Moon(64)

Georgina has lifted the woman’s head to her sturdy knees, and Minnie Mae is fanning her. Harry has fetched a cone of water, and Katie prepares a compress to put on the woman’s head. The Boston sisters have scattered in different directions, crying for a doctor, their kittens piled by the fire.

I stare down at the headmistress’s heaving form, my anger still making my mouth pucker and my face burn. Part of me wants to see her suffer for all the horrible things she’s said. But that would just lead to guilt later.

I jump off the crate and run toward Ah-Suk’s camp. Sure, he’s not the type of physician Headmistress Crouch will be used to—or even approve of—but for a good appetite, there is no hard bread.

He is standing by the lake, twisting his torso back and forth. With his swinging arms, he pounds his front and back, the knocking-on-the-door exercise that stimulates energy flow.

“Ah-Suk! Our teacher is having some sort of fit! She collapsed, and her face is flushed, and she’s breathing hard,” I ramble excitedly in my native tongue.

We hurry back to my camp. Girls part when they see us, their eyes wide with surprise.

“This is Dr. Gunn. He doesn’t speak English, so I will translate.”

Ah-Suk scoops up Headmistress Crouch’s limp wrist with his bony fingers, striped blue with his thick veins. She recoils into Georgina, her hand twitching in an effort to pull away, but she’s too tired to manage it. Expertly, Ah-Suk takes her pulse with his three fingers, then switches sides and measures her other wrist. He makes a groaning noise that means he’s thinking. “Forceful and taut. Depth is too strong.”

I don’t bother to translate yet, as then I would have to explain his pulse reading, which is as complicated as fortune-telling. Plus, the less foreign he sounds, the less squabbling she will do.

In Cantonese, he says, “Stick out your tongue.” I translate.

Headmistress Crouch turns her head away. “What witchcraft have you brought here? Take him away from me. And get this furball off me!” One of the kittens has stumbled over and is attempting to scale her boot. A Boston sister picks off the animal and returns her to the others.

Ah-Suk draws up a thin eyebrow, waiting for my translation.

“Er, she said that she is shy about sticking out her tongue,” I lie.

“Why?” He snaps. The man can be as testy as Headmistress Crouch. “Is she shy about opening her mouth when she eats her dinner? Or when she yawns? It’s the same thing. Tell her.”

Headmistress Crouch narrows her eyes at me and mutters, “How barbaric. Stick out my tongue indeed. It’s indecent! I don’t even know you.”

That word again, barbaric. “He says he thinks you might have tongue rot and needs a closer look.” There, you pompous peacock, that’s for your nastiness.

The woman gasps. “I do NOT have tongue rot.” She glowers at me so intently, I think her eyes might pop out like peas from a shooter.

Ah-Suk sticks out his own tongue with an ahhhh sound, encouraging her to do the same. Headmistress Crouch shrinks back farther into Georgina’s lap, horror written plainly across her shiny face. “Stop it! Stop it, I say!” she cries in a hoarse voice.

“Ahhh,” Ah-Suk continues to prod her.

She resists a moment longer but finally unfurls her red flag like a petulant child. Her tongue only hangs there a few seconds, but long enough to see a thick yellow coat on its surface.

Ah-Suk nods. “High blood pressure, causing enlarged spleen.”

I translate.

“Yes, I know,” Headmistress Crouch snaps. “I could’ve told you that without making me go through that rigmarole. Oh, I feel dizzy.” She lays back her head.

“She said ‘thank you,’” I tell Ah-Suk. “What should she do?”

“She will have to be leeched. If she doesn’t, maybe she’ll have a heart attack. She is in a bad condition.”

Leeched. “She is not going to like that. You don’t have any herbs?”

“Leeches are very effective at relieving excess blood pressure. She won’t feel it. And I only have my sleeping herbs, nothing stronger.”

The girls are watching our exchange of Cantonese as if watching a match of table tennis. Katie’s lips move, trying on the words for size.

“What’s he saying?” huffs Headmistress Crouch.

A Boston tries to put a wet compress on the woman’s forehead, but the headmistress makes a hissing sound, and the girl shrinks away.

I let go of the breath I am holding. Headmistress Crouch will never agree to be leeched, especially by Dr. Gunn. She’d wait until a western doctor could be found, but even a western doctor might not have the right medicine. It’s miles to the nearest hospital, assuming they’re still standing, and assuming they’d take a crotchety old woman over a bleeding earthquake victim.

Ah-Suk circles the wrist of one hand and the other, waiting patiently for my response.

“You said you have sleeping tea. Could she be leeched while she’s sleeping?”

A muscle in his cheek quivers. “Of course.”

Headmistress Crouch smacks her lips as if she is thirsty, her steely gaze still pinning me.

“He says he will make you a cup of tea,” I tell her. “Would you like that?”

Her eyebrows raise, and the girls begin murmuring. I can’t think of a single person who would refuse a cup of tea under the circumstances.