Chapter 12: the patient's wife

The wife of the patient on the table was waiting on the plastic bench outside theatre three, in a worn jacket with her hair tied back.

Her hands were knotted in her lap.

She was forty-six, sturdy, and had been sitting there for six hours without once asking for a cup of water.

She stood when the doors opened.

"My husband," she said. "The truck driver. They told me a liver."

Han came out first, still in his gown, with Tong Yu a step behind him.

"Madam," said Han. "He is alive. The operation is over. He will be in intensive care tonight, and for some days."

Her face did something she clearly had not planned. She sat down hard on the bench and covered her mouth.

Han waited until she looked up.

"There was a tear in a large vein," he said. "I was not able to repair it. My hand was not safe."

He did not look away from her. "Dr Tong put in the stitches, and I told him where."

Tong Yu stared at him.

It was said plainly and in front of the circulating nurse, who had followed them out and was now very busy with a trolley.

"I did what he told me, madam," said Tong Yu.

"You did what he told you with your own hands," said Han.

The wife looked from one to the other for some time.

Then she got to her feet, and took Tong Yu's right hand in both of hers, and held it against her chest.

"I don't know what the difference is," she said, in a cracked voice. "I only know I saw two men go in and I saw two men come out."

She wiped her eyes. "If anybody asks me, that's what I'll say. Two men."

"Madam," said Han.

"Don't tell me not to." She let go and struck Tong Yu lightly on the shoulder, and then did it again.

"Look at you. Twenty-five. Go and eat."

Her husband had been wheeled away by then, and the corridor lights buzzed.

At half past seven that morning, Tong Yu was on the ward, grey with no sleep.

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