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Then the lady pointed to the corner of Ire's eye. Blood was seeping out between the eyeball and the place where the eyelids joined, and dripping down his cheekbone toward his ear.
"Oh Lord in heaven," said the doctor. "Give him the injection."
"Not me," she said, backing away.
"It's not—what you think," said the doctor.
"It's close enough that you're thinking the same thing," said the lady in white.
The doctor took back the syringe and jammed it into Ire's upper arm and pushed the plunger. Then he handed it to the nurse. "We can't use this again," he said.
"Of course not," she said.
The doctor went outside the curtain and Chinma followed. "All of you!" the doctor said. The other patients looked at him. "You must get up and leave this building right now."
"But I need … " an old lady began to say.
"Leave this building," he said. His voice carried a lot of authority. But Chinma could also hear that he was afraid. Maybe the others could tell that, too, because they didn't argue. He made them go out the back way, so they wouldn't pass near to the curtained bed where Ire lay.
That was when Chinma knew that Ire was dying.
"So the monkey was poison like Ire said," Chinma said.
"What?" asked the doctor. "Listen, boy. Some other doctors are going to be here very soon, and I need you to take them out to where you f
ound the monkey. Do you know what kind?"
"White-face monkey. The papa monkey bit—"
"Just answer my questions, boy, there's no time for nonsense! You mean a putty-face monkey?"
"Yes," said Chinma.
"And you say your other brother can drive them there?"
"Yes, but—"
"Then let's go get that brother."
Chinma headed for the back door, but the doctor grabbed him. "The front way," he said. "I need to clear the waiting room."
As they walked toward the door to the waiting room, Chinma saw the nurse lady finish rinsing out the syringe and put it with a stack of other syringes to dry. She must have forgotten that they weren't supposed to use it again. Or maybe it was a different syringe and she had thrown Ire's away.
"Ire will die?" asked Chinma.
"Shut up," said the doctor. "Do you want to start a panic?"
I think sending all the patients out of the clinic through the back door is more likely to start a panic than anything I might say.
But Chinma kept his mouth shut and the doctor opened the door to the waiting room. "We're closed now," he said. "Go home."
"But I'm very sick," said the man who had complained before.
A mother with a three-year-old pointed to the whimpering child's broken arm.
"Do your best, do your best," said the doctor. "It's for your own good. This clinic is not a safe place for anyone right now."
As they left, the smell of medicines finally got to Chinma and he sneezed on the sick man, who glared at him. "Sorry," said Chinma, and he ducked to avoid the inevitable cuffing.
