When three people say there is a tiger, some will believe one is around
FEBRUARY 18, 2020, MIDAFTERNOON
Inside the courtyard, a group of twenty or so neighbors are gathered outside Building Four. Wearing a variety of homemade masks, face covers, and raincoats, they’re craning their necks forward to look at something. Mr. Chen, leaning on his cane, stands near the front.
I run over to Juan, who stands on her tiptoes at the back of the crowd. “What’s happening?” I whisper.
She grabs my arm and starts to speak, but a gruff voice interrupts her.
“We can’t let her out. She will get us all sick,” says an old man. A gray scarf is wrapped around his head and face, exposing only his eyes.
“Let’s board up her apartment before the city comes to seal our complex. I heard her coughing!” cries a man with beady eyes standing in front of the building gate, waving his hands up and down. He reminds me of a panda with his greasy brown jacket wrapped tightly around his belly.
Last week, when I walked by Building Four, I heard him talking to Mrs. Fong loudly from his balcony, above hers. “You deserve a medal for doing so much for us! I don’t know how we would get by without you.”
A woman with wide-frame glasses and an N95 mask asks in a soft voice, “Can’t we at least get her to the hospital?”
“Forget about hospitals! They’re full for days!” a man yells from the crowd.
I look around and recognize many of the neighbors we have delivered food to. Why won’t they stand up for Mrs. Fong?
“Hey, Dad, look what I found!” A chubby young man wearing a water jug over his head appears with a hammer and two boards tucked underneath his armpit.
My heart rate quickens. I take a deep breath and clench my fists.
“You can’t do this!” I shout.
All eyes turn on me. Juan squeezes my arm.
“If we don’t act now, we are all going to get infected! Let him through!” Old Panda calls out impatiently.
The crowd slowly parts, opening a narrow pathway to the building. Face tingling and heart pounding, I try to collect my thoughts. Unlike the skinny young woman at the store, these men are big and strong. I’m no match for them. Suddenly, the image of the revolutionary hero Liu Hulan pops into my head. Wasn’t she my age when she bravely stood against her enemies?
I bolt down the path. When I appear in front of Building Four, Old Panda’s eyes widen in surprise. I block the gate with my body, stretching out my arms and grabbing the metal frame on both sides.
“What do you think you’re doing, little beast?” Old Panda waves me away as if I’m an annoying fly.
“I won’t let you seal Mrs. Fong’s door! We need to get her help!”
“Help—what help?” Old Panda sounds even angrier.
The crowd falls silent. I can hear my heart hammering in my chest. But I stand firm on the ground and tighten my grip on the frame. In the distance, a dog’s low-pitched barks intertwine with a baby screaming and a woman crying.
“Move, move! We got work to do!” Young Panda barks, making his way toward me.
Everyone stands still, watching. I feel as though I’m in a dream, an unknown world where I am no longer sure of the rules. But one thing I am certain of is that even with Juan’s help, I can’t stop them from plowing through the gate. And where is Juan? I look around and don’t see her. Did she abandon me?
Young Panda is so close I can see thin scratch marks on his water bottle helmet.
“Stop, you dumb eggs. Nobody’s sealing this door!” a hoarse voice thunders.
It’s Mr. Chen. He jumps between me and the Pandas, resting his weight on his slightly bent front leg, while keeping his back leg straight. With both hands, he holds his cane diagonally across his body.
I immediately recognize the Shaolin stick-fighting stance from the Kung Fu computer game I used to play. Is he a martial arts master? Among all the neighbors, he is the last one I expected to stand up for Mrs. Fong.
“Are all your hearts being eaten by dogs? Why do you think Mrs. Fong got sick?” Mr. Chen points his cane to the crowd. “Raise your hand if Mrs. Fong has helped you.”
The crowd mumbles and slowly all their arms rise. Old Panda rubs his hands together furiously like a kid trying to get dry mud off his palms.
“Well, what now? She’s going to infect the rest of us!” a woman yells from the crowd.
“How do you know she has COVID? We need to get her a test kit to find out,” says the woman with wide-frame glasses.
“Forget about it! The hospital has run out of test kits. My sister-in-law has been waiting for weeks,” says Old Panda.
A siren slices through the air. Flocks of crows take off from the trees, flapping away in every direction. There is a commotion at the gate, and then it opens slowly. A white ambulance and a van pull into the courtyard. The siren abruptly shuts off. Like a pot of stew boiling over, panic breaks out in the crowd.
“They are coming to seal us in!”
“They are taking all of us away!”
“We are all going to die!”
“No, they are coming to take Mrs. Fong.” Juan walks to the front of the crowd, phone in hand.
“Where are they taking her?” someone cries out.
“Huoshenshan, the field hospital that recently opened. It’s well staffed and has plenty of medical supplies,” Juan says in a confident voice.
“How do you know?” asks Old Panda.
“I talked to my mother. She knows because she is helping build the field hospitals.”
The ambulance stops in the middle of the courtyard. Three people in hazmat suits jump out. One holds a handheld speaker and the other two carry a white stretcher.
A male voice blasts through the speaker, “Comrades, please stay calm. We are going to remove the patient and then disinfect the area. Go home and keep your windows closed.”
The crowd breaks up and people rush to their buildings. I let go of the metal frame and move away from the gate. Young Panda drops his boards on the ground and scurries after his father. I pause outside Mrs. Fong’s apartment and am relieved to see her slouching against the window. Her eyes dart around as if looking for danger.
“Mrs. Fong, don’t worry!” I shout. “They are taking you to the hospital. You will be okay!”
Mrs. Fong slowly waves at me. Teary-eyed, her mouth spreads sideways into a smile. Mr. Chen and Juan come over and we wave goodbye to her.
I offer to help Mr. Chen walk back to our building. He rolls his eyes and says, “I am not that old yet.”
Juan and I exchange amused glances. Once we are inside our building, I take out a to-go meal and say, “Mr. Chen, I brought you egg fried rice today.”
“Good! I like fried rice!” he says in a cheerful voice I have never heard before.