Chapter 3

Someone shouted, “Mr. Lewis passed out! Mr. Lewis is having a heart attack!”

I whipped around and saw Mr. Lewis slumped under the poplar tree outside the stand, his face turning purple, one hand clutching his chest, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to breathe.

His wife was crouched beside him, crying in panic, screaming through her tears, “Lewis, Lewis, what’s wrong with you? Somebody help! Help!”

I immediately pulled a small bottle from my apron pocket. It was quick-acting heart pills.

“I have medicine!”

I had always kept it on me, because a lot of the people coming to the stand were elderly, and I was afraid something would happen.

I grabbed the bottle and ran over. Just as I was crouching down to open the cap, Ben grabbed my wrist with one hand.

“Dad, you don’t have a medical license. You can’t give him medicine.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “What? Ben, this is heart medicine. I just need to give him two pills. What does that have to do with a medical license? This is a life-or-death emergency. Do you understand that?”

“Using medicine counts as medical treatment. If someone without a medical license uses medicine on their own and something goes wrong, they have to bear legal responsibility.”

Ben was holding my wrist. His grip wasn’t very hard, but it was firm.

“Think about it. If Mr. Lewis takes your medicine and something happens, who’s responsible?”

I shouted, “I’ll be responsible if something happens!”

In twenty-three years, I had never raised my voice at anyone in this porridge stand, and today I was shouting at my own son.

Ben said, “You can’t bear that responsibility.”

Mr. Lewis’s breathing was getting more and more rapid. His lips had already turned bluish-purple, and his hand was clawing blindly at his chest.

Mrs. Lewis was kneeling on the ground, tears streaming down her face.

“Ben, let your dad give my old man the medicine. If something happens, we won’t blame him. I’ll write a guarantee, I’ll press my thumbprint, I’m begging you. Lewis can’t hold on much longer…”

Ben didn’t move.

He didn’t loosen his grip on my wrist at all.

Ben said to the people behind him, “Call 911. Wait for the ambulance to get here.”

I panicked and shook off his hand. “By the time the ambulance gets here, it’ll be too late!”

Ben immediately grabbed my wrist again, this time even tighter.

His voice started to shake, but he still didn’t let go.

“Dad, you can’t move. If you use medicine now, that’s practicing medicine without a license. If it’s serious enough, you could face criminal liability. I finally got into the tax bureau, I can’t…”

He didn’t finish the rest, but I understood.

He couldn’t have a father who went to prison.

I looked at that face of his, exactly like his mother’s, and suddenly it felt utterly unfamiliar.

At that moment, someone rushed over and shoved Ben aside.

It was Dr. Miller from the village clinic.

He had ridden over from the east end of the village on an e-bike, and he hadn’t even had time to fasten his white coat.

“Everybody move!”

Dr. Miller crouched down, pried open Mr. Lewis’s mouth to look inside, then checked his pulse. His face changed immediately. “Where’s the heart medicine? Bring me the heart medicine now!”

I handed him the bottle. Dr. Miller poured out two pills and tucked them under Mr. Lewis’s tongue, then told someone to lay Mr. Lewis flat, loosen his collar, and started chest compressions.

The whole thing took less than a minute.

Ben stood to the side. Dr. Miller shoved him and he staggered two steps, even getting one button on his uniform crooked.

He didn’t move again after that. He just stood there and watched Dr. Miller save Mr. Lewis.

Everyone in the stand crowded over.

Some helped hold up Mr. Lewis’s head.

Some used umbrellas to shade him from the sun.

Some handed Dr. Miller water to wash his hands.

Nobody looked at Ben.

Nobody spoke to him.

After about five minutes, Mr. Lewis’s breathing steadied a little, and the color slowly returned to his lips.

Dr. Miller wiped the sweat off his forehead and said to Mrs. Lewis, “He’s okay now. He’s stabilized. You still need to take him to the hospital for a checkup later.”

Mrs. Lewis collapsed onto the ground, tears pouring down her face as she grabbed Dr. Miller’s hand and thanked him over and over.

Dr. Miller waved it off, stood up, and looked at Ben.

“Ben, why did you stop your dad from giving him the medicine just now?”

Ben couldn’t say anything.

Dr. Miller stepped toward him, one step at a time. “Do you know the golden rescue window for a heart attack is only four minutes? During those four minutes that you kept your dad from helping, Mr. Lewis’s life was hanging by a thread. You stood there in a government uniform and just watched?”

“Dr. Miller, I was following the law…”

Dr. Miller cut him off. “Does the law tell you to stand by and watch someone die? Does the law tell you to be an ungrateful bastard? You’ve studied for years, and you’ve forgotten even the most basic rule of being human?”

Ben’s face turned bright red.

I looked at him, and my heart hurt like someone had grabbed it in their fist.

Someone outside the stand yelled loudly, “Got that on video, right? Post it online and let the whole country see this ungrateful brat.”

Someone else answered, “Already posted it!”

Ben’s body trembled.