One The Missing Piece

The man pushed the drawing through beside her bowl. Qiao put the bowl down before taking it. The soup left a pale ring on the concrete.

A little black box. A handle folded flat along one side.

She turned the paper over.

Nothing on the back.

Through the opening, he watched her inspect his drawing. His elbows rested on the bench. Between them lay a machine with its cover off. The other half sat beside Qiao's knee, where he had pushed it through that morning.

She wrote beneath the picture.

WHERE?

He pointed at her map.

She brought it over. His finger stopped on the station.

Of course.

Qiao circled the maintenance store and showed him. He nodded. She added a question mark. He nodded again, less confidently.

She put the paper in her pocket and ate the soup. There were three noodles. One had caught beneath the rim. She freed it with her fingernail.

He was still watching when she finished.

She held up the empty bowl. Then her knife.

He shook his head at the knife.

She showed him the drawing instead.

This time he looked down.

* * *

The station's side entrance had a shutter jammed halfway up. Qiao lay on her stomach and pushed her pack ahead of her. Something caught her coat. She backed out, unhooked the torn lining, and tried again.

Inside, a departure board hung over a row of seats. Someone had taken the clock. Its clean circle remained.

The maintenance store was locked.

She tried the handle anyway.

Then she went round the back.

A delivery hatch opened onto shelves too narrow for her shoulders. She took off her coat, pushed it through, and followed. Her boot knocked a jar down. She stayed wedged in the hatch while it broke.

Nothing came.

She dropped to the floor.

The black box was on the bottom shelf, behind a kettle with no lid. She checked the drawing. Folded handle. Pale square on the front. The square on this one had yellowed. She took it.

A pink medical glove had dried to the shelf bracket. Qiao peeled it free and put it in her pack.

A strip of yellow emergency fabric lay beneath the kettle. She tied it around the handle of her pack.

Beside the box, a sealed glass ampoule sat in a foam groove. A small three-legged swallow was printed near the bottom. She wrapped it in a rag and took it too.

On the way out she found a cracked transit badge beneath the counter. The pin still worked. She fastened it inside her pack.

The shutter caught her coat again.

This time she left the lining there.

* * *

The man took the box with both hands.

Qiao waited with her back against the compressor. He cleared a place on his bench, then glanced through at her. She lifted one eyebrow.

He held up the drawing and crossed it out.

FOUND.

She took the pencil.

PAYMENT?

For a while he did nothing. Then he set his hand beside the opening, palm upward. Qiao put hers opposite it.

His fingers moved. Hers stayed where they were.

He drew two chairs on the paper. In the space between them he added a table. She looked from the drawing to the machine beside her knee.

He nodded.

Qiao pulled it closer.

He worked with his face bent over the bench. She watched the little light on her unit. It flickered once and stayed lit. Across from her, his did the same.

He stopped.

She held up the drawing of the chairs.

Both of them?

His answer was a nod.

Qiao laid the drawing on her ledger and fitted the curved band over her head. He adjusted his, watching her all the time.

She raised her hand once more.

He raised his.

The light brightened beneath her fingers.