The Charity Chip (5 page)

Julio pulled up beside the doctor and handed him the card. Doctor Barilla extended his arm so he could see it and typed Caritas into the search engine. “It may take a few moments,” said Doctor Barilla. “The neighbor’s Wi-Fi is a bit slow, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

Julio moved the doctor’s coffee cup. “Do you want me to do some filing while we wait?” asked Julio.

“If you’d like,” answered Doctor Barilla with a shrug.

Julio grabbed the stack of medical files and began returning them to the cabinet where they belonged. “It’s my way of paying rent.”

“
Por favor
,” said Doctor Barilla with a wave of his hand. “Ah, here we go,” said Doctor Barilla after several minutes of searching. “I found a news article about Caritas.”

Julio set the remaining files on the floor and slid in behind Doctor Barilla.

“It says here,” continued Doctor Barilla, “that the program is the brainchild of Isak Blixt, and Peru is the prototype. If it succeeds here—”

Someone pounded on the front door. “Doctor! Doctor! Are you there?”

Julio hurried over and unlocked the door. When he flung it open, a dark-skinned
chola
woman walked in cradling a young girl with a dirty rag wrapped around her left foot. Julio could see the blood seeping through the rag as the woman came to a stop in front of the examination table. The woman’s hair was pulled back, exposing the deep creases of worry in her forehead and around her eyes.

“Doctor Barilla,” she began, “my daughter stepped on something while playing in the street.” She leaned forward and offered up the girl.

Doctor Barilla motioned toward the examination table with his hand as he stood. “
Cálmese, señora
, I’m sure she’ll be fine. Lay her down on the table.” He moved around his desk and approached the examination table as the worried mother put the injured girl onto the table. The doctor stopped and ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “Uh, give me a moment to clean up,” he said and darted for the bathroom.

Julio watched as the mother held her daughter’s hand and wiped the tears from her cheek with the back of her fingers. The mother’s display of tenderness reminded him of Mamá, and he felt a stab of bitterness.

Doctor Barilla hurried back into the room with his hair wet and combed back. He still sported the stubble and yellowing teeth, but his face and hands were clean, and he had slipped on his white smock. “
Bueno
, what have we here?” asked Doctor Barilla as he gently unraveled the bloody rag from the girl’s foot. “What did you step on?”

The girl squeezed her mother’s hand but didn’t cry out. “A broken bottle,” she said with a wavering voice.

“Hmm . . . I see.” Doctor Barilla adjusted his glasses and bent over her foot for a better look. “Julio, bring me the bottle of peroxide, some alcohol wipes, and my suture kit from the cabinet, please.”

Julio hurried over to the supply cabinet. He opened up the cabinet and pulled out the small brown bottle of peroxide. He had to rummage around for the alcohol wipes, but the suture kit was tucked neatly in the top drawer next to a large bottle of ipecac syrup. He scooped up the suture kit and peroxide and rounded the desk.

He approached the examination table and could see Doctor Barilla inspecting the wound. The side of the girl’s left foot had a large ragged gash near the heel, but the bleeding had stopped. He set the supplies on the end of the table and passed behind the doctor.

Julio smiled at the girl to reassure her. Her long dark hair fell in clumps across the head of the table. Her eyes sat like two large milky gems against a chocolate background and her tears had left dirty tracks on her brown cheeks. She smiled back without showing her teeth.

“Come here, Julio. I want you to see this,” said Doctor Barilla. Julio slid around the doctor so he could see. “Notice the ragged edge of this cut? See how deep it is? The only way it will heal properly is if we sew it up. Go scrub your hands so you can help while I irrigate the wound.”

Julio hurried to the bathroom and scrubbed his hands twice before returning to the examination table. He loved it when he was allowed to help. He hoped to be a doctor himself one day.

Doctor Barilla was cleaning the gash with peroxide when Julio got back. “With a deep wound like this, we have to irrigate it to ensure that there isn’t any debris left in the wound.” The girl let out a whimper, and the mother reassured her with a calm voice. Doctor Barilla continued to focus on the wound. “Okay, Julio, open up a couple of those alcohol wipes and clean her foot around the cut.” He looked at the girl and said, “This is going to sting a bit.”

Julio tore open one of the wipes and began to clean around the wound as instructed. The girl jerked her foot when the alcohol touched the wound, but Doctor Barilla held it still so Julio could finish.

“Julio, it looks like we will need the lidocaine from the refrigerator and a clean syringe, please,” said Doctor Barilla. Julio rounded the desk again and pulled open the small refrigerator door. A large, half-empty bottle of vodka sat in the middle of the shelf. Pushing it aside, he began reading the labels of the various glass medicine bottles until he found the lidocaine. With the bottle in hand, he searched the second drawer of the supply cabinet and extracted what appeared to be a clean syringe. He used a cotton ball and rubbing alcohol to wipe it down.

As Julio approached the table with the bottle and syringe, the girl began to cry. “Don’t worry,” said Julio. “The wound that heals doesn’t hurt.” He glanced up at the mother. “That’s what my mamá used to say to me.”

Doctor Barilla drew the lidocaine from the bottle with the syringe and then offered it to Julio. “Okay, Julio, I’ll hold her foot down while you inject the lidocaine into the wound just like I’ve shown you before.”

Julio’s hand was shaking. The last time he had helped this much, the patient had been a drunk and barely conscious. It felt different helping with a little girl that was wide awake. He took several deep breaths to calm himself before he poked the needle into her foot.

“That’s it,” said Doctor Barilla. “Inject the wound from both sides.”

The girl cried out at the first injection, but her mother kept her calm. Julio emptied the syringe and let out a satisfied sigh.

“Okay, Julio. Switch places with me,” said Doctor Barilla.

Julio set the syringe on the table and swapped places with the doctor. He glanced over at the girl and smiled before turning his attention to the doctor’s demonstration.

“You shouldn’t feel much from now on, maybe some tugging and pulling,” said Doctor Barilla as he prepared the suture thread. “Julio,” he whispered, “turn so you can see clearly, and so you can block her view.”

“Remember what I showed you the last time?” asked Doctor Barilla as he threaded the needle. “Go in perpendicular.” He pushed the needle through the skin using the surgical pliers. “Rotate the needle until the end protrudes from the opposite side of the wound. Then grab the end of the needle and pull it gently through, but leave some thread for the knot.”

Julio swallowed and nodded. He was glad that the lidocaine had taken effect and the girl wasn’t crying anymore.

“Now for the knot. Hold the pliers in your right hand and loop away from you. Then grab the short end of the thread and pull it through. Try and pull evenly on both sides.” He pulled the thread tight and squeezed the wound together. “For the second half of the knot, loop the pliers toward you and then grab the short end and pull it tight. Grab both parts of the thread and cut.” He cut the thread close to the double knot.

“It looks like she will need four stitches,” said Doctor Barilla as he started to insert the needle again. “You watch me again on this one and then you can do the last two.”

“Do you think that will be safe, Doctor?” asked the mother.

Doctor Barilla laughed. “Yes. His young hands are much steadier than mine. Besides, he charges much less than I do.”

When they switched positions, Julio could feel his palms sweating as he picked up the pliers. He took a calming breath and inserted the needle. It was a strange feeling to have this much control over someone else’s body. It made him feel powerful, even important. He followed Doctor Barilla’s instructions to the T and tied the first knot.

“Very nicely done,” said Doctor Barilla. “Now finish it up.”

Julio was no longer nervous. His hands moved with confidence as he inserted the needle and tied the knot for the last suture. When he cut away the extra thread he admired his work. He swelled with pride as he compared his sutures to the doctor’s and couldn’t see any difference.

“That takes care of the sutures,” said Doctor Barilla, “but we need to give you an antibiotic to fight off any infection.” The girl’s eyes followed the doctor as he retrieved another small bottle from the refrigerator and filled another syringe. He held out the syringe to Julio. “Give her the injection in the arm.”

The girl looked at Julio and then to her mother for reassurance. Her mother nodded and patted her hand. Julio wiped her arm with alcohol and injected the antibiotic. She let out a small cry, but before her cry had ended, Julio was finished.

“You’ll be as good as new in no time, but be careful for a few days,” said the doctor. “It will be sore. Come see me, or Julio, in a week, and we will remove the sutures.” He began picking up the bloodied rag and the used alcohol wipes.

The mother stood with her eyes fixed on the floor and her hands clasped in front of her. “I have nothing to pay you with.”

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand, avoiding eye contact as if he were also embarrassed by the situation. “Pay me what you can, when you can,” replied Doctor Barilla without concern. “Besides, my intern, Julio, did most of the work, and as an intern, he can’t charge you anything.”

The mother scooped up her daughter as she spouted effusive thanks and headed out into the Sunday morning street. The office fell quiet as Julio helped clean up after the minor surgery and returned to filing papers. For a moment he forgot about all the struggle and sadness in his own life.

“Okay, where were we,” said Doctor Barilla as he sat back down at his desk and punched a key on the computer. He adjusted his glasses and began reading the article on the screen aloud. “ ‘
Caritas
is the Latin word for
charity
, but it is also the new word in aid to the less fortunate. The brainchild of Isak Blixt, an information and technology specialist from Sweden, Caritas uses modern monetary technology to push funds provided by governments and NGOs to the user level. Using a personalized implantable chip, dubbed the ‘charity chip,’ each recipient has the power to access funds for necessary purchases such as food, clothing, and other basic needs while drastically reducing the overhead of the program.’ ” Doctor Barilla’s voice trailed off to an inaudible whisper as he read on.

Julio finished storing the files and stood in front of the filing cabinet hoping Doctor Barilla would finish reading the article and explain it to him.

“Fascinating,” said Doctor Barilla. “The program here in Lima is the prototype. If it works here, the UN wants to expand it to other countries.”

“How will they know if it works?” asked Julio.

Doctor Barilla slipped off his reading glasses and sat back in his chair. “I guess if they can help enough needy children from starving to death.”

“How does it work?”

“It looks like they put a chip in each of the children and then load the chip with money for food.” He put his glasses back on and moved close to the screen. “They have a name for it . . . the charity chip.”

Julio wasn’t enamored with the idea of being implanted with a chip, but if meant that he could eat every day like he did last night, he might be willing. “Do you think I should go see Isak Blixt?” he asked.

Doctor Barilla picked up the card from the desk and offered it to Julio. “It looks legitimate, but you can’t be too careful when it comes to dealing with these foreign parasites.”

Julio took the card and shoved it into his pants pocket.

“By the way, Julio, nice job with the sutures today. You’ll make a great surgeon someday,” he said with fatherly smile.

Julio blushed and nodded. “Do you have any appointments tomorrow?” He knew that nobody made an appointment.

“Appointments?” Doctor Barilla laughed. “Let me check my calendar.” He punched a few keys on the computer. “It appears my calendar is clear tomorrow.”

“Since you don’t have any appointments tomorrow, maybe you can come with me to Caritas.”

The smile left the doctor’s face. He reached for his coffee and took a big swallow. He leaned back in his seat and looked away. After a long pause, he let out a heavy sigh. “Julio, I am an old doctor with, shall we say, an unpleasant past.” He shook his head. “Anybody that knows my history will never take my questions seriously.”

“Everybody in the neighborhood knows your history, and they still come to you.”

“They come to me because they can’t afford to go anywhere else.”

“I trust you.”

Doctor Barilla sighed even deeper than before. “I don’t understand why, after what happened with your mother.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” said Julio. Even though Julio and Raúl had lived in the unused floor above Doctor Barilla since the night Mamá had died, Julio had never told him those words. “She would have died anyway that night. There was nothing you could do.”

Doctor Barilla looked at him in disbelief. Then his eyes clouded over and his bottom lip quivered slightly. He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Julio. That is kind of you to say.”

Julio shrugged. “So, will you come with me tomorrow?”

Doctor Barilla smiled. “If I don’t have any patients tomorrow morning, I will go with you.” He sipped his coffee and added, “
Si Dios quiere.
”

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

La Calle

(The Street)