Those Unknown People of the Pandemic

That person who sat at his balcony, beating a gong to inform people that he had been infected.

That person who ran after a hearse at midnight, crying with grief, yelling out, “It’s my mom.”

That person who read The Origins of Political Order in the quarantine hospital where he had to share the restroom with hundreds of people.

That person who died in his armchair, held by his family members who were waiting for a hearse.

That person who starved to death in his apartment because he was quarantined by himself for seven days.

That person who was pregnant, who had already spent two hundred thousand RMB, who gave up medical care because she was unable to afford the fee.

That person who dug his own grave and hung himself secretly because he did not want to spread the virus to his family.

That 90-year-old mother waiting in the hospital for more than five days for a sleeping berth for her 60-year-old son.

That person who replied on the microblog to the question “if there are still sick-beds available” with the comment, “My mother just passed away, there should be one bed available, I hope that would be helpful to you.”

That person cursing at people seeking help because he thought that their crying was really annoying, who just asked for help in the same way.

That person who used her scarf to cover her mouth when she was interrogated, who finally hung her head, crying in shame because she was unable to purchase medical masks.

That person who used a piece of orange peel as a face mask.

That person, whose father, mother, grandfather, grandmother are all dead, who registered the deaths at the Department of Civil Affairs by himself.

That person who donated all his face masks, which he received in exchange for his salary.

That person at the hospital who answered “I can,” “I understand,” putting his thumbprint on a document.

That person who had been working round the clock for days, helping to build the emergency hospital, called “God of Plague” by those in his village.

That person who needed to go to Beijing to receive a bone marrow transplant, who asked the doctor to perform euthanasia because she could not go due to quarantine.

That person who was unable to take hemodialysis because of the epidemic, trying to beg for mercy, who finally committed suicide by jumping off a building. His remains were discovered by people six hours after he died.

That person who was slapped by people for not wearing her face mask, her mouth bleeding profusely.

That person who yelled out, “I am hungry, I am hungry. I am about to die; my wife and my children are starving at home. You are eating and drinking your fill.”

That person who made his living as a beekeeper, who finally committed suicide because he was unable to resell his apiary.

That person who could not find a place to get medical treatment, writing a letter before his death, informing his wife that he wanted to donate his remains to the country for scientific research. He left his keys and his cellphone, ran away from their home, then died on the way to his hometown.

That person who had no choice but to carry her mother on her back, walking for more than three hours to meet with the physician for a consultation.

That person who left her newborn at the hospital, writing, “I have spent all my money, I have been driven into a corner.”

That child who had spent five days with his grandfather’s mortal remains, finally covering the dead body with a quilt.

That person who recovered, then hanged herself when she went home to discover her family was dead.

That 60-year-old person who was in charge of logistical support for the local police station, cooking for more than 60 policemen, sweeping the yard, finally crying in the corridor because he was exhausted.

That person who swallowed all his mother’s sleeping pills and psychotropic drugs because he was unable to afford a cellphone to take courses remotely.

That person who resigned his position at CCTV, who went to Wuhan to provide live coverage of the epidemic, who recited, “Resourceful youths lead to a resourceful nation; strong youths lead to a strong country” to the people trying to arrest him outside his door.

That person who yelled out, “Everything is faked!” when leaders went among the masses.

That person who called the government officials and sensitively told them that “we should protect ourselves from being infected by the virus, while we still need to make a living,” finally heaving a sigh.

That person who said, “If I knew the situation earlier, I would have warned everyone about the coronavirus even if I would have been punished.”

Siyun Fang is a poet and translator. A graduate of Centre College and New York University, she is going to attend the University of Mississippi MFA program this fall. Her poems have appeared in Rigorous, Tule Review, In Parentheses, and Seven Circle Press, among other journals and magazines.