Nummer førtisyv

Carla hadde skåret seg i hånden mens hun vasket opp. Det var ikke dypt, men det ble ved å blø, så hun dro til legesenteret. Resepsjonisten ba om forsikringskortet hennes og ga henne et nummer. Førtisyv.

Carla had cut her hand washing the dishes. It wasn't deep, but it kept bleeding, so she went to the clinic. The receptionist asked for her insurance card and gave her a number. Forty-seven.

Skjermen over døren viste "Nå betjenes: 31." Venterommet var fullt. En mann hadde lest samme side i et blad i ti minutter. En ung far holdt en sovende baby. En tenåring stirret på telefonen sin.

The screen above the door said "Now serving: 31." The waiting room was full. A man was reading the same page of a magazine for ten minutes. A young father was holding a sleeping baby. A teenager was staring at his phone.

Carla satte seg ned og så på tallene som skiftet. 32. 33. 36. Tallene kom ikke i riktig rekkefølge. Hun lurte på om de hadde glemt henne.

Carla sat down and watched the numbers change. 32. 33. 36. The numbers did not move in order. She wondered if she had been forgotten.

Etter en time viste skjermen endelig 47. Hun gikk gjennom døren til det lille kontoret. Legen så på hånden hennes i to minutter. "Det er ingenting," sa han. "Vask det to ganger om dagen. Ingen sting."

After an hour, the screen finally showed 47. She walked through the door to the small office. The doctor looked at her hand for two minutes. "It's nothing," he said. "Clean it twice a day. No stitches."

Da hun gikk, var venterommet nesten tomt. Tenåringen var borte. Babyen var våken. Mannen hadde endelig snudd siden.

When she left, the waiting room was almost empty. The teenager was gone. The baby was awake. The man had finally turned the page.