Duke Du of Chin said to Po Lo: “You are now advanced in years. Is there any member of your family whom I could employ to look for horses in your stead?” Po Lo replied: “A good horse can be picked out by its general build and appearance, but the superlative horse, the one that raises no dust and leaves no tracks is something fleeting, elusive as thin air. The talents of my sons lie on a lower plane all together. They can tell a good horse when they see one, but they cannot tell a superlative horse. I have a friend, however, one whose name is Chiu Fang Kao, a hawker of fuel and vegetables whom in things pertaining to horses is no wise my inferior. Pray see him.”
Duke Du did so and subsequently dispatched him on a quest for a steed. Three months later he returned with the news that he had found one. “It is now in Shachi,” he added. “What kind of horse is it?” asked the Duke. “Oh, I think it is a dun-colored mare,” was his reply. However someone being sent to fetch it, the animal turned out to be a cold black stallion. Much displeased, the Duke sent for Polo. “That friend of yours,” he said, “whom I commissioned to look for a horse has made a fine mess of it. Why he cannot even distinguish the beast’s color or sex. What on earth can he know about horses?” Po Lo heaved a sigh of satisfaction. “Has he really gotten as far as that?” he cried. “Ah, then he is worth ten thousand of me put together. There is no comparison between us. What Kao keeps in view is the spiritual mechanism. In making sure of the essential, he forgets the details. Intent on the inward quality, he loses sight of the external. He sees what he wants to see. He looks at things he ought to see and neglects those things that should be so. He has it in him to judge something quite better than horses.” When the horse arrived, it indeed was a superlative animal.
As this story resonated within his conscious-ness, Dr. Burgos imagines a young lad, round-faced with deep penetrating, gently slanted brown dough eyes. He is clothed in a dark black collar-less and mid-calf high-fitting jump suit contrast with a clean, brilliant white rope, knotted buttons, and hip tie strings, barefooted and crouched along with others listening, folding his legs perhaps, opening his mouth and then closing it each time he heard the man continue the story.
And thus, yet, another prodding impetus to finally reflect on his encounter with this new patient. Dr. Burgos had been made richer by his encounter with this dynamic lady.
Given the great things that must have happened in her life, she was set on learning and growing and helping others. However, she had a greedy streak.
Dr. Burgos looked down at his Dictaphone, which had been turned off while he read the Salinger novel. He couldn’t quite bring himself to make any notes or dictations from his session with her that day. There was nothing much to say. They had had several sessions and most of the time his notes were short and brief, to the point.
She had no level of psychosis he could deter-mine. She simply needed someone to listen. This lady was going to be successful at whatever she was doing.
The only thing Malaki felt disturbed by was a friendship she described. He didn’t quite know in what manner the uneasiness would manifest itself. Disturbed, he would dictate her session Monday.
As he exited the immaculately furnished physician’s office on the 24th floor of one of the city’s finest business centers, heading towards the elevator, his thoughts again turned to her: such an attractive woman. Such a very well put together lady. Why did she need help? Why his practice? Hell, he had just opened “Shoppe!”
Chapter 4
Upon waking, I immediately thought I had died and gone to Purgatory. A beep-buzz, beep-buzz ... beep-buzz, beep-buzz sound resonated, echoing around a large bright-white room. A flashing red light from a big awkward-looking machine next to me accompanied the sounds. This was not a jazz riff.
My gaze dropped down to the tubing attached to my arm, tubing attached to my neck, laying over my chest, wires and devices all over the room seeming to flow in and out of my body.
A penlight shone in my left eye with a sweeping motion, pendulum-like, reminding me of a curtain drawn in the early morning and quickly closed, opened and closed, opened and closed. I was conscious but I couldn’t speak at the moment. I didn’t immediately recognize my surroundings or the individual on the other side of the sharp light. I thought I was in some sort of medical setting, but I really couldn’t see much past the light.
‘…so I’m in a hospital.’ Right away, I thought, ‘Lord, thank you for giving me another chance.’ I prayed silently, “Oh, Lord, thank you for this opportunity to live. What in the world has happened to me?” I attempted to swallow, but realizing there was a tube in my mouth, I took a deep breath, and then blew it out slowly. I scanned around the room, searching for anybody, anything and saw the back of what appeared to be a man dressed in plain clothes, but I noticed a holster at his side.
“Doesn’t look like a doctor, doesn’t look like a nurse, and doesn’t look like a hospital worker. Who is he?” Thoughts spun around in my head like a kaleidoscope. This time it was the face of another, not a medical professional: a white male, built solid as a soldier.
There were law enforcement officers and sheriff officers standing guard at the foot of my bed! “What have I got myself into? What has happened?”
Out of nowhere, a warm face emerged from between the two large silhouetted figures. A twentyish white female, long dark hair which flowed over a crisp white nursing uniform approached my bedside. Her blue eyes, incongruous in a Hispanic face, twinkled as she flashed a deep bright smile.
“How you doin’, hon? Good to see you came to.” She put her right hand on mine where some IV tubing was, not to adjust the tubing but just to squeeze reassuringly. The squeeze felt good.
The two large men stepped away, providing the nurse with just enough room to examine me.
“Are you ready to get that tube out of your mouth?”
I responded with a nod.
“You’re going to be okay.” She turned, writing on a clipboard, moved some tubing, picked up the phone, saying something, medical lingo I didn’t understand.
“Yes, he’s ready to be extubated.” She spun around on her heels, and marched away. I studied her from the corner of my eyes. What brand of perfume was she wearing? I could smell it as her stockings swished against her uniform, and her rubber shoes squeaked on the floor.
I saw her saunter over to the police officers.
“Can you guys just give us some room for a moment? He’s not going anywhere. Look at him.” The nurse raised her chin in my direction.
“You just do your job; we’re going to do ours.”
“I’ve been doing mine. You guys have been in my way all night. Give us a break.”
“A break! This motherfucker ….
“Listen, be cool, man.” The officer with the deeper voice touched the shorter officer’s shoulder.
“Gentleman, could you please step out into the hallway for a moment while we take this tube out of his mouth and then you can talk to him all you want.”
“Fine with me.” The taller officer nodded his head as if to say, “Go ahead.”
“Do
