Teaching the Dog to Read (8 page)

“Are you her?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”

Instead of clarifying the question, Lena held up her latest drawing of Tony. Doctor Mukherjee looked at it, saw it was done with great skill and was obviously of the patient, but beyond that she had no idea what this woman was talking about. Was she acting this oddly out of grief? Or perhaps she had gone quietly mad because of her fiancée’s dire condition. Or maybe was she a plain old weirdo.

To the doctor’s growing dismay, Lena repeated the gnomic question and added another “Are you
her?
Is this drawing enough?”

On new unsure ground now the doctor asked carefully “Would you like something to calm you down? We can arrange for—”

Lena said no and put the drawing back in her lap. “I’m fine. I thought you were someone else. Sorry if I confused you.”

“You’re sure you wouldn’t like something—”

“No Doctor, really—I’m good.”

“Do you have any questions?”

“No.”

“
None
? No concerns about—”

Lena looked disinterested, as if the conversation was already over and she was being nice answering the question. “Nope, I’m fine. I’ll sit here and keep him company.”

Now it was the doctor who spoke uncertainly “All right. But if you
do
want anything, the nurse’s station is down the hall.”

“Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Dr. Mukherjee was glad to get out of there but on her way down the hall she stopped one of the duty nurses and told her to keep an eye on the woman in 17 because she might be a little…
off
. The nurse said she would and the doctor continued on her rounds.

Two hours later Lena went down to the snack bar in the hospital lobby for an egg salad sandwich and bottle of mineral water. Opening the door to Tony’s room again with food in hand, she was jolted to see a heavyset man sitting in her chair by the side of the bed. His large head was covered with the transparent reddish fuzz of a short crew cut, small ears, big mouth and wide nose… On first glance he reminded her of a professional wrestler or night club bouncer. Thick hands folded peacefully in his lap, his eyes were closed when she first entered. They opened when she cleared her throat and they were surprisingly gentle looking. He wore a crisp looking cobalt blue work shirt with the name dave in black letters on a white patch over his left breast.

“Lena?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Dave. Do you have the drawings?”

Startled because she had been expecting a woman, Lena hesitated. “
You’re
here for them? I thought—”

“I know what you’re thinking, but I am the one. Can I see them please?”

“Yes, of course.” She opened her purse and took out the now twelve portraits of Tony Areal she had drawn. She walked over to Dave and handed them to him. He studied each carefully for a long time, returning to several again and again. Others he barely glanced at. Surprisingly those were her later drawings that displayed the talent and finesse of a real professional artist. But Dave didn’t appear interested in a finished product.

Lena stood by nervously, not knowing what to think or do. Finally he took so long reviewing them that she sat down in the chair on the other side of the bed and began eating her sandwich.

In time he brought the sheaf of sketches to his chest and shook his head. “No.”

“
No
?”

“No. It’s not there yet.” He patted his chest with the papers. “One or two of them come close, but none captures exactly how you feel about him. Without that, we can’t do anything. You’ll have to keep at it.” His voice was kind and even a little mournful but clearly not to be challenged. The answer was no and that ended the discussion.

The two of them sat in silence for a while.

“Are you going to finish that sandwich?”

She looked at it in her hand. “Uh no—would you like it?”

“I would. It looks good.”

She walked the rest of her sandwich over to the other side of the bed and handed it to Dave. In exchange, he gave her the drawings. She went back to her chair and looked at them while he slowly and with obvious relish ate what was left of her egg salad.

Raising her head from the failed drawings, Lena had to know. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Dave took an ironed white handkerchief out of a pocket and wiped the corners of his mouth.

“What did I do wrong here? How do I get it right?” Lena heard the strain in her voice, almost a whine, and didn’t like it. To her it was a sign of weakness when she needed to be strong and sharp. But she also knew this was her one big chance and if she blew it, there wouldn’t be another. Ever.

“There’s no
you
in any of those drawings, Lena.” Dave ate the last bit of sandwich, chewed a long time and swallowed. “You’re trying so hard to draw him exactly that you’re forgetting
you’re
creating the picture. You must find a way to include your feelings and vision into the work for it to be complete. You really love this man? I don’t see that here. Love, desire, all the things that attract you to him… None of it’s here—only a few nice portraits.

“So far what you’ve done is rendered with a camera’s eye some man—some
guy
. Like you drew a bunch of pictures of a stranger you passed on the street. In all of them except a few sections of the early ones where you were drawing like the girl you once were, it feels like you’re consciously trying to erase any trace of yourself from the work. Don’t do that, Lena—do the
opposite
.”

Dave stood up, brushed a few bread crumbs off the front of his shirt and made for the door. But once there he stopped abruptly, walked back to her and asked for the drawings. Timidly she held them out. He shuffled through the pile until he came to the last, most accomplished one she’d done. Taking a fluorescent orange SHARPIE felt tip marker out of a pocket, he uncapped it and wrote something across the middle of the drawing, ruining it. Capping the marker, he handed the papers back to her and said “Show me
that
.” Then he left the room. On the drawing he had written inside a large orange heart

LENA LOVES TONY. WHY?

When Dr. Mukherjee entered the room again several hours later it was because she had been called there by one of the duty nurses. These women had seen pretty much everything in their years working on the emergency ward but still now and then something extraordinary happened there that had them all buzzing. This time while walking quickly together down the hall to room 17, the nurse would say only that the doctor had to see this to believe it. Mukherjee didn’t like that kind of unprofessional blurry talk, but kept her mouth shut. She knew she was unpopular among the nursing staff. As a result, they were always looking for things to add to their “Dr. Legend the Loser” list. Yes, Mukherjee knew all about her nickname and that list because she had her spies. Oh yes, she most certainly had her spies. But the doctor chose to ignore both for now and get on with her duties.

The first thing she saw in room 17 when the nurse opened the door was the can opener. An everyday can opener sat on the patient’s bedside table for some reason. More improbably Anthony Areal, who gave every physical indication he would die the last time the doctor saw him, was sitting up in that bed with a big smile on his face while holding hands with the woman who’d been in there earlier.

“What’s happened here?”

Lena said “He woke up a while ago and we’ve been sitting here talking since then.”

Mukherjee glanced over at the nurse but the woman only shrugged and nodded agreement to what the fiancée had said. When the doctor looked away, the nurse made eye contact with Lena and gave her a big wink. She thought what had happened was miraculous and wonderful.

In contrast, Dr. Mukherjee did
not
like miracles. She liked facts, logic, things that made sense and all things teleological. That was one of the main reasons why she had gone into medicine. These kinds of inexplicable anomalies in her practice disturbed her greatly because they ran counter to everything she believed and wanted to believe about life and her life’s work. When 2&2 didn’t equal 4 in her day, no matter what the reason, some part of her very adept brain stopped, then started to burn and melt like film in a broken projector.

“Where is his chart?”

The nurse handed it over and stood back. She’d seen
that
look on the doctor’s face before and knew it could well lead to bitchy or nasty. Tony and Lena ignored both women and looked tenderly at each other, or now and then at their talismanic can opener.

The doctor reviewed all the numbers and notations on Anthony Areal’s chart but still disbelieving, did it again even more slowly. From all indications, this man should have been a goner.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine. Good. Like I woke up from a nap.”

“A
nap
?” However professional she was normally, Mukherjee couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice.

“Yeah, exactly like that—a nap.” He looked again at his fiancée who radiated happiness.

“I need to speak with the original attending physician. I’ll be back.” The doctor turned on her heel and left the room, followed shortly by the nurse who couldn’t resist giving Lena another happy wink before she went away. Whether Tony’s lightning fast recovery was a miracle or not, the nurses on the emergency ward were always delighted when unexpected happy endings like this occurred in their otherwise sad outpost.

Mukherjee needed a place to talk to Tony’s doctor in private and ask certain vital questions. She knew the nurses wanted to hear the conversation, so she decided to go all the way back to her office to make the call in private, away from snooping ears.

“Who’s that?”

“One of my doctors. I remember her voice. I didn’t see her but that Indian accent…”

Although no one could see them, four men sat outside room 17 in the hospital hallway on chairs facing each other. Tony Day and Night on one side, Len Fischman and Gorbog on the other. Gorbog was naked except for a filthy tattered loincloth and a seriously hirsute body and head. When he stood he wasn’t tall but if you told people he was a yeti, many would believe you by the look of him. He spoke in a definite language but to the two Tonys it only sounded like a variety of different toned guttural grunts. Fischman had to translate everything he said, not that it was much.

“What did she
do
? Why are we here? Will someone please tell me what happened to me? To
us?
” Tony Day looked at his other self, ashamed for not having included him.

Gorbog made a stern face and punched Fischman on the arm, wanting to know what the hairless one had said. Gorbog knew who Tony Day was but didn’t like what he saw of his future self. He didn’t like Fischman either but at least
that
hairless one could speak his language. Len translated what Tony had said and the caveman grumpily grunted his agreement. All four men wanted to know what had happened half an hour before. Why was some alien, not quite right version of themselves sitting comfortably and in love with Lena Schabort in the other room while the real thems sat out here in the hall scratching their heads.

No one said anything for a while. They all sat there looking glum and confused while they watched nurses and patients pass by. Of course none of the people could see these four. The two Tonys didn’t understand it either because unlike Gorbog and Len Fischman, they weren’t dead. Proof of that was a few feet away in room 17 where some
new
version of Anthony Areal was alive and being adored by a desirable woman. None of this made sense but that’s what happens when from one minute to the next you’re sort of not here anymore.

The door at the end of the long hall opened and a big husky man with short reddish hair came moseying down towards them. He carried a large plastic bag in one hand. He wore a blue shirt with dave written on a patch over his breast. Tony Day thought he must be one of the hospital workers until the man came right over and sat next to Gorbog.

“What’s up, fellas? Anyone here hungry? I am.”