Читать книгу ALCHEMIES OF THE HEART - David Dorian - Страница 9

Panacea

Alvard shanghaied me for a drink one night at Bar Lamia. It was Alvard’s favorite joint because of the variety of single malts they offered. Many patrons were fashion models, Wall Street executives, media people. Alvard never approached women at the bar. He didn’t look for romance. He reminds me that the two greatest philosophers of love, Nietzsche and Schopenhauer, never loved a woman, preferring relationships with prostitutes. Alvard preferred brief liaisons with women of the night.

He was talkative that night at the bar. His mood was up.

“You know, my skin condition. I finally found the right treatment. She’s Chinese, did her medical studies at Beijing University. I’m telling you, she has manna in her hands,” he claimed.

He paused and took a sip of Bowmore.

“You should try her,” he said.

“Is she your new belle-de-nuit?”

“Oh no, she’s strictly massage.”

“You’re feeling better?”

“Never felt better. She must be a reincarnation of Bien Que.”

“Who is he?”

“The first doctor in Chinese medical history. They called him ‘the doctor who brings back his patients from the dead.’”

“Sounds like voodoo.”

“I don’t give a damn! As long as it works.”

“Doesn’t sound very scientific,” I said.

“Give her a try, for your asthma. You will be in good hands. Excuse the word play. Just pay her a visit. Just imagine a future without your inhalers,” he said.