Читать книгу Wake-Up Call - Joaquin De Torres - Страница 7

I simply stood there, not knowing whether to feel shock or exhilaration. One thing that I noticed right off the bat was that contrary to the photos I had of him, he did not have a misshapen mouth. In the photos it was prominent and grotesquely distracting. The right side of his mouth actually slacked, pulled down by some invisible weight hanging from his lips. But as I looked at him, his mouth was perfectly normal.

His eyes! These, too, were different. In the photos they were droopy, dopey-looking. And his right eye was off-center; a lazy eye looking away while the left looked at you. But I was now staring at two perfectly normal eyes looking straight at me. Body-wise, he was the same as in the photos: short and obese. He wore a blue, plaid long-sleeve shirt, jeans, a camper’s sleeveless vest and a gray hoody—all of the ensemble was dirty, stained and tattered. He wore knee-high rubber rain boots caked in mud, and on his head was a knit winter cap. He had found a way to shave because his face, huge and round, was not shaggy as in the photos, but covered with dark spiny whiskers. I didn’t know what to say. I was still holding the bag of trash, and he was still holding an armful of trash. He decided to talk first.

“T-t-t-traaaa-shhhhh! E-e-ev-v-v-very-wh-wh-wh-ere!” He was looking at the bag I held. I came out of my stupor and opened the bag wide. He stepped forward with a limp and opened his arms. The trash tumbled into the bag. As he bent over to pick up more, I simply stood there and watched. He cleaned up the grass area and I put the full bag into the canister, peeling off my gloves and dropping them in.

“B-B-B-B-B-BYE-BYE!” He turned to leave, but I jumped in front of him.

“Don’t go!”

“Wh-wh-why?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Wh-wh-why?”

“I’ve been looking for you for weeks.”

“Wh-wh-why?”

“I want to help you.”

“Are you the commander?”

My heart stopped.

“ARE YOU THE COMMANDER?” he repeated with more firmness.

His question, both times, were without stutter or slur. His voice was clear, and the underlying tone, lucid. My mind and my pulse raced uncontrollably. Somewhere within this jolt of electric shock I realized I had to say something.

“I’m Javier Flores. I’m a doctor.”

“Are you the commander?” Again the question, but I knew neither the reference nor inference of which he spoke. He shook his head woefully, dropping his eyes, and turned to leave.

“No, but I know the commander!” I didn’t know what else to say. I thought about the dream, so vivid in my mind.

“Prove it.” Doogie’s eyes remained coldly on me. I had a hunch and I thought I’d try it.

“Wait here.” I ran back to my car and rummaged through the lidded compartment between the seats. I found what I was looking for and ran back to him. He had not moved from his spot. I held up a quarter between my index finger and thumb. His eyes widened. Then I closed the coin within my palm.

“Come with me,” I said. “And maybe we can find the commander.”

“You are not the commander,” he declared firmly, and began walking off.

“Doug!” I called out. He ignored me. “Doug Tuckman!” He kept walking. “DOOGIE!”

He stopped and turned around.

“H-H-H-H-ow d-d-d-o you kn-kn-kn-know my n-n-name?”

I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to lose him again.

“Doogie, I’m your friend. My name is Javier. You can call me ‘Jav.’”

“H-H-H-H-A-A-A-V-V!”

“That’s right, Doogie!” I approached him slowly, sensing the slightest whisper of trust. He looked down and took a step back. I stopped and held my hands up. “Doogie, see that bench there?” I pointed to the nearest park bench about 20 feet away. “Wait for me there and I will get us some food.” He looked quickly up to me.

“F-F-F-OOOOOO-D!?”

“Yes! I will bring back food! Just wait for me there, on that bench!” He turned towards the bench. I ran to Fresh Mart Sato, straight for the take-out counter and the multitude of steaming trays behind the display glass. It only took about seven minutes to get everything out of the store.

I managed to carry everything pass my car and to the edge of the park where I had picked up the trash. I looked down the walking path on my right. Doogie was sitting on the bench, gazing at the first stars appearing on the horizon. I sat next to him and put down several plastic bags between us. Despite the sweet, tangy and deep fried aromas emanating from the bags, Doogie didn’t seem to notice. His head remained tilted up, his eyes alight with amazement. I sat back and looked at the purpling sky, darkening into night.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” He ignored my question as his finger pointed up in the distance.

“That’s the Moon, see the crescent?”

“Yes.” I responded, keenly aware that his stutter had again disappeared. He pointed to various points in space, and I followed his finger.

“Now, look up and to the right. That’s Pollux; and next to that is Castor, about 18 light years away. Beautiful stars!

If this is all true, how the hell did he know any of it? I asked myself.

“Now, from Castor, drop straight down. That’s Mercury, and beneath it in the lower right, is Venus. Now move directly left, past the Moon, that’s Procyon, just above the horizon.”

How the fuck!?

I looked at him utterly amazed. Was he some science fiction geek? He barely made it out of the eighth grade, according to his file; and even then, he couldn’t read. Did he have some visual photographic memory? Again, I was amazed that he spoke without a single stutter or audio lag, which was even more eerie to me. All those sentences were perfectly delivered, ringing with clarity, yet voiced with such placidity. It, in fact, sounded like someone else was speaking from within him. Something cold and uncomfortable slid up my spine.

“That group of stars is the constellation Ursa Major, and the other there is Ursa Minor. Up above there you can see Orion, and in the upper region there is Cassiopeia.”

When he spoke in his perfect voice, there was a different look in his eyes. It was a look of confidence forged by personal experience, or an intensive study of the subject. He knew what he was talking about that it came out comfortably, like an old song that you never forget the words to.

“Do you see the three bright stars in a row?”

“Yes, I do.”

“That’s Orion’s Belt. The three lights are Alnitak, Alnilam and Mintaka.”

“Have you studied astronomy before, Doogie?”

“No.”

“You watch a lot of Discovery Channel or PBS? Maybe science shows or documentaries?”

“No.”

“Then how can you know all those things about space?”

“I just know these things. I don’t know how.” His eyes were still filled with wonder as he gazed, like an art connoisseur enjoying a painting. I needed to get this all down. I took out my cell phone and turned on the voice recorder. I had him repeat the position of the stars, and describe all that he’d already said. But for comparison, I needed him to speak in his normal voice. I had a hunch about this and decided to try it. I started unpacking the bags of food, leaving one bag at my feet.

“Doogie, let’s eat!” He immediately turned away from the sky. And when he did, the experiment began. “Are you hungry?”

“I-I-I-I-I H-H-H-U-N-GR-YYY!” My phone was near my thigh, and recording.

“Do you like Chinese food? This is called chow fan.” I handed him the white styro carton and a plastic fork.

“CH-CH-CH-CHI-I-NE-E-E-E-ZZZ!” he yelled joyfully. “B-B-B-BRRRRRRR-OOOOOOOOOO-SSSS LEEEEEE!”

“You like Bruce Lee?” I couldn’t help but chuckle. I watched him tear into the chow fan like a man possessed. He discarded the fork, tilted his head back and poured the noodles into his mouth. Pity came over me as I knew he probably hadn’t had a hot meal in months, if not years. He looked at me and smiled with noodles and vegetables poking out of his oil-smeared mouth. Just to watch him eat heartily made my day.

“Here, Doogie! This is lumpia, it’s Filipino. They are like Chinese spring rolls but better!” I gave one to him. He took one bite, shearing off half of the roll, and suddenly his face lit up.

“OOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!!! TH-TH-TH-IS IS-S G-G-O-O-O-O-D!!!” I gave him six more and he nearly swallowed them whole. As we ate, I wanted to record a little bit more of his perfect voice. He had finished everything I offered him: sweet and sour shrimp, pork fried rice, Peking Duck, and another five of rolls of lumpia.

“Doogie, look at the Moon again.” His head snapped up. I knew only two long distances of any scientific significance: The distance from the Earth to the Moon: 239,000 miles, and the distance from the Earth to the Sun: 93 million miles. And I just thought, maybe. . .what the hell!

“Do you know how far the Moon is from Earth?”

“It’s 238,900 miles from us.”

“How about from the Sun to the Earth?”

“It’s 92.96 million miles from us.”

My jaw dropped.

“Jupiter to Earth?”

“Jupiter is 601 million miles from us at its farthest point; 365 million at its closest point.”

My throat dried up. I just started throwing shit out then.

“Earth to Alfa Centauri?”

“Alfa Centauri is 4.367 light years away from us.”

“The nearest Black Hole?”

“V404 Cygni is 7,800 light-years from Earth.”

JESUS CHRIST! Where’s he getting these answers!?

“Do you have anymore lumpia?”

Still speechless and looking stupidly at him, I lifted the bag at my feet. I cleared my throat abruptly and smiled.

“I knew you’d like them so I bought 20 more for you. You can have them later.” I readjusted myself on the bench, looking directly at him. “Doogie, how do you know all these things?”

“I don’t know. It’s just in my head.” The perfect voice remained.

I had another hunch about something, so I tried it.

“Doogie, how far is it from here to the nearest Wal-Mart?” It was just down the road about half a mile.

“I-I-I-I d-d-d-o-n-t kn-kn-kn-ow.”

“How far is it from Oakland to San Francisco?”

“I-I-I-I d-d-d-o-n-t kn-kn-kn-ow.”

I checked my phone, it was still recording. I shut it off. I had enough of what I needed. I looked back at him. He was cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked full and satisfied.

“Doogie, if you meet me here tomorrow, I will buy you more food.”

“L-L-L-LU-U-U-U-M-P-I-A!?”

“Yes, Doogie, more lumpia! Come here at the same time tomorrow. Do you understand?” He nodded calmly, his trust earned. I reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out two of my cards and showed them to him.

“Doogie, this is my card. If you need me, give this card to someone to call me. I will come. Here, keep one in your vest pocket, and one in your pants pocket.” I slid them into the pockets of his hunter’s vest and jeans. He looked at me and smiled.

“Do you remember my name, Doogie?”

“H-H-H-A-A-A-V-V-V!”

“That’s right!” I was elated. I not only found Doug Tuckman, but had dinner with him, and a pre-evaluation-with evidence-that blew my mind. Now I didn’t want to lose him. I thought for a moment of calling the Tuckmans, but quickly discounted it. What if Doogie didn’t show up tomorrow? And I didn’t think that trying to explain what I had just experienced would be of any consequence to them. Faye Tuckman would probably say: “REALLY!?” and not give a shit after that; Blaine would laugh nervously and silently curse the fact that he wouldn’t be collecting his insurance policy anytime soon; and Brittany-well, she probably wouldn’t let me get too deep into the subject before finding a way to distract me.

None of them would understand it based on my story. So crass, they would want to see the YouTube video of it. They would want to see what Doogie looked like, how he was dressed and how he behaved; and in seeing that-from what I experienced at their home-would be embarrassed, distressed and sickened by it. They probably would reject him outright, or be happy that he’s found, but never consider inviting him over for a dinner. I’ve seen it several times before. No, this was not the time to re-introduce Doug Tuckman to his family.

But I had to tell someone about Doogie; not so much for the fact that he should be in my rehab program, but of his amazing knowledge lying dormant beneath layers of mental illness. I needed to know if this was a new type of polarized neuro-skill or just an advanced form of Savant Syndrome.

Reluctantly, I left Doogie there in the park with his head turned up to the twinkling mass of stars and a beautiful glowing moon. He was smiling, his eyes a glaze with the cosmic sight, and his hand pulling out thick sticks of lumpia from the bag one by one.

As I made my typical 45-minute slog through East Bay traffic, I could barely keep my eyes and mind focused. Not because I was tired, but because I was extremely joyous. Like a runner finishing a marathon, or a climber reaching the summit of a mountain, I was exhausted from the search, but exhilarated by adrenaline with the find. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I had just experienced in the park. I had never been so excited about a patient before, and I didn’t really know why. Was it the dreams I was having, and the fact that Doogie asked a question straight out of those dreams? Or, the fact that he responded to the quarter in my hand, a physical representation of a strange symbol straight out of the dreams? I realized that Doogie was the patient in my dreams, and for the first time in my life I was amused by the term: Dreams sometimes come true.

When I reached my apartment, I threw my brief case on the kitchen table and got out my cell. Among all my colleagues and superiors that I could have called, there was only one person I could trust with such phenomenal information. I entered the number and waited desperately for that person to answer.