Читать книгу Wake-Up Call - Joaquin De Torres - Страница 9

The Contra Costa Homeless Project is a six-story, converted Oakland police headquarters; but you’d never know it with all the renovations we made to the building’s exterior, windows, room décor, and outer grounds. People often confuse it with an outpatient health clinic instead of a community mental health center, and that always gave me a warm tickle of satisfaction. I’m friends with one of Kaiser Hospital’s interior designers and he gave me a great price to remodel the office spaces, front lobby, rehab common areas, and patient treatment rooms. Even the old holding basement that had barred cells were converted into a recreation area and computer center for the staff. I paid for all this with the book advance I received from one three-part techno-thriller deal.

My office is on the third floor, and after I greeted associates and colleagues on the first floor reception area, I ran up the stairs as fast as I could with two large sacks. I reached the top and saw Linda at the filing cabinets inserting a stack of documents and folders. I gave her a start when I jumped out from behind one of the multitudes of standing plants that decorated the floor. She screamed at the sight of me and splashed the papers on the floor.

“JAVIER! You scared me!” she yelled jovially, then laughed.

“You are the best, Linda!” I gave her huge kisses on each cheek as she giggled.

“Is he in my office?”

“Yes. He just loves Asian food!”

“Don’t we all!” I walked swiftly down the corridors to my office and entered my spacious office. I found Doogie just finishing up his meal which included several party trays of Filipino, Chinese and Japanese dishes. He was brushing off the last of the lumpia tray and washed it down with a liter of Diet Coke; and from what I saw of the empty bottles sitting on the floor, it was his third liter.

“H-H-H-H HA-V-V-V!” he bellowed with a huge, greasy smile. He wiped his mouth with one of the napkins stacked in front of him and stood up to greet me. “L-L-L-L LIN-N-NDA G-G-GI-V-VV M-M-ME L-L-L-LUM-PIA!”

“I can see that!” I responded with a huge grin. I was so happy to see him, like a long lost friend. “Did you leave anything for me?” I joked as I dropped the bags I was carrying on the couch. I saw him pointing to my desk. I walked over and saw that he had prepared me an entire plate of food, including at least five rolls of lumpia.

“Thanks, Doogie! We have an appointment today.” He was still smiling yet his eyes shifted nervously. “We’re going to go visit a good friend of mine. Is that okay?” He nodded apprehensively. I noticed that he was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. “How did you find this place?” He reached into his chest pocket and retrieved my card. He showed it to me.

“Did anyone help you?” He shook his head. I was amazed. From the park where we were to this building was a good six miles. “Did you take BART?” He shook his head. “A bus?” He shook it again. “Did you show anyone this card?” He nodded emphatically.

“L-L-L-LIN-N-N DA!” I chuckled and looked at him with disbelief. He actually walked all this way without anyone’s help, so his knowledge of the city was astounding. But how can that be? How did he know what direction to go?, what streets to follow?, and what turns to make? Six miles of metropolitan city and he got here before me. My eyes drifted to the bags I sat down.

“Before we go to visit my friend, you’re going to change your clothes. I bought you some. Is that okay?” He looked at the bags and nodded. “But before you wear the new clothes, you’re going to take a shower. Is that okay?” He hesitated. “Don’t worry, Doogie. Come with me.” I led him to our large patient shower room that was adjacent to the physical therapy wing. It looked like a normal gym shower room, partitioned into large stalls with non-slip floor tiles. I brought the clothes with me and found that the shower area was empty. I pulled off the price tags and hung the clothes on the hangers. From another bag, I pulled out liquid body soap, a sponge and a large towel, and put it all in one stall. I took the excess trash and put it in the trash bin; when I turned around Doogie was already naked and under a showerhead with the water shooting out full blast. He was showering himself, his eyes closed under the water’s cascading warmth. I was beaming.

“Okay, Doogie! I’m going to my office to get some things. When you’re finished, come back to my office. Okay?” He nodded again, this time with total understanding.

I returned to my office and ate the food Doogie prepared for me on my desk. I then called Dr. Livancic to tell her Doogie and I would be in Orinda before noon. She said that Professor Snow had already arrived and was looking over some case files. Everything was set; all we needed to do was show up. I prepared my notes and told Linda that I’d be out of the office most of the day. I set my daily schedule of tasks for my four interns on the computer, and was checking their results from last week’s schedule when Doogie walked in.

He was a new man. He stood before me, smelling fragrant and totally dressed in the clothes I purchased. I had picked out black slacks, a blue and white-striped button-down shirt, and a light brown jacket from the Plus-sizes collection at Goodwill. I was also lucky enough to find some pretty decent socks and boat shoes in his size. As far as underwear, I was even luckier as I found brand new, in-the-package briefs with t-shirt sets all for extra-large men. I bought several packs, including other sundry pieces of clothes for him.

I moved around the desk and did a walk-around of Doogie, very satisfied with how he looked. His hair was still wet, but I had forgotten to buy him a comb, so I took one from my desk, some of my gel and called Linda in.

“WOW!” she exclaimed as she entered. “Who is this handsome guy?” Doogie’s eyes brightened when he saw her.

“L-L-L-LIN-D-D-DA!”

“Linda, can you do anything with his hair?” I looked at Doogie. “She’s a hair stylist on the weekends!” Linda left the office and reappeared with a large leather bag. She brought Doogie over to the couch and pulled a haircutting apron around his shoulders and neck. She pulled out some styling scissors that were rolled in their special case with other beautician tools. It took only few minutes for Linda turn Doogie’s overgrown black bush into a short, clean debonair cut. And with another minute, she shaved his face and neck clean with foam and a barber’s razor. He looked like any overweight teenager about to enter prep-school.

“There you go, Doogie!” Linda announced. “On the house!” She took out a hand mirror and showed him. His eyes bulged as he touched his smooth face and hair gently. At first he didn’t know how to react.

“W-W-W-WH-O-O-O D-D-D AT?” He pointed at his reflection.

“Dat is you, Doogie!” I chuckled.

“And you look great!” followed Linda as she started placing her equipment back into the bag. I grabbed my hand-vac from the closet and cleaned up the hair on the floor and on Doogie’s shoulders and pants.

“Thank you, Linda! Hey, tomorrow’s Friday, right?”

“Yes.”

“Call Selma and tell her I need her to do the data input tomorrow for the interns, and start entering the quarterly file recordings in the database.” Linda looked puzzled.

“Javier, I can do all that after I finish my daily inputs.” I narrowed my eyes at her smugly.

“Not when I’m giving you a day off.” Her eyes grew large, as did her smile.

“And, I believe Charles has a doctor’s appointment tomorrow morning, right?” I winked hard. Linda’s mouth opened large again. I looked at Doogie who was following the conversation with his head as if watching a tennis match. “Linda and Charles are together,” I told him. I turned back to Linda who was blushing.

“Tell him to take care of himself and don’t even bother coming in after the appointment. I don’t want anyone catching any viruses!”

“I’ll let Selma know!”

“Now, you and Charles get outta here and have a great weekend.”

“Thank you, Javier!” She rushed up and kissed me, then turned to Doogie. “You look great, Doogie. Welcome to our home!” She caressed his cheek and left the room.

* * *

Ivana Livancic had everything prepared for Dr. Flores’ visit. The information in front of her: the files, write-ups, photos, videos, and drawings-all, were amazing and unique in their contents. They were also troubling, even disturbing. These records and items that lay across her large mahogany desk, were the foundation of her special project that took flight just three weeks earlier. But despite the thoroughness of her findings they had ramifications, repercussions that she had yet to understand.

She also considered the probability that what she had wasn’t even remotely close to a completed project. There was much more to this, and many missing pieces, perhaps more than her analytic mind could conceive-or even, accept. She sipped her tea silently, in deep thought. This was disconcerting, indeed. Was there an absolute truth in this? Or, was this just an ongoing experiment in the clinical halls of her practice with no real end? Just a pursuit of some time-consuming mystery that would prove fruitless? What really seemed to bother her lay within her heart, and not so much her mind. What she had laying on the desk was proof of something. Abject proof! And it was something larger than herself. But could it be infinitely larger than that? Going over all the data until committed to memory, she felt somewhat threatened; a subtle but escalating feeling that the threat was not to her findings, or to her expertise, but to her own belief system.

Since she was a girl, she wondered why God would inflict so much pain and suffering on people that He supposedly created with love and ‘in His own image’. Really? she would scoff. Were those inflicted with paralysis because of mental illness truly created in His image? Why did criminals with perfectly developed minds and bodies prey on the weak, and walk away unpunished from their heinous crimes? Conversely, why were innocent children born with catastrophic physical and mental diseases, left frozen in time, never knowing what it was to love, feel joy, or even more cruelly-to move? How could God give them no chance to experience even the most simplest of life’s joys, but remain in hospitals only to endure a lifetime of bed sores, filth, agony, and the humiliation of bearing it all in silence? Perhaps more importantly, if a compassionate God did exist, why were never such cases reversed or cured? Why were her patients, and those of hundreds of other doctors, unhealed after over a hundred years of medical innovation, billions in therapy research, and the advancement of modern technology?

There only seemed to be the goal and satisfaction of ‘pursuit’ in her field; trial and error with no real results; no wondrous ways to heal those she had chosen to devote her life to. And if by chance there were to be a way to cure all those with Paralytic Autism, Encephalitis Lethargica, Catalepsy, or Catatonia, would it come from God at all? Or, could there be another way of delivering the healing touch that was needed in the dark world of mental trauma?

Dr. Ivana Livancic, a professor of Cognitive Psychology, had no trouble believing and dedicating oneself to hard work that actuated progress; what she did have trouble with was believing in miracles. God didn’t grant them; but neither did Man. Victories in her field were rare; and only realized through years of self-less work and scientific procedures-not prayers, masses or the wave of a priest’s hand. She’d seen too many clergymen trace crosses of “holy water” onto her patients’ foreheads at their families’ requests. She’d seen whole congregations of parish believers read passages from the Bible over writhing, blabbering, twisted or frozen patients with not a single positive effect. There was no God for these people, nor for her. And ever if there were, she hated Him anyway for His indifferent silence, His obtuse indolence, and His abject cruelty.

But within the past three weeks, she started to believe that someone, or something knew a way to heal her patients. And although she didn’t want to give in to such hope, she began to reconsider the thought that miracles should not be so utterly discarded. She entertained the possible existence of miracles because evidence of it was sitting on her desk. A stack of folders, a veritable Holy Grail of proof, that she didn’t understand. That’s why she called someone whom she believed had the best chance of understanding it. She looked at the woman sitting on the other side of the desk, sipping her coffee silently as she read over the contents of the folders. That woman didn’t believe in miracles either; but that’s why Livancic had sent for her.

“So, what do you make of that stuff, and what I’ve told you so far?”

“It’s strange, but amazing for something like this to happen,” replied the woman with long black hair and large brown eyes. “But the facts remain, something has happened here; and I can’t begin to explain it.” She put her coffee on the desk, shook her head, and rolled her beautiful eyes up to her friend. “Ivana, I’m a mathematician, after all.”

“The math is in front of you,” responded Livancic.

“That’s what makes it difficult for me. It’s clear, but there is opacity and doubt.”

“Doubt about your beliefs?” Livancic asked, hoping to find a sense of empathy or corroboration.

“No, doubt about the data. You have stacks of folders from your patients’ studies, and also these notes from this Doogie person. But where does it lead? Where is the correlation? Why is there so much advanced math from a person who has only a fifth grade education? And how does he link in with your other patients whom he’s never met?”

“Well, when Dr. Flores arrives, perhaps we can come to some sort of pathway or intersection,” Livancic answered, now wondering if calling her friend up from Southern California was prudent or necessary. She looked at the woman who diligently read over the documents and data from the other stack of folders, her large eyes moving quickly over the material like a human scanning machine.

Dr. Zelda Snow, professor of Quantum Physics and Mathematical Engineering at UCLA, was a woman ruled by equations and empirical data. Like most mathematicians and experts of the hard sciences, she didn’t trust guess work, hunches or intuition. Everything on the physical Earth could be traced back to a string of actions or reactions-natural, chemical, accidental or Man-made. And for every one of those actions or changes there was an equation, an algorithm or an identifiable process that could be traced, tracked, re-created or found through experimentation or observation. These were the parameters of truth in the universe, and they guided Zelda Snow more than anything else. Nothing was a mystery to her; at least, nothing she had seen or read about, so far.

This is not to say that Snow was an automaton, governed by a calculus of reality or rationality. She was a sensitive, funny and caring woman, as well. At home, she was not shackled by the irons of logic, not limited to boundaries of what was known or studied; in fact, she put logic on the shelf in order to journey through the labyrinths of her other love-fantasy reading. Along the cascading shelves of her vast library at home stood volumes of fantasy, science fiction, graphic and Manga comic books, and fiction thrillers. Perhaps even more than people, she loved mythical creatures like dragons, trolls, elves, dwarves, witches and warlocks.

She had read all the Harry Potter, Game of Thrones and Temeraire series more than once, but her all-time favorite was Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, and she showed it. Her smartphone’s ring tone was the Rings’ movie theme music; her dog was named “Bilbo”; and upon her left bicep was a tattoo of Tolkien’s Ring of Power, wrapped around her arm and blazing in red flame and gold. Within the band, the words ‘The One Ring’ glowed as if her skin itself was on fire. At home, away from life’s repugnant realities and the school’s never-ending faculty demands, she played fantasy and role-playing video games to unwind. It was a part of her makeup-in her blood-like her name. When she was 18 and a freshman at MIT, she officially changed her name from Josephine to Zelda, paying homage to her favorite Nintendo fantasy game heroine. Zelda Snow was no math geek despite how her colleagues at UCLA joked about her. She was the perfect example of sensitivity and substance, and adding those charms to her physical beauty and large mesmerizing eyes, it was difficult to argue otherwise.

Yet, at this point in her life, she too, found herself standing at the crossroads of reality and disbelief. She had studied Livancic’s data and saw the subject of that data, but she couldn’t wrap her head around the results of it all. The What does this prove?-factor had her stumped; and she hoped, as did her good friend, that Dr. Javier Flores and his patient could bring her the logic that she so craved.

Both Livancic and Snow broke out of their trances while gazing at the multitude of documents splayed out on the desk when a secretary stuck her head in the office.

“Dr. Livancic, your guests have arrived.”

“Thank you, Ina. We’ll be right out.” Both she and Snow eagerly went outside to the reception room to greet them.

* * *

I greeted Ivana with a warm embrace and a kiss on her cheek.

“Mmm. You smell wonderful,” I commented. “Is that Laura Bugatti?”

“Laura Biagiotti!” she laughed. “I’m impressed. You remembered my favorite perfume!”

“How could I forget?” I mused. “I met you while you wore that fragrance.” She hooked her arm in mine and swung me around.

“Javier, this is Dr. Zelda Snow.”

The first thing I noticed when I looked at the woman were her big, mesmerizing brown eyes. I offered my hand and she took it with a respectful smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Javier. I’ve heard much about you.”

“Oh really? Like what?” Snow demurred and glanced at Ivana.

“Don’t worry, Dr. Flores, it was all professional.” reassured Snow. “For now!” The women giggled at the joke, drawing out a big grin from myself. It was hard to pull my gaze away from Snow’s eyes; penetrating, full of intelligence, yet childlike as she gave me a quick, subtle look-over. A slight smile of approval pulled at the corner of her lips which Ivana seemed to notice, as well.

“And who is this handsome young man?” Ivana asked to refocus us. I spun to my own guest and wrapped my arm around his wide, round shoulders.

“Ladies, this is Doug Tuckman, but we know him as Doogie.” Both women smiled and shook hands with the cautious little man. The way he looked so dapper and shy made me imagine that I was presenting him to his first grade teachers.

“Doogie, you can call me Ivana.”

“I-I-I-I V-V-V ANA!” he bellowed happily.

“And I’m Zelda.”

“Z-Z-Z ZEL D-D-D DA!” Zelda walked up to him.

“So, you like space, stars and planets, Doogie?” I watched him nod excitedly, and soon they both struck up a small conversation in which Doogie was speaking in his original stuttering voice. In this small lapse of distraction, Ivana again hooked my arm in hers and we walked a few steps away.

“It’s good to see you again, Javier,” she said. “The last time was at the symposium in Monterey, I recall?” I nodded.

“About five months ago. Funny, I don’t remember you being so attractive then as you do now.” I beheld her as she blushed appreciatively, and for an instant, I thought she was feeling the same subtle tingle in her spine. It was sad to think that we have known each other all this time, yet we’ve never found a moment to look each other up since our last meeting, or give phone call, even a text. So, to look in her bright eyes after so long was rejuvenating. Her shoulder-length brown hair with reddish highlights, contrasted dramatically with Zelda’s long black tresses. Underneath her white lab coat, her red silk shirt clung nicely over firm breasts, tapering down a very flat stomach. Her dark pants were cut close, accentuating her slim hips, taut buttocks and long legs.

“You look great,” I breathed as I looked her over maybe a little too obviously. She blushed again, and stole an embarrassing glance at Zelda who was now looking at us, smiling.

“Well!” Ivana said quickly, waking me from my trance. “Shall we go to my office and discuss our strategy?” Both Zelda and I nodded our heads in unison. “As far as Doogie, he can wait in one of our patient activity rooms. I have one reserved just for him; there’s much that should amuse him there.”

“Doogie? Will you wait for us in another room? It won’t be long,” I asked.

“Y-Y-Y ES-SSS!” We took the elevator three floors up and walked down two long corridors to get to the patient activity wing, passing doctors, therapists, attendants and cleaning staff along the way.

“This facility is beautiful, Ivana!” My eyes moved quickly from the clean corridors, the glass ceilings, to the therapy rooms and offices, to the lobbies teaming with plants and beaming with natural light-all, decorated and designed with a confluence of elegance and ethereal calm. The three of us strolled about taking in the various wings of the building as if we were prospective homebuyers. I stopped to look out of one of the several massive bay view windows. “The outer grounds and landscaping are gorgeous, too.”

Zelda was also amazed as her eyes glided across the panoramic view of the towns and cityscapes of the East Bay in the distance.

“That forest accentuates the view. Just look at the hills and trees of that massive park down there,” she admired. “It’s beautiful.”

“Briones Regional Park,” Ivana mentioned. “We are very fortunate to have such a large, protected natural preserve so close to us. We take our mobile patients on walks down there.”

I looked at her as we walked, honestly happy she ended up here and not at Napa.

“Congratulations, Ivana. You deserve this place with all the work you’ve done in our field. Orinda State is the kind of mental institution that should be a model for all others.”

“Well, hopefully this is the new trend. It took a lot of campaigning to have the clinical patients separated from the criminal patients in different buildings.”

“That’s such a huge victory,” I exclaimed emphatically. I turned to Zelda. “Orinda is the first California state institution with separate facilities. This keeps the clinical patients-our patients-safe from physical abuse, gangs and abject violence that is normally associated with patients sent to the institution by the criminal justice system.”

“I can imagine,” Zelda responded thoughtfully. “A mass murderer gets a great lawyer and a sympathetic jury; pleads innocent by reason of insanity, and then he’s mingling with people like Doogie.” She shook her head. “It’s frightening.”

“And that’s exactly why this facility was built, to be the new standard in mental care,” Ivana added. “Those who need care, get care. Those who need isolation from the public, get isolated.” We passed several security guards as we turned into another wide corridor which splintered off to other smaller hallways.

“It also allows researchers like Javier and myself to work with patients without worrying about their physical safety.” Ivana nodded and smiled as nurses offered her polite greetings. “We won’t visit Ward 2. That’s not my jurisdiction, but the crime levels have dropped since I pushed for the security guards to carry firearms and electric weapons.”

“You are amazing!” I said, trying not to sound too obsequious. She smiled demurely again. Zelda caught this and rolled her big eyes with a grin.

“You two should be dating!”

We made another turn into an open octagonal reception area. Each side had hallways leading to other rooms. A reception desk with at least five female nurses and four male attendees all dressed in pleasingly colorful scrubs, greeted us with warm smiles. Zelda and I shook hands with them as we were introduced. We also met two security guards wearing electric weapons who were stationed near the desk. An exotic-looking woman wearing a lab coat, emerged from one of the doors down one hallway; spotted us and flashed a big smile on her face. I could tell immediately that she was a Pacific Islander, and was happy to see her coming out way. She came up to us in a gentle trot.

“Ivana!”

“Ellen!” The two women hugged tightly then turned to us.

“Everyone, this is Dr. Ellen Pentecostes, she’s head of both the Mental and Physical Therapy departments.” The woman was stunning; tanned skin, almond eyes and long flowing black hair.

“Ellen, these are Dr. Zelda Snow and Dr. Javier Flores.” We all shook hands. “And this is Doogie Tuckman.” Ellen came forward towards Doogie who dropped his head nervously.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Doogie!” The warmth and welcome in Pentecostes’ eyes were incredible. Like Ivana’s, they exuded patience and absolute joy at helping others. “I’m Ellen.”

“E-E-E-E EWW-WIN!”

She took him by the hand and we followed her down one of the larger, wider carpeted hallways. On either side we looked into large, spacious rooms with wide windows where we could see various recreational equipment within. One room had yoga mats, rubber balls, hula hoops and climbing apparatuses. Other rooms were lined with cushions and padding, pillowed furniture and sponge or Nerf toys. There were extra wide rooms for wheelchairs, walkers and rolling beds with tables full of various board games, books, building blocks, card decks, and other hands-on, manipulative devices. There was a TV room with several wall-imbedded screens; and a room that caught Zelda’s eye, a video game room with no less than ten PCs with huge flat screens connected to hand-held controllers. Several patients were there playing games and Zelda stopped momentarily to spy on each through the glass. I poked her playfully in her ribs.

“If you disappear from the tour, I’ll know where to find you!” She nodded her head as we laughed.

“This is our music room where we take patients for auditory therapy,” said Ellen. “This is the library where we not only let patients read, but we teach reading to those who can’t.” A little further down she pointed. “This is our Internet room. We have another ten PCs and laptops for patients to talk with family members via Skype, Facebook or write e-mails.”

“Incredible,” I heard myself say as I looked at Doogie, still holding hands with Ellen. I wondered if his family would even use this advantage to stay in contact with him if he were here. Each room was labeled with a plaque above each doorway: RECREATION ROOM; GAME ROOM; PING PONG/POOL ROOM; MUSIC ROOM; INTERNET ROOM; etc. We stopped in front of a room labeled ART & PUZZLE ROOM. Ellen stopped and turned around.

“This is where Doogie can be while we’re at my office,” Ivana said. We looked through the window. There were large tables and art easels scattered about. Large pads of art paper, boxes of pencils, pens, brushes, sponges, crayons, felt tip markers, oil paint tubes, and tubs of finger paints sat in deep trays on room-length shelves. There were even separate tables for clay sculpting and wood work. On the opposite side of the room was another shelf with countless boxes of puzzles of various piece counts, Rubik’s Cubes, and mixed lots of LEGO pieces that counted into the thousands.

“This is incredible!” commented Zelda. “So many materials. So patient-focused.”

“Will Doogie be supervised?” I asked.

“My office is around the corner,” answered Ellen. “And attendants and nurses walk up and down the halls on regular rounds, sticking their heads in to check in on them. We can have one of them stay with him if you like.”

“Actually, I’d like to see how he handles this environment on his own.”

“That’s fine, Dr. Flores.” Ellen opened the door by sliding her keycard down the electronic slot next to the door handle. The glass door hissed open. She led Doogie in and turned his shoulders so he could face in a particular direction.

“Doogie, this is your room today!” she said encouragingly. “If you need me, or you need some help, push this big red button.” She pointed to a thick, red plastic disk the size of a fist, protruding out from the wall. “Do you understand, Doogie?” He nodded. Ellen looked up to us. “I’ll show him around. You guys go ahead.”

“Thank you, Ellen,” said Ivana. “We’ll be back in about an hour. Call me if you need me.” We stepped back as Ellen closed the door, took Doogie by the hand again and walked him into the room. Ivana looked at Zelda and I, no longer smiling. Her face now registered concentrated concern.

“Are you ready for what I’m about to show you?”

“What do you mean when you say ready?” I asked. I looked at Zelda and saw that her large eyes, before full of gleam and light, now gazed upon me with caution.

“You will see, Javier,” she murmured. “You will see.”