Читать книгу The French Quarter - Ken J.D. Mask - Страница 7

Dr. Malaki Burgos couldn’t believe the in-tensity with which this patient felt she needed psychotherapy. She seemed to be well put to-gether. Having just moved to the area and establishing his practice from the Midwest, he was taking all comers and didn’t quite know how to tell her she didn’t need his assistance.

Looking down at the Dictaphone to make sure that the red recording light remained strongly supplied and that the tape rolled undisturbed, he began his dictation.

Prodded by this text case, he turned the recorder off and looked down at a novel, he had recently picked up on Decatur Street, at Beckham’s bookstore just across from the House of Blues’ Foundation Room. The bookstore which boasted new and used books was, solidly bucking the big mega-book-store chains. There he found a yellow, almost forgotten read: an obscure work from a very important literary figure.

This time he found JD Salinger’s Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters. Dr. Burgos immediately jumped on the place he had carefully marked; he never bent the edges down feeling that it was disrespectful.

Having read a few chapters, he decided to interrupt his dictation for the day’s last case and to continue reading. Salinger mentions a Taoist story in the first chapter. It reminded him of his patient.

He read:

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 24^th 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!”