(A Short Story)
The war was over. Sighs of relief swept the land as the weary-souled soldiers lifted silent prayers of thanks. No more bloodshed, no more sorrows or cruelties - what could be sweeter and more refreshing than to think of home and of loved ones whom, in the terror of war, one thought lost forever, or would never live to see again.
The air that had been saturated with dust and smoke and fire was now cleared. The sun was beginning to set and a cool fragrant breeze took over and playfully drifted over the tired faces of the soldiers, sweeping away the tremblings of the recent nightmare. They tiredly slid to the ground whenever they could find a rock or a tree on which to lean while feasting their eyes on the beauty of nature. Some were having their wounds treated by nurses. The others tried to while the moments away in soothing quiet.
Among the women patiently tending the wounds of the soldiers was one who wouldn't escape anyone's notice. The others could almost drop dead tired from over-exerted effort the way they almost couldn't cut bandages and plasters steadily. Linda, however, went on moving spritely from soldier to solder. It seemed as if her figure could never be worn out by war, hunger, or even by death itself. That winning smile apparently wouldn't leave her lips. Although her hair was slightly disarranged, she was clean. She moved with so much care that even her uniform looked as if it were newly pressed. The very way she would modestly wipe the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand simply set her different! Very much different! Her eyes sparkling, her cheeks rosy, her lips full - she was the picture of a full-bloomed woman fresh with life.
A soldier lying on his stomach caught her attention. He was pitifully unconscious and alone that she was moved at the sight but at the same time, she wondered why a foolish gladness swept through her. He didn't seem badly wounded but a streak of dry blood that stained his right cheek showed that he had a nasty cut on his forehead. Gently, she rolled him over so that he would lie on his back then made him a pillow out of a folded tent. Carefully, she wiped the blood and dirt off his face while slowly, she gave out a choked gasp as she recognized familiar features that began to show. Her heart was already beating wildly but she managed to stay calm, bit her lips so hard that blood almost oozed out from them. Somehow, she finished the work.
At the next moment, she knelt beside the soldier, watching him with much concern. Not even for a moment now would she take away her gaze from him as she held her breath waiting for him to open his eyes....longing from him to speak. Meanwhile, confused thoughts raced wildly in her mind. The last time she heard about him, he was joining the Air Force. He had told her so about it himself. But now, why -
Eventually, his eyes opened. At first, they narrowed in disbelief. She thought this was so funny she almost wanted to laugh but later on, they brightened up. His eyes showed a glint of recognition as he managed to get himself upright - and gather her close to his weak but longing embrace.
"But Fred," she stammered. "I thought you - "
"No, sweetheart," the soldier laughed softly, "I enlisted with the Marines instead. With my special one having joined the WACS, there'd be not much chance of meeting her up there!"
The sun was already halfway below the horizon radiating its rays across the skies. The breeze was now much cooler - and another of those perfect days was ending.
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(A Short Story)
I walked into his clinic and he smiled, warmly asked, "How're you doing Ma'am?", so I answered, "I'm good, Doctor, and you?" His reply: " I'm good, how may I help you?" Thus, the consultation began with the normal pleasantries. Next, he beckons to me to sit right in front of him with this machine in between us and after adjusting his lenses to my eyes, a couple of clicks and switches at his machine, he leans back and goes: -Yes, you do have cataracts, any questions you have for me?
Earlier, I had gone to another doctor for inquiry. He was a young Malaysian schooled in Singapore, very good-looking, very cordial, volunteering the information I wanted and he came across as very caring for my needs. I liked him at first showdown. So there really wasn't much to ask this second, Chinese, European schooled one who was speaking with a British accent. The questions I asked, however, he answered but in a crisp, straightforward way - no more,no less. He was kinda coming in a bit snooty!
Ma'am, he said, but with that hint of a smile at the left corner of his mouth, complemented with that curious but brilliant sparkle in his eyes - You can do anything you want after the operation. Just no swimming, no water in your eyes for three weeks. You can go dancing, go to the gym, read, write, go back to your computer.. just no swimming. How did he know I did all that? Then he repeated, Just no swimming! And did he know I didn't do that anyway?
Then when the question came to costs, he stood up and said, This way please, and led me to his secretary who. I supposed, was going to do this part of the job for him. He now faced the long queue of seated patients that I am told he had daily - and he started calling for the next: Chow Eng Lai!,Chow Eng Lai! What? So was I just dismissed? Just like that? What the h-!!!
As a university professor, my life had always been at the middle of communicative interaction. I had always felt I'd die without this communicative energy that sustained me and what did this guy just do? Did he just try to snuff this life out of me? I quelched the urge to go straight at him right in front of his adoring patients - to strangle him to death before he did me but hey.. strangely now, I was surprised at the calm amusement that now, instead, slowly consumed me. I was actually smiling in disbelief. I was shaking my head, but with tolerance at his apparent lack of tact as a doctor. I had always enjoyed the personal touch the other doctors in my life had accorded me. But this one just denied me it and I was more surprised that I looked at his demeanor as a wall that needed to be broken down. On top of it, I was just as surprised that I kind of began to feel a sliver of liking for him as I continued to be most surprised at myself as I opted, notwithstanding, to have him do my eye surgery, So my operation was scheduled the next Sunday afternoon at 2.
Sunday, then, came and this doctor of mine did me one more check up before the operation, - after which he stood up from this machine between us and said to me, Let's go, as he nudged me on the arm with the back of his hand as he made his way out of the clinic. So, okay...where was that 'Ma'am' thing now? After all, I could see that he was certainly younger than me. He led me to his operating room where his two nurses were waiting to prep me up. He left me with them and went back to call on his next patient who was waiting to consult with him.
As expected in an operating room, all appeared immaculately antiseptic and blue: the nurses were in blue, I was put in blue, myself - gown, head gear, etc. the doctor would be in blue, as well, I imagined. And as I was now being anesthetized, background music was switched on... that was Andrea Bocelli's rich voice gently permeating the air with his Besame Mucho! I had always loved Bocelli, and I was now loving all these other songs that followed, Amapola, Cuando Me Enamoro, Quizas, and more. All kinds of gadgets, - sorry for the term, - all kinds of gadgets were being turned on now - one of which was this computer voice that told the doctor how his patient was responding... and then stillness... except that Bocelli continued to control the air.
Shortly after that, he came in - my doctor! What was his name again? Lim Chee Wah? Or was that Tham Hui Shan? Hello, Linda, he said, you okay? Okay, so now, we're on first name basis? He sat down to my right, gently fixed my face to an angle till it was probably good for him, switched on lights that made me close my eyes and then he went on with his procedures. With a plaster-like contraption he carefully put on the right side of my face, he made an opening on it just enough for my right eye and that was all I felt. From there, he gently coached me, from time to time, with - Look at the light, please, Linda, look at the light, thank you! Aside from this, all that was there now for me was the voice of Andrea Bocelli. And then, it was over. He switched off the light, There you go, Linda, he said, You're done!. He got up from his seat, switched off Bocelli next, and the following moment, he was out of the room! Have I now been dismissed?
He was smiling the next day at my post op visit. Could it have been that email I sent him the night before? I had told him in so many words, that because I couldn't talk to him more than I would have wanted to each time I visited at his clinic, I had to tell him on email this - that even if he was such a snob, I wondered why I appreciated his well-known expertise, but that, anyway, I was thanking him for making half of my world look fascinatingly much brighter and clearer now like never before. He didn't say anything about the email, though. He was just smiling. And he went on with the procedural check up of my operated eye. Then as he said, You're healing well, good job! - he stood up and playfully brushed my upper arm with the papers he had in his hands. Really! Then he walked passed me. By his clinic door, once more, he was calling for his next patient. Dismissed again! And I was still putting up with my monster of a doctor?
But that night, there was something at my email which read - Dear Linda, - ! Hey, now - pleasant surprise? It was from my inconceivable doctor! The mail continued - I admit I might have actually become the snob that you have called me, and I truly appreciate your calling my attention to this. Strange how I never really realized that, but believe me, I had always thought I was being efficient in going about my task as a doctor! And now, you're just about succeeding to change that and, incredibly, I'm liking it, thank you!. May I ask that you don't call me Doctor Lee, please? I just use that name to make it easier for the locals. My name is actually Fred, please call me Fred? Won't you please hate me less and we be friends, instead? Please! May I hope you come again to me for your left eye? Won't you please -
He's not stopping, he's not stopping! Now what are all these mixed thoughts and feelings that's starting to pile up for me to entertain? Actually just embers now being fanned into a blaze? Dear God, now I am being swept away by this maelstrom of emotions! Do I get back to my computer to answer the mail and go Dear Fred,? But I am so tempted to take my turn to leave all these as - okay, as ... Dismissed! But then again, I - but then again he - ..........
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