jueves, 1 de octubre de 2015

"The Lady Doctor," a fiction (in case the reader might confuse it with reality)

I went to see the doctor on Tuesday, March 10th, filled with panic, explosively high blood pressure and my heart pulsating in the midst of a twister. She asked me to take off my shirt and my heart. There it was on the table of the consulting office, my red heart—still beating with life. The doctor, with a screwy hair-cut and the face of an Egyptian Mommy, spread a soft yet cold cream on the external edges of my beating heart. That made me think of the day when I went to my beloved Martha´s house, because she also had covered my body with a cold but thick cream.
        But with this doctor it was quite different. Something as horrible as unexplainable happened. Her mood became sour, her face turned into a rotten cabbage, her arms became the swords of the three mosqueteers and one two three, four she stabbed my poor heart with everything she had, with the force of Wonder Woman. My poor heart struggled to keep on beating. Was this the end? No! I got up and demanded that she give me back my heart because it was mine, the only one I had,  and had accompanied me during the decades of my spiritual renovation and I was in no mood to leave it there on that Dracula doctor´s worn out consulting office table!
        Not satisfied with the stabbing she gave my heart, the doctor proceeded with another questionable action: she asked me to lower my pants. She then ordered me to lie down on the bed. What was I in for now? Without uttering a word, she spread a cold liquid over my restless ass and then immediately took a needle from its holder and as if it were a weapon used by agent 007 she lambasted my white, pure and peaceful behind. Ouch! I shouted at the doctor with a sequence of expressions which would make the British Royal Society blush. And then when that ordeal was over I reached the street gasping in the contaminated air of Buenos Aires, happy as a bee in love. I was safe, at least for the time being. It was at that very moment that the lady of my dreams appeared: beautiful, long free flowing red hair, skin as white as an onion, sensuous hips, green and brown eyes. After the torture the doctor had submitted me to, I felt the need to experience human beauty and there it was right in front of my eyes. I approached her, swallowing my usual timid self.
        “Are you busy?”
        Silence. Cars and buses roared by, a mother staggered balancing her three babies, a German Shepard with three ears trotted down the street. Silence? Like on some mountain on the dark side of Venus. An illusion? An invention of my thoughts gone astray? I placed my right hand on the spot where my heart should be. Nothing. No movement at all. That son-of-a-bitch daughter of Dracula kidnapped my heart. I am dead. I no longer exist! Well, it´s not so bad after all! I´m free as the wind! Now I can calmly reconstruct what happened to me, free of urgencies…and I can add nuances and maybe even find her, my beautiful and perfect lover, the angel who occupied my dreams for so many years. I´m a cadaver, true, but in that state I can love her without fear, without competition and without worrying about the wrinkles, the stinky smells and the pain. Yes, yes I should praise the doctor-thief for having freed me from my past. Now I can live in the present in plenitude.
        In the midst of these wonderful reflections concerning my death, my mobile phone rang.
        “Hello. Who is it? Yes…yes, I am Manuel Casanueces.”

        “I am happy to inform you that the study on the state of your heart is ready. You can pick it up between 8 am and noon. Please bring along your insurance policy I.D.

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