No problem. Come to my office in the morning. Dr. Wu, you said? Remind me tomorrow and it will be done. You won’t even have to wait.
Great.
Oh, by the way, if you have any more of that prescription, by all means bring it along.
I’ll try, I said, and left.
Once I got the referral, I went straight to the psychiatrist’s office. I was taking a big chance, but I had to know whether he remembered my face from the night I had driven him under the bridge to his meeting with Otto. I made sure I was well-dressed, cologne and tie and all.
I entered the clinic and asked the secretary if I could see the doctor. The secretary was gracious; she asked if I had insurance. I smiled and said no, I just needed a quick consultation before I left town. I was willing to pay for it. She asked me to fill out a form and wait. So I sat down and slowly filled out the form under a name that was not my own. I ticked off a few items concerning my physical and mental condition. I arbitrarily decided on chronic bladder infections and double vision.
What can I do for you? the psychiatrist said when I was eventually led in.
Well, Doctor, I said, I’ve been having sleepless nights and a deep feeling of melancholy; indeed, on some days, sadness has confined me to my bed. I am tired all the time and thoughts of suicide have crossed my mind. The only relief I can find is in my chronic acts of masturbation.
He stared at me with a blank face. What do you do, Mister. .
I am between jobs at the moment.
What was your last job?
I worked in transport.
Did that involve physical work?
No, I was sitting all the time.
Right. I’ll send you for a complete physical. We’ll check your blood pressure and so forth. Then I’d recommend some blood tests, a psychological assessment, and perhaps some pills to relax your desires. Do you experience distortions of vision or episodes of delirium?
What kind of episodes?
Like hearing voices.
Whose voices?
God’s, maybe?
No, not me, but it seems that everyone around me does.
The doctor frowned and looked at me from above his glasses.
I am not a believer, Doctor.
I gathered that. Anything else?
It’s hard to say. I’ve been remembering my childhood and it’s making me sad. This existence of perpetual transitions, of fluctuations between liberty and loss, is consuming me.
That’s quite normal; at a certain age we tend to look back at the past. Anyway, as I said, these are things you will be able to discuss at length in our next session. I’ll have my secretary make an appointment for you and tell you where to go for the blood test.
Doctor, have we met before? I asked.
No, I don’t believe so.
You look familiar, I said.
He glanced down at the form I had filled out. I don’t recognize your name. Have you been hospitalized for any mental illness?
No, not yet, I said, and chuckled, but I do have a tendency to accumulate friends and acquaintances who, at one point or another in their lives, have gone through those institutions.
Family members? he asked.
Yes, more or less.
Well then, how about you come and visit me at the hospital next week. And we can see what we can do for you.
Next week? I said. I have to consult my schedule but I will get back to you. Come to think of it, though, I might be flying out of the country.
I see, he said. Well then, we’ll have to wait for your return.
It is rather a long flight, I said. And then I headed out the door and into the street to breathe the fresh air of the city sidewalks.
SPIDERS (AGAIN)
I STOPPED BY Café Bolero. These spiders are getting fatter by the day, I thought to myself. They sit and eat those large, greasy portions that make them talk louder and sit tighter in their car seats. I ordered coffee and joined the loudest table. Number 17 was waving his hands and talking about this country and the difference between here and there, but Number 67 interrupted him and said, Listen. Yes, there is no democracy where we come from, but at least things get done fast and, if you know the right people and you know how to talk to the person in charge, you get respect.
Let me tell you this story, 67 said. One night I took a nice-looking lady into my car. She looked very rich and I was driving her to a wealthy area. She asked me where I was from.
I said, I am from Tunisia, the most beautiful country in Africa. We call it “Tunisia the green.” Do you know where Tunisia is? I asked her.
She said that she had been there, and that she had made the mistake of trusting a merchant who sold her a carpet in the souk. I said, Tell me what happened. She said she visited Tunis and went to the market to a buy a nice carpet for her house. All the carpet merchants tried to make her come into their stalls. They threw the merchandise at her feet.
Then this man in a nice suit appeared, and he spoke English with a British accent. Please come with me, he said, and he gracefully held her hand and led her into his store. He told her that in his youth he had lived in England and studied history, but that after his father died, he had come home to take care of the family and the family business. He invited her to sit down, he brought her tea and sweets, and he showed her a few carpets. His daughter came with a flower and put it in the lady’s hair. His helpers at the store flipped the merchandise one after the other, and after she had seen many, she settled on a red Persian carpet. . everyone says they are Persian but they are all made in Turkey. . anyway, the problem was that she couldn’t carry it on the airplane. It was too heavy and too big. The owner of the store told her that he could send it by guaranteed mail, and he showed her the papers of a shipping company that reached everywhere, even Japan, because many people from Japan came and bought from his store. . The owner asked her to leave a deposit of fifty percent and to pay the other half when she received the carpet. He said that he trusted his clients and she could send the balance by money order or wire transfer once the item was safely delivered, and he handed her a business card.
The lady went home. A few weeks passed and nothing came. She called the number but it was not in service. She had given the guy eight hundred dollars. Nothing. The man stole the money, that’s it.
I asked her if she remembered the name of the store. She did. We had arrived at her house, and I told her that in a few weeks I’d be going to visit my family, who lived in Tunis. I can get your money, ma’am, I told her. But if I bring eight hundred, I’ll keep two hundred for myself. She thought about it and said, At this point, I have nothing to lose. She went into her house, and what a house, a classy lady, and she got me the business card and the receipt, and she wrote down her number. I will call you when I am back, I told her, and then we said goodbye.
When I arrived in Tunisia, it was the end of the month of Ramadan. Everything was closed. So the first week after my arrival I spent Eid with the family. The week after, I put on my good clothes and went to the main headquarters of the police station. I asked for the commander, Mahmoud.
The man at the desk asked, Who would you be?
I said, Tell the commander that I am an old friend of his little brother Mansour.
The commander himself came out of his office and took me to his desk. Mansour, his brother, had left Tunisia and they hadn’t seen each other in many years. I knew Mansour because we were roommates here in this country for five years. He is like a brother to me.
The commander immediately sent for tea and sweets. We talked about Mansour and his life. I told him, I don’t think your brother has changed a bit since he left Tunisia. He still wakes up every morning and eats bread and salt and olive oil. He still, every morning, puts on Oum Kalthoum, moves his head to the songs like this, drinks his tea, and walks in his plastic slippers. The same slippers he brought with him from Tunisia.