4
The doctor is a lot less talkative. “That’s just a piece of meat.”, he says, “Muscles,”, he says, “are not bad, that’s gonna grow. Maybe a few dents and scars.” He says, “that’s gonna look sexy.” and he says that every day. Every day, he looks at the dressing and says that a scar will stay, that it’s not bad, that it’s gonna look like I’ve been through war later on. “Just like you’ve been through war, young man, women are gonna respect that.”, he says, and it’s supposed to have a deeper meaning, but I don’t really understand that, and then he usually blinks at me, I would blink back, although I don’t understand a thing.
Finally, the man helped me, so I’m gonna help him.
Our conversations became a lot more pleasant later on, most importantly, because they’ve turned a lot more serious. But, it’s just a conversation. When I can limp again, he brings me into his room, in which there is a desk and no medical equipments, and then we sit face to face like firm bosses that are negotiating our next deal. A model of the upper human body made out of plastic, from which the organs can be taken out of, is on the desk. The upper arm kinda looks like a brain, and from the stomach, the colors kinda flake off.
“I must talk to you.”, the doctor says, and that is logically the dumbest start for a conversation that I know. And then I wait for him to start speaking first, but that’s unfortunately a part of this start, where you say I must talk to you, and then doesn’t speak at first. So the doctor stares at me, then lowers his gaze and opens a green cardboard folder. Or doesn’t open it, but opens it, like I imagine him cutting open a patient’s abdomen. Not the best sight, very complicated, and serious.
After that, it’s a lot less interesting. Down to the ground, he just wants to know where the wound on my head , on the front right corner, came from. Also where the other scars came from – from the roads, like I’ve said, okay, he already knew that–, but the one on the head, I fell from the chair when I was in the road police station.
The doctor holds his hands together. Yeah, that’s definitely not gonna come into consideration: fell from a chair. In the police station.
He nods. Yeah.
I nod too.
“We’re alone here,” he says after a while. “I know,” I say like an idiot and wink first at the doctor and then, just to be on the safe side, at the plastic torso.
“You can talk about everything here. I’m your doctor, and I’m sworn to secrecy.”
“Yeah, ok.” I said. He said something similar a couple of days ago, I get the meaning now. He’s sworn to secrecy, and he’s expecting me to tell him something and then he can keep my secret. But what? How cool it is to piss in your pants out of fear?
“It’s not just the way you acted. It’s a breach of duty of care. They shouldn’t have relied on your information, you understand? They should have looked into it and, above all, called the doctor immediately. Do you know how critical that was? And you say you fell off your chair?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry, but we doctors are suspicious people. I mean, they wanted a lot out of you. And I, as your doctor…”
Yeah, yeah. God. Secrecy. It’s kinda clear. But what does he want to know? How I fell from the chair? He shook his head at first, then he moved his hand a tiny bit – and then it became clear to me, what he wanted. My God. Always this shit. Why doesn’t he just say it?
“No, No!” I shout and circle my hand in the air, as if I’m chasing a swarm of bugs away. “Everything’s true! I sat on a stool and my pants were folded up, and then I saw that and then the dizziness and stuff. No external influences.” Great word. Knew that from the scene of the cirme.
“Are you sure?”
“Sure. Yes. And the police were really nice. I even got some water and a tissue. Just because of dizziness and falling over.” I stand up from the desk and deliberately limp towards the right for two times.
“Ok.” the doctor said slowly.
He scribbled something on a piece of paper.
“I just wanted to know. Still irresponsible. Blood…you really…doesn’t look like that.”
He shut the green folder and looked at me for a long time. “And I’m not sure, maybe it doesn’t work for me – but I’m interested now. You don’t have to answer if you don’t like it. But – what were you planning? Or where?”
“No idea.”
“Just like I’ve said, you don’t have to answer. I’m just asking out of interest.”
“I would tell you. But when I’ve told you, you’re not gonna believe it. At least I think so.”
“I believe everything you say.” He smiled, friendly.
“It’s wicked.”
“What’s wicked?”
“It’s…we wanted to go to Walachei. You see, you’re gonna find it strange.”
“I don’t think so, I just don’t understand. Where?”
“Walachei.”
“Where should that be?” He looks at me full of interest, and I gather that I’m turning red. We didn’t deepen the conversation. Finally, we shaked hands like grown-ups, and I’m somehow pleased, that I didn’t have to trespass his secrecy.