* * *
"There it is! I smell it again."
Hector broke the stagnant silence so suddenly and with such childlike glee that Debbie jumped in her chair and nearly lost an eye to the keen edge of her fingernail.
"What are you—"
But she was cut off by the click and whooosh of the heavy door swinging open.
Into the room stepped a Middle Eastern doctor wearing a pair of steel framed spectacles above a full graying beard. His shoes clacked and smacked loudly on the white tiles.
Looking up, the doctor said in a nearly accentless voice, "I’m terribly sorry for keeping you two waiting so long. I had to run home. Family emergency—dog’s sick."
Debbie tossed the magazine aside and glowered at the tall man. As she went to greet him, she thought: I don’t give a damn about your precious dog. Something is wrong with my son, and if you don’t fix him, I’ll rip your goddamn beard off your ugly, smug face, you arrogant son of a bitch. She had every intention of saying just that, but, of course, she didn’t. Instead, she blurted out in a wavering voice, "My son needs your help."
"Well, that’s why I’m here!" He smiled warmly at the kid looking up from the table and also at the woman with the watery eyes. "I’m Doctor Imran."
He’s chipper, Debbie thought. The son of a bitch is chipper!
"What seems to be the problem?" Imran asked Hector.
Hector stared vacantly at the man in the white coat. After an awkward ten seconds, he said lamely, "I smell somethin’."
The Good Doctor smiled. Beamed. "That’s to be expected…" (looking at his clipboard) "…Hector. This is a very ripe season."
Ripe season?
"Uh-huh." A hollow gaze.
Imran lowered a hand onto Hector’s shoulder. "What I mean, Hector, is that there is a plethora of odors floating around during the summer months: freshly mown grass, flowers in bloom, animal dung, mosquito repellent…" He looked over to Debbie, hoping for a chuckle but getting only a grimace. "All of these things can trigger allergies. But I don’t think that’s why you’re here. So, why are you here, Hector?"
"Everything’s all dried up and dead."
"Pardon?" Dr. Imran replied, leaning in.
"It hasn’t rained in months!" Hector shouted. "Everything’s dead."
The doctor stepped away. "I’m afraid I don’t follow."
Hector had the smirk on his face, the I’m-gonna-fuck-with-you smirk that Debbie and his friends loathed so very much. "It hasn’t rained in months, doc. How the hell am I supposed to smell flowers and grass and shit when everything’s all dried the fuck up?"
Now it was Dr. Imran’s turn to pause before speaking. When he did, after a moment’s consideration, any trace of friendliness was gone from his voice, replaced with the cold sterility of what, in some circles, is referred to as doc-talk. "Okay—it says here that you received multiple lacerations to your upper and lower torso. Please remove your shirt."
Hector labored with the red tank top: pulling the wide collar, stretching the shoulder straps. Unaware that he sat on the shirttail, he pulled harder still. When he saw the doctor’s hands reach out to help, he snapped at him to leave him alone, that he could get it on his own.
"I’m sorry," Imran said. Then, glimpsing the lower half of Hector’s exposed back, he exhaled a long "Shhhhhh…" before adding, "What happened?"
Hector finally got the shirt over his head, then off his body. He hunched over so his breasts rested atop his protruding stomach. Behind him, the doctor traced the scabbed grooves and ridges on his back with a latexed finger. Imran waited patiently for Hector’s reply.
Debbie spoke for her son. "He drinks," she said flatly, embarrassed. "He passed out somewhere a couple of nights ago…in his Jeep."
"I see."
Hearing his mother, Hector shut his eyes. Completely ignoring her voice was out of the question, but closing his eyes muted it somewhat. As far as he was concerned, he wasn’t even there.
"Tell me, Hector, does this hurt?"
The doctor pressed the bite mark on his lower back—maliciously, Hector thought—and Hector opened his eyes and shouted, "HELL YEAH, THAT HURTS, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" He grabbed his shirt and scooted off the table.
"That’s it, we’re done." Hector said, pulling the tank top over his head. "Get me outta here, Ma. This fucker’s been messin’ with me ever since he came in here."
"Calm down, Hector" Debbie pleaded, grabbing his shoulders, steadying him.
With unforced, serene professionalism, Imran stepped in front of the door. "You’re not going anywhere, Hector—not until you get your shots. Now I’m going to ask you one more time to please remove your shirt. If you’re unwilling—or if you’re unable—to do that, then I’m going to have to ask you to please lift your shirt."
"What if I don’t wanna?"
Dr. Imran sighed and peered at the kid through his thick glasses. He turned to the mother for some kind of indication on how to proceed. But from the helpless expression on Debbie’s face, he gathered she wouldn’t be offering him any succor. It looked like he would have to reason with the bastard himself.
"Listen, Hector," he said, almost cooed, as if speaking to an easily-riled mental patient, "I have to treat your wounds. I’m a doctor, that’s what I do. I’m going to give you a shot here." Imran pointed to his own back. "And one here." He pointed to his buttocks.
"Why do I need shots?" Hector asked, calmer now and climbing onto the table.
"It’s a preventative measure. It’s what we do with all unknown animal bites—although, if I had to guess, I’d say yours is raccoon."
Hector didn’t disagree with the doctor; the guy obviously knew his stuff. Imran may have been correct about it being a raccoon bite, but somehow that didn’t lessen the unease squirming through his bowels. If anything, it made it worse. With a mettle his mother didn’t know he had, Hector asked the question—the big question no one had yet given voice to. He saw that even the doctor was nervous about bringing it up, as if Hector would suddenly start foaming at the mouth, leap up, and rip his throat out in a fierce, feral bite if he did.
"Do I have rabies?"
Debbie gasped faintly, and Imran smiled a doctor’s smile.
"No, you don’t have rabies," Imran reassured. He paused to allow the relief to sink in for both mother and son. It was palpable, that relief, an almost tangible thing he wished he could conjure in all his patients. He would have to crush that feeling for a little while, though, if he wanted them to know the whole truth. Then he’d bring the relief back, and they’d be happy again. He knew it was an emotional roller coaster ride he was putting them through, but what else could he do? It was all part of the doctor’s duty.
"To be completely honest with you, Hector, that may not be true. I would need the animal that bit you in order to determine that. But there is a slight chance—a very slight chance, mind you—that the virus is inside your body right now."
Now it was time for the pallor to creep back into their faces.
"But it can be treated and eliminated. So what I’m going to do is give you your first two shots today. Then next week, I’ll need you to come back and get another shot in your arm. For the next three weeks after that, you’ll need to come in once a week and get a shot. It’s easy, and there is absolutely nothing to worry about."
Hector exhaled a snort of relief, as if to say, "That’s it?"
Debbie patted Hector’s knee, smiled, and ran her knuckles through his short hair.
"I’ll be back with the shots," Imran said.
As he was leaving, Debbie said to Hector, "You see, I told you it was nothing."
Hector didn’t reply, but he did crack a small smile. It was a real smile, an old fashioned Hector Graham smile. The kind of smile he hadn’t shown another living soul in over five years. The memories of killing a raccoon with a sparkplug and hearing voices in his head were gone, or at least tucked tightly away in some faraway recess of his mind where they weren’t likely to s
urface any time soon. All that mattered now was that his mother was by his side and a deep sense of contentment filled every hollow of his body, from his stomach, to his heart, to the very marrow of his bones. Everything was good. Everything was as it should be.
But it was still very hot in the room, and Hector was still very thirsty.