Dr Jew

passed – my mind blurs details now to get to the salient features of the text – and she soon appeared at the appointed hour. She being the she that brought me to the southern country and of unto whom we are being discussing this very now. I shall not say Lise's name and instead give the flavor a suspenseful taint in this telling. She did arrive and my reputation preceded me, the awe and reverence with which she held my name itself. 'The Dr. Jew? I knew my esposo was a powerful player but I dared not think even he had the sway to pull the fabled Dr. Jew from the mired foggy crags of the City by the Bay to draw him down here to this salsa plane and hermetically capture the swine beast neurologically ravaging my cherub soul.'
    " 'Yes,' with modesty said I. 'Dr. Jew I am called, known in some countries as a healer with Christ-like powers and wizardry, and yet in other climes known equally well for my bardic verse, striking visage, and Don Juan Casanova reputación. Yeah, woman, sometimes I work, sometimes I play. I'm a good man and I'm here to help. My only caution that I'll throw to the wind concerns my masculine odor that's creepin' in this spicy air and I can tell the stealthy pheromones are going yonder your way. But beware, female! You are married! Forget it not, for your husband is a friend in need, a friend indeed – of me. I would never abuse that trust. Turn your cat eyes and warty armpits away. I will not be seduced. I'm a professional. Let's get to it.'
    "Disappointment. Humility. Self-loathing. These and more I saw in her eyes. And I didn't care. If she lived to see you and her little 'uns again, I would be happy, my erotic inclinations counting for nought in the stead of pod harmony and traditional family values. I knocked her out to stop her mewling protestations and got to work with my assistant, Don or Jose or Juan… something like that."
    "Assistant?" said Sergio.
    "Assistant," I said. "For even a being of my prowess only has two hands. I don't think he had any medical experience, but the circumstances being what they were, I made do with who I had.
    "We set in. We chipped away. We manicured skin and spliced tissue. The hours collected like a harvest and I entered the flow state – kudos to Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi – and all bodily grossness for divvying out my bodily fluids, plasmas were put aside in the face of the great work. I'd love to discuss it with you someday, Serge, these plateaus of creativity – assuming we're still amigos when all's said and done – whether you have a similar experience when deeply engrossed in your equally valid profession – although you've never saved life, sacred life – whether you also move back a bit from out your skull until, as it were, you are looking down upon your own self and seeing it as through a CCTV camera and can neither affect nor alter what transpires, or more accurately as from outside the circles of time itself so that all that was or is or will be sits as a pure undifferentiated object there in the distance and we mortals are no longer a part of it yet somehow defined and manifested because of it."
    "What?" said Sergio.
    "We went on at this rate in this state for hours or days – who can say when these things go through us? – all I know is that shadows shifted, serum pumped to her through a needly tube, and she was drained through an equally plastic artery and pan and I subsisted on the chug-a-lug of vitamin-jammed tomato water and thrill of victory just beyond the horizon. All seemed well. All seemed good. The potion had taken. Her organs congealed pleasantly. The news would soon be blasted that Swine-AIDS that devious mauler would maul no more and I would go down in the anals of history as protector of unborn millions and perhaps more Jesus-esque than previously hinted or suspected, when in fact I swear all I really wanted was a warm cup of chai and a blazing hearth to abide by and spin some lines and tales, as I in fact put it so portentously in some lines I cast at the age of five – or was it four?
    Find for me some holy ground,
    And into a hole I'll go,
    There to be buried six feet down
    Under the dirt and snow;
    And there I'll lie upon my back
    All flat and horizon-wise,
    A fine young meal
    For fine young worms
    Until the day I rise.
    And perhaps it was in this glorified field of vision that I did lose sight. The dam's edifice showed its cracks. The strain too much. The hidden unwholesome reared its face and the cycle entered new