“Ugh!” Kanda jumps up and puts her hands on her waist. “You’ve completely forgotten why I ended up with you, haven’t you? It’s because you forced yourself on me. I didn’t want to, and you knew it. I stayed with you because I thought, at least you truly loved me, even though … even though … Huh!” Kanda plops herself down hard on the chair, clutching her head in her hands.
I’m numb in my seat, looking at her in shock. “What is it, Kanda? Even though what? What were you going to say? Say it!” I yell, losing all restraint.
Kanda lets go of her head and slowly looks up at me. “You really want to know?” Her voice is ice-cold. “Fine.” She stands up and walks toward the bathroom. When I see her taking the mirror down off the wall, I feel a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. I’m terrified. I want to run away, but it’s too late. Kanda holds the mirror in front of me, and a face appears. Oh, no, no, no. I shake my head, tears running down my face. No, please no. I don’t want to see my face. Kanda holds the mirror right in front of me, even as I’m trying to fend her off.
“Have a good look. It’s that. It’s because of that grotesquely hideous face of yours that I had to stop looking so good. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to go out together and have everyone stare at us? Do you think I don’t know how disgusting my eyebrows look without makeup? But it beats looking pretty and then having to walk side by side with a man with that face.” Kanda violently jabs the mirror with her finger.
I start sobbing hysterically, beating my chest and slapping my face. Kanda goes to put the mirror back. She doesn’t even try to comfort me. I run into the bedroom, rip the sheet off, and knot it at one end. Then I come out again, toss the sheet over the door, and clamp it shut above the knot. All the while, I’m groaning, “I’m not going to live anymore. I don’t want to live anymore. I’d rather die!” I make a loop, stuff my head through it, and fold my legs, letting my weight fall so the noose tightens around my neck. Kanda walks into the kitchen without even so much as a glance in my direction. I make choking noises to get her attention, but there is no sign of her coming to my side. I can’t breathe so I stand up and take the sheet off my neck. Rushing into the kitchen, I see Kanda serving herself dinner. I grab a knife, turn my back to her, and pretend to plunge it into my stomach repeatedly. “I don’t want to be on this earth anymore!” I moan.
Slamming the pot down, Kanda leaves without a word. I put the knife down and chase after her. She’s on her way out. I catch a glimpse of her back. She’s heading into the house next door. She’s going to play cards. Kanda always plays cards when something’s bothering her.
I limp back into the house, drop down on the bed, and cry.
THE DOCTOR
THE DOCTOR MOVED BACK SEVERAL DAYS AFTER THE start of monsoon season. The sun blistered intensely in the morning hours, and in the afternoons, a lazy breeze would come, followed by rain clouds rolling in from the east, drawing a canopy high up in the sky. The clouds hovered lower in the evenings, turning a deep gray, signaling rain. Sometimes when dark clouds embraced the sky in the east and the horizon to the west was clear, the sun would make an appearance late in the day, casting its golden light on the uneven dirt roads, which were full of potholes and puddles. Trees stood bathing in the yellow sun, their bright green leaves springing out in stark contrast to the stormy sky.
The doctor was no stranger. He had lived in the village for almost ten years before something had caused him to move away. At the moment, the road was slippery with mud. The kids had all caught colds and were dripping at the nose. Even the adults were sneezing and coughing hard, and could be seen one after another with their necks bent forward, hacking up phlegm. No one was yet aware of the doctor’s return, aside from his landlady. He had planned to arrive late at night in order to avoid running into people. Perhaps it wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to see the folks he used to know, but more that he feared they might pretend not to recognize him. The night of his arrival, if the neighbors had been jolted awake by the sound of the metal gate opening and happened to be curious enough, if half-asleep, to get up and inspect, they would see two men moving boxes and furniture. At first the observers might take them for burglars, the way they were tiptoeing around like they didn’t want to make a sound. But once more awake, those watching would be able to accurately process the scene: the belongings that the men were endeavoring to move weren’t being carried from the house to the truck but from the truck into the house. Once they were finished, one of the men handed money to the other, who took it and left.
The doctor stood by the side of the truck for a while longer, shifting his weight as he took in the surrounding homes and the treetops and the lights along the eaves of the shophouses, which illuminated their metal gates, all tightly shut. He looked at his wristwatch: it was past two in the morning. The doctor amused himself with the thought that someone could be secretly watching him at that moment, realizing the old doctor had returned. As the idea crossed his mind, he sensed a pair of eyes spying on him. He stood still, peering into an open window on the second floor of one of the shophouses. But as hard as he stared, he saw nothing but darkness. He quickly locked the truck, went inside the house, shut his front gate, and, after arranging himself a place to sleep, went to bed with excitement in his heart.
The next morning, as soon as he noticed daylight starting to creep in, he got up. He heard clacking noises outside his front gate and the indistinct sound of conversation. Word of his return had spread, it seemed. The doctor felt somewhat relieved. But when he thought about how the situation was going to play out, his momentary relief fled him, and he sighed heavily. He eyed his belongings, still in piles all over the place. He needed to spend the whole day organizing.
After he showered and dressed, the doctor thought of the kwaychap-noodle shop next to the grocery across the street. He pictured the faces of the many people he’d recognize along the way. Craving a hot bowl of kwaychap, he tried to come up with the right words to greet them. But after thinking about it for a while, he lost his appetite and dug out the electric kettle to boil some water. He made coffee and ate some stale bread.
The doctor stayed shut up inside the house and didn’t open the front gate until evening. Throughout the entire day, his thoughts and actions were rather misaligned. He worked up a sweat and wore himself out, straining to move a large table by running back and forth, pushing one side and then the other. After the table came the bed and the wardrobe, which he moved in a similar manner. It took him a long time to get everything in place. But he wasn’t exactly focused: the sound of the table legs dragging on the floor might have grated on the ears of passersby, but it sent him into a deep reverie. He thought of the villagers, the people who had once been his patients. During the two years he’d been away, where had they gone to seek treatment? Unless a case was severe enough to warrant a hospital, the local public health center was too far. With those thoughts going through his mind, the doctor kept losing track of what he was doing, and he made his furniture appear confused and aimless: when a piece looked like it wanted to move toward the left, it would somehow wind up to the right; or when it seemed to be gliding forward, it would end up going backward.
The doctor felt himself getting tense. Now that he’d returned, he couldn’t decide if he should behave like a doctor or like any other villager. And how should he arrange his furniture—like a home or like a clinic? He decided to arrange it as if it were an ordinary home, no matter how much he wanted it to be a clinic, because the villagers might not ultimately accept him as their doctor, might not want to be the patients of a fake doctor like him. He converted his old consultation desk into a reading desk: in lieu of bottles of medications and various apparatuses, he piled large stacks of books on top. He angled his low glass cabinet so that its wooden back was facing the door, and pushed his desk up against it; the cabinet’s shelves were still stuffed with medicine bottles large and small. He put up a screen, behind which had once been a hospital cot; he now used this space as his
bedroom, making the cot his own bed by removing the white pillowcase and sheets and storing them, to be replaced with matching patterned bedding that he had unpacked. He pushed the bed against the wall, hammered a nail above it, and hooked a hanger there. He then tested out his new bed. It was high and narrow, but that was all right; he could sleep there. His old bedroom he converted into a storage room, the other bed now a surface on which to pile things.
Once everything had found its place, the doctor started to clean: sweep, wipe, mop. It started drizzling outside, and the dreary atmosphere instantly dragged down his spirits. He moved about the house listlessly, longing for the old days, wishing for everything to return to the way it had once been. In a person’s lifetime, ten years weren’t insignificant. He had dedicated everything to the villagers when he was their doctor. Was there anybody who hadn’t been cared for and attended to by him? People had recovered with his remedies, with his advice, which had all proven effective. No matter what it was that had helped them heal, he had never questioned his own status as a doctor. It might have been illegal, he might not have been licensed, but deep in his bones and in his soul, he was a doctor, and the only acknowledgment he needed was from himself and his patients. The bond between them ran deeper than the typical doctor-patient relationship. He loved these people, and they loved and respected him back—at least they used to.
He finished his tasks just as it became dark enough to switch on the lights. After starting the rice, he went to go take a shower. Once dressed, he went through a long deliberation before deciding to open the gate, folding each side as far apart from the other as it would go. He went to stand under the porch light, his eyes doing a broad sweep of the street. Several people walking down the road turned to look at him—he couldn’t decipher their expressions—and then they quickly averted their eyes and carried on as before. But, observing closer, he could practically smell the forced nonchalance of the passersby, not stopping to say hello, not giving him a smile, and some even staying all the way on the other side of the road. Auntie Yong’s grocery, which was slightly kitty-corner from him, had turned its bright lights on, illuminating all the goods that were jammed in there. The doctor didn’t see Auntie Yong, who could usually be found sitting in front of the shop. He spotted only her daughter and her grandchild, who were in the middle of transacting with a customer. He considered going to buy canned fish and some other supplies, but he still felt hesitant. Five doors down to the left of the grocery was Dang’s barbershop. There were four or five young men hanging out in there chatting, but he didn’t see Dang. Eventually, the doctor went back inside and sat at his desk, sulking with his chin in his hands, looking rather like he could be waiting for patients.
A man of a certain age, neatly dressed with his shirt tucked in, brought himself to a stop in front of the house. Without waiting for the doctor’s invitation, he removed his shoes and confidently stepped inside. He pulled a chair back and plunked himself down. The doctor suddenly assumed a professional air, putting on an inquisitive face and lowering his hands away from his chin and onto the table.
The man looked left and right and then down at the ground. “Your clinic looks a bit odd,” he remarked eventually. “I came here to get some IV fluids administered, maybe a bottle—but it looks strange here.”
The doctor swallowed. “You’d like IV fluids? Who recommended you?”
“People in the village said you’d come back, doctor. At first I thought I’d go to the public health station, but then I thought here would be better. I live just one street over—you probably don’t know me. I moved here after you left,” the man said as he looked around.
“There’s nothing strange about how this place looks. It’s just that, this isn’t actually a clinic, and you don’t have to call me ‘doctor’ because I’m not, in fact, a doctor.”
“I see … the matter with you not being a doctor, I’ve already heard about it, but people say you’re still able to treat patients and you don’t charge a lot. The only thing is, this clinic doesn’t look much like a clinic in my opinion.”
The doctor became tongue-tied. He was so interested in what the man was saying that his cheeks twitched. Once he managed to pull himself together, he quickly asked, “What else have you heard? What have the villagers said about me? Can you tell me?”
The man tightened his lips into a grin, pitying the doctor’s apparent eagerness. “You come up in conversation just about every day. So this isn’t a clinic anymore then? That’s too bad. I was thinking I could come here for a bottle of IV fluids. I just got over a fever, but I still feel tired and a bit weak.”
“Oh … well, let me explain. If it’s really necessary, this could still be a clinic.” Once the words had left his mouth, the doctor felt like flinging his arms wide open, welcoming the old days back with a warm embrace. He couldn’t believe the villagers didn’t mind that he wasn’t a “real” doctor. They didn’t think that he’d fooled them; their reaction was nothing like what he’d been so afraid of this whole time. He leaped to his feet and gestured toward the screen, saying, “You can go ahead and wait on the bed there. Let me get things ready. It’ll just be a minute.”
“One moment, doctor,” the man called out as he got up from his chair. “I think I better not. I’m feeling much better.”
The doctor froze, his face visibly saddened. He sank back down into his chair and leaned back with a sneer. “You probably don’t trust that a quack doctor like me knows how to treat people.”
Letting out a soft sigh, the man looked at the doctor with a neutral expression. “Not at all,” he said. “It’s rather because I believe you can do it. Let me come clean. The truth is, I came with the intention of testing your legitimacy as a doctor. But now I feel ridiculously stupid. You treated people here for almost ten years. That has more than proven your case. I only wanted to make a decision about whether or not to do something, that’s all.”
“But you still haven’t told me—what has everyone been saying about me?” the doctor asked, still hung up on this point.
“The villagers like you of course. In the time I’ve been here, over a year now, I’ve heard them praising your virtues ad nauseam. They all hold you in high esteem. Only they don’t understand why you moved away, and now that you’re back, you’ve been acting so mysteriously that it’s making people feel intimidated.”
The doctor shivered hearing what the man had to say. “Is that true? Are you sure you’re right about that? Even though they all know that I’m not a doctor? I don’t understand …” He shook his head, smiling. “Oh, I can’t believe it. I was scared to death, scared that people would think I’d betrayed them.”
The man shifted on his feet; he had assumed a blank expression, as if apathetic toward the doctor’s triumph or tribulation. “Why don’t you conduct yourself as you did before, doctor? A lot of people in the village are sick. They’re in need of a doctor—a doctor like you.” Venturing farther into the “clinic,” he scanned the entire room, laughing quietly to himself when he spotted the patterned pillow and bedsheets behind the screen. Out of curiosity, the doctor, whose face by now no longer bore any trace of anxiety, twisted around to see what the man was looking at. When the latter sat back down, he appeared to want to say something to the doctor, but instead kept silent.
“It’s a shame,” the doctor said, acting like he had fallen into a vat of honey and the sweet nectar had then seeped into his veins. “I shouldn’t have moved away so hastily. The truth is, the day I left, I wasn’t thinking clearly. It was just a passing thought. Two days earlier, I’d realized that people were gossiping about me in the village. They knew that I was stationed at a private hospital in the nearby town, but no one knew what my position there was.”
“And what was your position?” the man asked.
“I was the nursing administrator; I’m a nurse anesthetist. I’d assumed word had gotten around here that I wasn’t a doctor. I don’t really know how knowledgeable people are about such things. At first I
tried to keep calm, thinking that no matter what, I had successfully treated the village for almost a decade. But that afternoon, I drove back from the hospital and opened the clinic at five thirty as I did every day, and then I sat there waiting. I don’t know if it was just a coincidence, but no patients came in that day. It rattled me; I got so worried when I thought about how there might be patients sick in bed at home who were afraid to come and have me treat them. I waited and waited, sitting there until my legs fell asleep. By nine o’clock, when it was about time to close, I knew for sure that there weren’t going to be any patients, so I got up and hobbled out front—I had pins and needles running down my legs. I went to sit on the bench in front of the house, hoping to get the blood flowing again. Auntie Yong’s shop across the way was still open, and she was also sitting out front. That was another thing. Usually, Auntie Yong and I talked every day, whenever I bought things at her store. If I was having a slow day, I would cross the street and go sit with her, and we would chat. When a patient showed up, I would run back to my clinic, and then once I had finished, I would go back and we’d chat some more. It was like that for years.”
“And that day she didn’t chat with you?” the man asked.
“Well, I was thinking I’d go over and talk with her as usual.” The doctor laughed and then continued, “How funny it all was! I stood up to cross the street, but the tingling in my legs got the better of me. It hurt to walk. It was then—right after I’d sat back down—that I noticed how strange Auntie Yong was acting. I was in the middle of massaging my toes. I don’t know what was on her mind, but suddenly, she stood up and scratched her tummy sheepishly somehow, and then went back inside the shop, shut the gate, and didn’t look my way again. That was the point that I knew I couldn’t stay here anymore. There was no way I could stand her walking away from me for a second time. So I moved out the very next day before dawn. How could I not have been hurt? But if you compare the situation then to now, doesn’t it seem odd? Aren’t you curious? Why are the villagers willing to trust a fraud like me?”
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