Alphas Prefer Curves

by Unknown

  “See you next week,” I say to the cow and the boy as I turn around to walk away.

  When I do, I see that, today, the boy is not alone. There’s a teenager with him. By the way she looks at my hair, I can tell that she’s scared. She’s also brave because she walks toward me, joins her two hands, and bows to me “Sabaidi.”

  “Sabaidi,” I answer back doing my best Wai.

  “You doctor?” She asks.

  Well yes… but probably not the type of doctor she needs. Nevertheless, I’ve got so much medical stuff in my room maybe I could help with whatever problem she has.

  “Maen.”

  “You come, kaluna?”

  “Sure, why not, it’s not like I have anything better to do.”

  She looks at me, uncertain of the meaning of my answer so I say “yes” and then “maen” again. She walks away, beckoning me to follow.

  Two minutes later, we’re in front of a small house. She enters and comes right out with a baby. I’m about to protest that I can’t help her with baby stuff when she shows me the baby’s back. Ouch. There’s a very red spot, probably a spider bite, surrounded by concentric rings of lesser red hues. I touch the skin: it’s way too hot. The baby is very feverish.

  Now, usually the quickest way to deal with that type of bite when you have nothing at hand is to burn the bite. Most venom types are thermolabil, which means that they are de-activated by heat. So an incandescent piece of wood is enough to do the trick, a cigarette tip works, too.

  I can’t use this here for two reasons. First, I don’t see myself burning a baby. This red demon is not crazy about kids, but has issues with torturing infants. I guess if I had no other choice, I would. However, and that’s my second reason, I’m not sure it would even work now. The inflammation is too advanced for the heat to suffice. The baby needs antihistamines.

  I have some steroids in my room that would work, but I need to weigh the baby to figure out the proper dosage. On the packaging, there’s a cc per grams chart. The dosage varies according to the weight.

  I take the baby from her, and say the words she’s used, and that she understands: “You come,” and then I start to walk back to the camp.

  Now the red demon is a child kidnapper. I can’t laugh about it because the baby is so feverish that she doesn’t even squirm when taken by someone she doesn’t know. Her breathing is labored. If nothing’s done soon, she’s going straight to baby heaven in a few hours. I hope it’s not too late.

  When we reach the camp, I go in the lab room, and give the baby to Vieng Neun. I ask her to weigh the baby. Vieng Neun does not know the verb weigh, but when I point to the scale the geologists use she understands. I run up to my room, and pull my suitcase out from under my bed. I find a syringe, cotton balls, alcohol, and the steroids. I slide the case back and rush downstairs. The baby’s on the scale. I do the math, and give her the injection.

  Then, I take her to the kitchen. The girl and Vieng Neun follow me. They’re whispering to each other. I fill the sink with lukewarm water: the baby needs a bath to bring her temperature down.

  While I hold her under the water as it fills the sink, I ask Vieng Neun “Is she the mother, or the sister of the baby?”

  Vieng Neun says, “She sister, mother gone.”

  I wonder what “gone” means. Gone to work for the day? Moved to another city? Or gone for good?

  They keep talking and Vieng Neun says, “She alone at house with younger brother. Father works mine.”

  The baby stirs a bit. I’m holding her with a hand on her head, and her body rests on the bottom of the sink. Her breathing is improving. Oh, the miracles of steroids.

  “Father at mine with Mister Oliver. So he home soon.”

  She should be out of danger, by then. Vieng Neun leaves the room, and comes back with a towel. She’s followed by the cook who needs to find out what the “Pome Sii Dang” is up too in her kitchen.

  She’s an older lady, she looks ancient but she could be only in her fifties. I’ve been told she has an impossible name, something like ten syllables long that farangs cannot possibly pronounce, so everyone calls her Cook.

  Cook gives me a quizzical look. I think she’s wondering if I know what I’m doing. Jeez, she’s not the only one.

  I pull the baby out of the sink, wrap her in the towel, and give her back to her sister. I turn to Vieng Neun.

  “Please tell her to come back tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow. Yes, I tell her.”

  “Good, thank-you. One more thing, Vieng Neun. Please keep this quiet. Don’t talk about it with anyone, okay?”

  She nods her head in acquiescence, and I turn to Cook and put a finger to my lips, hoping that the gesture has the same meaning here. She just looks at me and frowns.

  Somehow, I have a feeling that my request’s going to be ignored. I rush out, leaving them behind in a big discussion. I think I need a nap.

  ❦

  When I come back down for dinner everything’s normal, and no one says a word about me playing doctor today. I kick myself for being so suspicious. Vieng Neun and Cook are capable of keeping a secret… If not, then this is just the calm before the storm.

  ❦

  The next day, I go through my routine in the morning. I linger a bit in my pond and think about Oliver.

  Vieng Neun said that he was coming back soon and it got me thinking about him again. I wonder if I’m going to become all fuzzy, and stuff.

  All fuzzy, and stuff? I mentally slap myself. I don’t think like that. I have an extensive vocabulary, and I always find the right word to designate things or feelings. “Fuzzy, and stuff” is a far cry from my usual descriptive standard.

  The fact of the matter is that I’m scared out of my skull. My reaction to this man unnerves me. I don’t even want to think about it because I don’t do scary. Well, I kind of did yesterday, but that’s the exception to the rule. There’s no room for scary in my life.

  Coming here to stay with Agatha is the first spontaneous thing I’ve done in my existence, and I’m starting to understand why Agatha wants to stay here-I mean, aside from her attraction to James. I think she wants to stay because at home, she would be just another scientist while, here, she can make a difference and change lives.

  I come back from my bath, have my breakfast, and go to the lab. I’m about to start working on Agatha’s samples, when Cook comes and salutes me. It’s the first time that she’s been civil with me. I wai, bending slightly from the waist down, back at her, and I know I’m being drafted. I put the samples back in the fridge, and follow her through the kitchen to the back of the building.

  Four boys are standing to attention. They’re all bruised and scratched on the left sides of their bodies. Their sarongs are a bit torn, as well. This screams of a motorcycle accident. They must have been fooling around. They deserve tetanus shots and a lecture. Somehow I think they already got the lecture from Cook-she looks like a no nonsense type of woman-my kinda gal. With hand gestures, I ask her for water and go to my room to get my case. I throw my personal stuff on my bed, and bring the suitcase downstairs. I may as well save myself some trips and take it down there for good.

  I patch them up as well as I can. I’ve got surgical tape that I use to close the most damaged leg. The boy cringes a little, but does not make a sound.

  While I was taking care of the kids, Cook’s emptied my suitcase, and brought it back to my room. She’s sorted all the medical supplies, and has put them away in a wood crate.

  When I return to the lab, she helps me carry the crate there.

  Around lunch, Cook comes to get me, again. It’s check up time. The baby’s much better, and I’m really happy about that.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I STAND UNDER THE WATERFALL. I’ve located this big mossy rock that allows me to keep my head over the water and get my shoulders massaged by the cascading water.

  Agatha’s left for the weekend to Vientiane with James, so I’m alone with no work to do.

  Co
ok is doing her best to keep me occupied. I’ve become the first aid center of the adjacent village. What I do for them does not require advanced medical knowledge; just the basic supplies that I brought with me, which are now stored in the kitchen under Cook’s supervision. She’s moved them from the lab. Cook decided on her own that it would be more convenient and safer.

  What I do is mainly the same stuff my mother used to do every other day to my brother when he came back from school or football practice with bruises and cuts. There are a few exceptions when I think I’m almost practicing medicine when I shouldn’t, but then I think that it’s me or nothing, so I try to do my best.

  Cook set visiting hours for us, so that her kitchen organization is not disturbed. She watches everything I do intently.

  Next week, I’ll let her do it. This way, when I go, she can keep the service up. Well, as long as I can find a way to get supplies to her. I’m sure I can guilt some labs into giving a steady supply when I get back home in a few weeks.

  I close my eyes. I’m in my own little bubble, all the rest of the world is blocked out, nothing else exists except the roaring water cascading around me. I savor the sensation of the cool water massaging my back, and consider my options for the day. I will go back to my favorite temple, take a walk into town or check on my buffalo patient.

  I roll my shoulders, and bend my head to stretch my neck. My mockery of a bed is killing my back.

  When I open my eyes, Oliver is treading water in front of me. I keep my eyes to his face, but my mind is sinking below the surface. I wonder if he’s as naked as I am.

  We’ve got to stop meeting like this… I mean, without our clothes on. The sentence is so cliché that I keep it to myself, and just smile, I can’t help myself.

  In fact, I think I’m wearing an ear-to-ear grin just looking into his chocolate eyes.

  “Are you here to check on my addiction issues?”

  Did I just say that out loud? Now it’s official, I’m in full regression mode. I’m acting like a teenager. Agatha would say that it’s about time!

  He cocks his head “Are you flirting with me?”

  “I’m trying. Is it working? I don’t have much practice.”

  “You could have fooled me. I think you’re doing just fine.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  “So, does this mean you could be interested in another kiss?”

  Now my cheeks are burning. I must be beet red. It’s nature’s way of making the blood rush back from my feet to my brain to help me realize that I’m making a fool of myself.

  I chew on my lip while I try to think of something witty to say; something to hint that I would like him to take the initiative. The words that come to my mind seem inappropriate. I can’t really say that I’d rather have a delivery than a pick-up… that would sound really creepy.

  He puts me out of my misery and comes to my rescue reaching out for me.

  “So here we go, this is Kissing 102.”

  He puts a foot on the rock for support. His lips reach mine, and I now know for a fact that he doesn’t have a bathing suit on. I don’t back away, but I need to fight my impulse to lean into him. His kiss is a delicious tease, and his tongue flickers between my lips.

  Suddenly, all those expressions that did not make sense to me take on new meaning. Good heavens, I do need to remind myself to breathe, and it does feel like heat is pooling between my legs.

  The scientist in me wishes there was a way to stop the clock or maybe do a replay. That would be cool: I could just savor the moment and then do it again to dissect every single delicious sensation.

  He pulls away, and says, “Now you show me. This is not figure skating, it’s free-style. You choose what you want to do.”

  It’s funny to use an ice skating metaphor when it’s so hot, but it’s a good image.

  I take his face in my hands and give it a try. I caress his lips with mine, and then I nibble on his lower lip. His mouth opens, and I go in for a visit. I’m so absorbed by my exploration that I lose my footing. He catches me by the waist but the moss is slippery, and I drag him down with me. We both fall. I continue to kiss him underwater until I run out of air, and need to come back to the surface. I’m out of breath, and I’m feeling giddy. It’s so unlike me that I hardly recognize myself.

  “You’re a fast learner.”

  “That’s because I had an exceptional teacher.”

  He seems happy with this answer. He lightly brushes my lips with his, and says, “Come on, let’s go for breakfast. I’m famished.”

  ❦

  After breakfast Oliver goes into town.

  I visit the kitchen, and Cook gives me sticky rice and coconut chicken wrapped in a leaf before I run away to the Xieng Thong temple. I spend my afternoon contemplating the tree of life wall painting, reading a novel on my tablet, and daydreaming about Oliver.

  I realize I’m humming Mika’s song, Underwater, while questions collide in my head, and I can’t seem to put them in any form of articulate order.

  I remember reading an article on the result of an MRI study about the incidence of a blossoming romance on the frontal cortex activity. It showed that the part of the brain that plays a role in judgment can be deactivated to the point that the subject loses some of its sense of fear and capacity for rational decisions. The conclusion of the author of the study was that this brain over-ride process serves a biological purpose: the perpetuation of the species through reproduction.

  Now, obviously, I’m not that far gone. Hey, I don’t want to reproduce, per se, but I’d like to learn a little more about the reproduction process.

  Don’t get me wrong, I don’t need a refresher course about the theory. That’s something I have down pat. Hell, I can even describe with great details the mating process of numerous mammal species.

  What I need is “hands on” experimentation. I think it would be a shame to run into another leopard and die a virgin!

  I just decided that Oliver’s the right guy to try this out with. It’s perfect because he seems to know what he’s doing and also because it shouldn’t get emotionally messy. In a few weeks I’ll be back halfway around the world. I just need to figure out the logistics for this to happen.

  Oh crap, where is Agatha when I need her?

  ❦

  On my way back to the camp, I make a house call to my first local patient. I find the cow and the boy downstream again, a short distance from where I had met them initially. The boy does not shoot up the nearest tree, but instead moves a few steps back. I smile at him and look at the flank of the animal. Someone has coated the edge of the wound with some sort of clay. I touch it with the tip of my fingers. It’s so smart. The clay does not disinfect like the honey does but it helps the healing process by drying up the wound. The coating also constitutes a very efficient protection against the insects that would have otherwise laid eggs, which would cause the wound to fester.

  I think it’s so cool, and I’m jealous that I didn’t think to do it.

  ❦

  I get back at camp before sun-down, and the crowd in the refectory is small. The Belgian team has gone back to Europe and the Japanese group is away this week. Tonight, there’s a table with a group of four French speaking people and then the guys from Oliver’s mining crew.

  I recognize Liam, Dylan, and Jack and bump into a tree trunk. Actually it’s a man. My eyes are below his shoulder level. I raise my head and then my eyes. Patrick’s smiling at me. I had no idea he was so tall… and large… and cute too when he smiles. There’s a blond stubble on his chin and I wonder what it would be like to touch it. Scratchy, or silky?

  Oh my God. What’s wrong with me? My hormones are raging and taking over.

  “Hey, guys, look, here’s our little red demon!” He says to his friends who look up to me. Liam smiles at me, and gives me a thumb up.

  What’s with them? Did Oliver say something to them? He wouldn’t do that, now would he?

  I shrug and go get food. I slide on
to the bench at the French people’s table, and introduce myself. It’s a group of law students, they’re all of Asian origin, and live in France, Belgium and Canada. They’re touring the countries that composed the provinces of Indochina to document ancient matrimonial rules. They manage to make it sound interesting. The research is not abstract-it’s to be used for estate distribution when the people who got married in this part of the world and emigrated West pass away. It’s interesting but not enough so as to linger and chat after dinner.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE WEATHER’S BEEN SO NICE since I arrived, that I forgot it’s monsoon season. The weather is catching up with a vengeance; my sleep was rocked all night by the rumble of thunder.

  There’s no way I’m going out to the pond.

  I walk through the hall to the showers. Most of the bedroom doors are open. It’s so hot that even those who started the night under a bed sheet are now completely exposed. In the semi-darkness, I recognize my dorm companions by shape. Liam is laying on his side, curled in a fetal position with his back to the wall. He sleeps with his underwear on. In the next cell, I recognize Patrick’s muscular body. He occupies every inch of his bed, and then some. His feet are sticking out. The cots are not long enough for the likes of him. A tent has formed in the middle of the bed sheet wrapped around his waist; someone’s having a fun dream.

  I hit the showers before anyone else is up. I stand in the lukewarm water, and wonder why it’s been so lonely being me. Agatha tells me that it’s mainly my fault and it’s my decision to set myself apart. She’s probably right, but when I try to do it differently it usually backfires.

  The power dies as I finish rinsing. I wrap my sarong around me and get out of the shower without bothering to dry myself. The humidity is so bad that it would be futile.