Despondent Lives 1

Smiley dumped her handbag on the sofa as she flicked on the lights. Her room was smelling of perfume or was it the talcum? Sighing she rubbed her arms. The sleeveless she was wearing seemed less and less scanty as the curtain roared at the window. The phone rang….

"Mrs. Smiley Mather?"

"Uh… yes? May I know who’s on the line?"

"Not really, but…."
****

Sean prepared to leave for the day. There was so much to do. Loads of antiseptic to use, lots of bacteria to play with, and a couple of lives to deal with. He was a doctor after all. He specialized in forensics, toxicology and bacteriology. He had already started researching viruses and their products. So far, nothing seemed as effective as bacteria.

The door bell rang. Sean’s heart froze; who could it be, so early in the morning?

He opened the door a creak and peeked. It was his overtly friendly neighbor Mrs. Dorothy. She was a widow and an absolute darling. Sixty years old with an army of grand children, she often showed up at his door step to deliver the news paper which the news paper boy drooped on her side.

Sean caught his breath and smiled sleepily. He had been awake from the past four hours, so most of the acting was not difficult. "Ah Mrs. Dorothy! Such a pleasure to have you early this morning! Care to join me for a cup of coffee?"

She shook her head and said in her aged voice, "No son, I’d better get going, my youngest daughter will be arriving here soon. Oh! By the way, your news paper!"

Sean accepted it and thanked her profusely for her kindness. As he closed the door he muttered a few words that would embarrass the oldest of humans. He hated that old hag for scaring him so. She would pay, as would her ‘youngest daughter’. He recalled she had rejected him the first time he expressed his wish to marry her.

"You are almost double my age, find yourself someone more suitable mister, I’m already engaged."

Now that was rude for him….

But he had taken it sweetly on her face, and as bitter as quinine behind her back. Revenge sorts out everything. He used to chant every time his anger rolled out of his hands.

Sean went back to preparing an anaerobic medium for the cultures- simple medium placed in McIntosh- Filde’s jar. The anaerobic ambience he needed for his precious little bacteria. It was better than rearing violent snakes or even milking them for their poison or antidote. The temperature was set at 34.8 degree Celsius. The culture colonies grew beautifully over the medium, irregular, semi transparent, fimbriate edges. Perfect! Next step, isolate the bacteria, let it flourish and then kill the bacteria. Why to kill the bacteria, one would ask… but Sean had his reasons, as did nature.

The weather turned for the unexpected showers. Sean worked his way through the traffic as his car passed the hospital he had worked for before. They had kicked him out before anymore ‘black marks’ as they called law suits could be placed against it. It was a private hospital, smaller than the one he worked in now. The wiper worked ferociously to drive away the downpour. The car rounded up the corner and the hospital which anybody and everybody called Memorial short for Mustang Memorial came into view. The founder was a rich old man, waiting for his death, due in six months; owing to an advanced case of colon cancer. His son, barely brained enough to handle an IV was next in line.

Sean had to take his calls from his office. No not from the land line, it was connected. It was from a SIM card that was hidden in a panel on the desk. He was as punctual as any human could be. By 9:01a.m. he was on his chair, beeping in the nurse on duty to bring in the patients’ list he had to see for the morning. Hell! It was a long one. Before any of his patients could come, he quickly slipped the SIM into another handset he had pocketed just before leaving his house. (And no, the handset was not stolen!)

"Yes Mr…. uh!" He saw the patient’s name on the history report the nurse had prepared, "Mr. Sarthe, what brings you here?"

The young man, aged 29 according to the report said in a barely audible whisper, "I had trouble breathing last night and it is worsening by the hour…"

He jumped to derive the onset and other details, "When did it start... Was it accompanied by cough? Was the cough productive or dry? What was the type of cough?"

He jotted down his answers in the note pad and finally asked, "Are you able to walk on plane ground without breathlessness?"

Mr. Sarthe answered in a louder voice, "I feel better if I rest and no, I’m certainly not able to walk without being breathless…."

Sean replied in his cool way, "I see! Nothing much to worry about, it’s just an attack of bronchial asthma. So…" he began scribbling furiously in the prescription, "a broncho dilator, salbutamol…."
***

Sean gazed at a waitress. She was probably new there. A beautiful young lady in her early 20’s perhaps. As she neared, he noticed she was younger. She took his order as he politely placed it- a green salad, chicken sausages and a coke. His phone was vibrating. In spite of the quirky feeling it gave him, he always used his ‘other’ mobile in silent mode. He looked around. Just a couple enjoying a brunch and an old man serene with age chomping down some carbohydrates. Without further ado, he flicked it open and said softly into the mobile, "Yes…"

"Is this Dr. Sean?"

"Well yeah, you got that part right!"

"How much do you charge?"

"For what?"

"For your termination services, of course!"

Sean gave one of his enigmatic smiles as the waitress left his order and said,

"Well, that depends on the patient and the charges for your well being…"

"What well being?"

"Your legal well being, sire… of course you understand what I mean, don’t you?"

The man on the other end of the line made no effort to hide the fact that he was fuming.

Seething he said, "Fine! Whatever you ask for!"

Sean rolled a sausage with the fork and said relishing his reputation, "So then sire", he emphasized on the word ‘sire’, "Your name, the patient’s name, age, sex, address, relationship with the patient and the corpus delecti- as I may so sweetly put…" (Corpus delecti- essence of a crime)

Sean chuckled to himself as he stashed half a sausage in his mouth. Hungry he was, both for food and for what he did best. His history taking was perfect after five years of practice in various hospitals. He followed what the man said to him, it was the most important part of their afternoon conversation.

"This is Jack Mather",

The name rang a loud and clear bell in Sean’s mind. He was a reporter or something for the crime reporter.

"The patient’s age is 24 years, female, flat number 23, north wing, Swan Lake towers. Uh… she is my wife. The reason for the crime is that… she takes me and my money for granted…."

Sean said, noting that Mr. Mather had lied about the essence of crime apparently forgetting to mention his wife’s name, "The name of the patient please?"

"Will the job be done?"

Sean replied softly as the couple he had seen walked around the pool, "By the end of this week. Now, the patient’s name please."

The line at the other side crackled and cleared after a few seconds. Sean heard Mr. Mather say, "Smiley Mather…."
***