Saturday, November 1, 2014

Three Loves Seven, Chapter 19, Part 3 - "In Which Qi and the Good Doctor Get to Better Know One Another"

Dear Gentle Readers,

And so, with this section, the interchange between Clete and Qi continues. I would not say that they draw closer together. Is there anyone you've ever gone out of your way to irk? You said the wrong thing JUST to bother them; you push all the buttons you've been told not to push? This describes Clete in this scene. He doesn't even know why he is doing it ... Well, he maybe thinks his life is threatened and sarcasm is his way of relieving stress.

And Qi? I don't think of her as being as cold-blooded as her cousins Lee and Feng, and yet she feels the need to act that way so she goes overboard and is agitated even more when her charge does not act the way she thinks he is supposed to. As you follow her in this part of the story, don't be surprised if you feel frustrated along with her as she tries to understand Clete, and fails.

Love,
Pops



     “Are we, uh waiting for something?" I asked. "The suspense is killing me.”
     “IS it? I would say the suspense is keeping you alive. Or rather, the suspension is keeping you alive, Herr Doktor English Vocabulary Expert.”
     “What? Is it Parents Weekend already? Time to second-guess the prof? I suppose you’re going to tell me that you’re going to report me to the dean and have me fired.”
     “What are you babbling about?”
     “At private American universities, when Faye is about 90 days into her freshman year, you will be invited for a special weekend, similar to parents orientation. Administrations stage these things to address homesickness and avoid attrition, which loses the school money, but they market them as family outreach …”
     “Fei is not going anywhere!”
     “The way things are going I’m inclined to agree. And I’ll state for the record, it’s a shame. I think she can get top scores on the SAT. You are the blame for stifling her potential.”
     “How rude! Shut up! I don’t really want to hear any of that!”
     “Only because it’s true. Have you tried talking to her on that subject? What does Faye want for herself? I’d steer her toward biomedical science myself.”
     “Stop imposing your ideas on us. This is what has gotten you into trouble.”
     “Then why did you agree to hire me as a goddamned tutor? Don’t invite the snake into your house if you don’t like getting bitten.”
     “THAT is not how it works here. YES. Firing you is now my job. Especially since water did not seem to do the job.”
     “For someone, who said they were indifferent about me, you’re sure quick to threaten violence and mayhem.”
     “I am a peaceful person.”
     “Sure you are, said the lady with the razor-swift karambit.”
     “And you are in sore need of spiritual adjustment. If you cannot have your mind bring your body and whole self into contrition, we go the other way around. When you put the body into a posture that is associated with a particular emotional or attitude stance, the mind will follow the body. I have secured you into a posture of compliance. I just need to ignore everything you have to say and just let the pose do its work. My intention is that at some point your mind will relent, and when I come out to periodically check on you, you will ask to be admitted to the Hall of Justice on your own accord. And as a sincere seeker of justice we can have an honest conversation and trial. What do you think of that? Clete? I’m talking to you.”
     “Hunh, did you say something?”
     “I was telling you something important. Were you even listening?”
     “No. I like to tune out extraneous bullshit. I credit my rigorous scientific training.”
     “You know what? I’ve had enough of you. No more being nice.”
     “You’ve been nice? Wow. Like, no wonder you have enough guys falling at your feet to line up around the block.”
     “What is a block? Did you just insult me?”
     “You say have had enough. Well so have I. I like to recite the logarithmic tables in my head in times like these. 1.10 is 0.0413927, 1.11 is 0.0453250, 1.12 is …”
     “You’re awful! Simply awful! WHY didn’t you drown? Or get eaten out there?”
     “I’m just a failure aren’t I? Clete Wong, underachiever once again. Hey, I sense some ad hominen bias in the trier of fact and law. Defendant moves for a mistrial.”
     “Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP. I am a very enlightened and fair woman. I want you to know that. YOU are the problem. NOT me. When you are ready to act like an adult, I’ll be back.”
     She started to walk away. “Hey!” She stopped and turned around. “Compared to a dissertation committee’s oral exam, this is a walk in the park. I’ll let you know when to turn me over.”


She continued away in a huff.  She slammed her door as she stepped inside. Now THAT hasn’t happened to me in a LONG time. It felt almost satisfying. But why did I do that? Why did I say such things? I seemed like a jerk even to myself, even though she is a kook.

I have mentioned in previous writings that it is hot here, right? If not, it’s goddamned fucking too hot. If I had been put on a tile floor instead of a compacted dirt walkway, my head would be in a puddle of my own sweat. My limbs were going numb, my joints ached, and my eyeballs burned for all the sweat washing through them. My “paragon” of justice came back out after maybe half an hour to see if I had broken. She had calmed herself down from being a shrill harpy back into her baby-doll voice.

     “Just checking to see how my potential houseguest is doing. How are we doing?”


I just kept my mouth shut this time.


     “Playing the mute now are we? You may think that’s OK. But I don’t approve of silence as rebellion either.”


She went out of the yard but soon returned with some pebbles. She put them under my knees and hands so that the weight of my body pushed these little rocks into sensitive pressure points.

     “I protest. This has gotta be in violation of the Geneva Convention,” I said.
     “We are not signatories.”
     “You’re in quite rarified company then. Stalin, Pol Pot, Mao … I should be honored.”
     “You are not even officially a prisoner of war, yet.”

I buckled and fell onto my side.

     “Clete, Clete, Clete. Don’t do that.”
     “I got a fuckin’ cramp, lady! Geez.”
     “You really have to work through the discomfort. This is for your own good, truly. If you don’t maintain the posture of compliance, you’ll never advance. Be right back.”


She returned with a flexible, young bamboo switch. She applied corrective stroking on several places of my person. I recall being told that Qi did not hit hard; they lied. I did not need her to tell me that the essential lesson was that it would be less painful to stay in the kowtow position than otherwise. I was starting to get numb anyway. She righted me back into proper form--for this I was grateful. 


     “A question,” I said.
     “What?”
     “Were you smiling as you were counting to 29?”
     “It was 30. Some advice on keeping focused,” she said. “Decide on a word or phrase that has a meaning apart from the distraction you’re going through, and just keep repeating that to yourself and see if you can empty your mind of all the activity.”
     “Got it!”
     “I’m going to let you ‘steep’ just a while longer. Don’t fall over. I’m watching.”

My chosen concentration phrase was pretty effective.

     “Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! Go fuck yourself, damn psychopath twat! … ad infinitem.”


I was proud of that. It even scanned into four-four time. It got my mind off the pebbles under my knees. Maybe there was something to this meditative gobbledygook of hers.


© Copyright  2012 by Vincent Way, all rights reserved.


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Be truthful and frank, but be polite. If you use excessive profanity, I'll assume you have some kind of character flaw like Dr. Wong. Tks!