Vincent Gallo - Tasya

Hugh instantly shot up from his chair and ripped off the sphygmomanometer.

“That's enough Mr. Carnie!” Hugh didn't call him ‘doctor’ for he felt that Mr. Carni had stepped over the boundaries that demarked proper professionalism.

“Whatever do you mean? I told you not to mind my words, as I sometimes speak aloud.” The doctor replied, holding his hands up in a defensive position. “I feel that you are overreacting.”

“I didn't come here to be belittled or be subjected to your underhanded jokes.” Hugh shot back with anger visible on his face and disdain in his voice. “Imagine if I had made such remarks towards you! You know what? I think I shall!”

Dr. Carni stood there, arms crossed, and Hugh wasn't even sure that he was listening to him. His face was that of someone lost in a daydream.

Hugh didn't care, he proceeded with his speech.

“I could say to you—look at that big belly of yours! Be careful so as to not knock all those expensive prescription drugs, which I'm sure line your pockets for a fancy holiday, off the table when you turn around to pick up the clipboard you forgot over there! I could also mention that thinning head of hair you have. Look at it! It's so thin that even a family of sparrows desperate for housing in the winter would avoid it!”

Hugh's pulse was racing, and he felt that time had dilated. He had never lashed out at someone like this before. He felt embarrassed of himself, but also proud of himself for standing up to the doctor.

The doctor's arms did not unfold, nor did he move a single muscle in his body, but it was becoming evident to Hugh that the doctor had been listening to every one of his words. Hugh's embarrassment and pride shifted to fear as the doctor's face started to reconfigure itself. Dr. Carni's mouth and eyebrows twisted, bent, and curled to morph his visage into an expression that conveyed something hovering between murderous and ecstatic.

“Mr. Mechta! Your words are slanderous, defamatory, cruel and just plain hurtful!” Dr. Carni roared through warped and undulating lips. “I am offended by your insensitivity and lack of manners! I must ask you to leave at this very instant!”

Hugh didn't require any persuasion. He made straight for the door but stayed his hand on the doorknob, seeing that Dr. Carni's clipboard was within reach. In one bound, Hugh took the clipboard in hand and flipped through his files and notes on his biometrics. Hugh didn't search for long because the files were not files at all, but blank sheets littered with weaving spirals and wavy concentric circles.

Hugh threw the clipboard at Dr. Carni's feet and left the room. He vowed never to go ‘over there' again.

The next morning Hugh called another doctor's office and scheduled an appointment.

To his astonishment he was offered an appointment for not only the same day but in a few hours from his phone call. He accepted the offer without hesitation, glad that he would be able to put his experience with Dr. Carni behind him.

Hugh arrived at the doctor's office, and everything went smoothly. He didn't even have time to inspect the layout of the waiting room, the movie being played on the muted television, or whether the architect of crippling chairs had distributed his wears to this clinic. Upon walking into the office, the receptionist greeted him with a professional smile and beckoned him to her desk.

“Mr. Hugh Mechta, the doctor is waiting for you in room 27.” The receptionist said just as Hugh stopped at her desk. “Please go down this corridor. You will pass a painting of a black Spaniel, and room 27 will be directly on your left.”

Hugh was astonished by how quickly everything was moving, from the same day appointment to being directed to doctor without a second of waiting. He had no desire to look a gift horse in the mouth, so he thanked the receptionist and asked no further questions. He set off down the corridor in search of the painting and his assigned room.

Hugh opened the door, and the doctor was seated, waiting for him. He was a pristine looking older man with everything in white. His coat, pants, shoes and even his facial hair were white. His mustache and goatee were the most surprising, for they were atypical for a doctor. His mustache was big and bushy, but the ends were tied with wax and pointed upwards. His goatee wasn't connected to the mustache at all but sat on his chin like a bright white pointy pillow.

“Hello Mr. Mectha. I'm Dr. Zelv.” The doctor said and gave Hugh a firm handshake. “I'm very glad to see you today.”

“Hello doctor,” Hugh replied, “I'm glad to be here. How are you doing today?”

“I’m doing very well. I plan on taking a vacation next week,” the doctor put on a big smile and his face took on the shape of a schoolboy who had been speaking a new toy or game, “so I’m quite looking forward to that. I’m going to a very interesting place.”

Hugh waited for Dr. Zelv to proceed further and describe his vacation destination, but the doctor just sat there and stroked his beard into a sharper angle. Only after a few seconds of silence was Hugh hit with the notion that the doctor was expecting a follow up question.

“Oh really?” Hugh said after putting on his most interested face. “Where are you planning on going?”

Dr. Zelv’s answer exploded forth with the force of a stallion that had heard a gunshot at the starting line of a race.

“Thank you so much for asking, Mr. Mectha!” Dr. Zelv said and clasped his hands together in what Hugh thought to be feigned gratitude or an attempt to bridle his emotions. “I’ve purchased a premium exclusive luxury all-inclusive beach resort holiday. I know that it was expensive, but I’d decided to treat myself. I plan on surfing, lounging in the sun, and getting complimentary massages that come with the resort package. I haven’t had a massage in quite some time, maybe a month or two, so I’m looking forward to it.”

The doctor was speaking as if he were only permitted one breath of oxygen to provide an answer with. The speed of his speech reminded Hugh of when he himself would give speeches in grade school, full of anxiety and fear of public speaking.

“The hotel also provides an all you can eat buffet.” Dr. Zelva continued, seemingly still on solitary breath. “So, I'll eat a lot, then I'll exercise, then I'll eat some more! There is even the opportunity to go horseback riding on the beach, I'm quite excited about that! I have never ridden a horse before, so I think the experience will be exhilarating!”

Dr. Zelv paused and Hugh could see quick heaves in the doctor's chest as he tried to catch his breath. The color was also returning to his face that had turned almost as white as his facial hair.

It also occurred to Hugh that the doctor was fond of using the pronoun ‘I.’ Hidden within his thoughts, Hugh couldn’t help but dub Dr. Zelv as Dr. I.

“I'm sure it will be a fine vacation doctor,” Hugh said, keeping his previous observation to himself, “but where is this resort?”

“I'm sure you have never heard of the place,” Dr. I replied and resumed running his fingers through his goatee, “it's in a small costal city called Yanamire.”

“Really!” Hugh responded with genuine surprise. “When I was a student I studied there for two semesters. I had such a lovely time there.”

“That's all very interesting Mr. Mechta,” Dr. I said and started to stroke his mustache in tandem with the rest of his facial hair, “maybe we can chat about your internship, or whatever it was, at a later date. Now, it's time for my little chick to start his medical examination.”

Silence returned to inhabit the space between them yet again. This time it hung on the phrase ‘little chick.’ The way the doctor looked at Hugh, and how he continued to fondle his mustache and goatee, told him that the doctor had used this combination of words on purpose.

The doctor continued to stroke and wait and stroke and wait. It was obvious that the next step in this interaction was Hugh asking for clarification on the oddly chosen duo of words.

“I don't think I've ever heard a doctor describe a patient as a ‘little chick’ before. What did you mean by that?” Hugh asked, sensing that Dr. I would have stared and ran his fingers through his beard until Hugh had capitulated.

“Well, Mr. Mectha,” Dr. I let out a deep laugh and tore his hands away from his face, “I have a philosophy, or more like a mental framework, for how I picture my patients. You see, I imagine them as baby chicks riding along on a conveyer belt. I work in the factory in which this conveyer belt functions. My job is to inspect, analyze, and prod each of those baby chicks to see if they are strong, healthy and in good shape. If they are not up to snuff then I pluck them from the conveyer belt and send them somewhere where they can receive better treatment.”

The doctor leaned back on his counter, folded his arms and an air of smugness wafted from him.

“It's a great way to visualize one's patients, don't you agree?” Dr. I added and gave his goatee a few pets over.

Hugh found a chair opposite of the doctor and sat down. He wasn't sure if wanted to scream in horror at the image the doctor presented to him or laugh at the absurdity of the doctor's confidence in such a framework for understanding his patients.

“To be honest, I don't really like it.” Hugh started, wanting to both challenge Dr. I's framework and to cease the doctor’s over compulsion for touching his beard when expecting a response from Hugh. “It brings up a lot of strange questions. These chicks of yours on the conveyor belt, where are they going in the first place? I just have this mental imagery of them being sent off to be pounded into chicken nuggets. On top of that, what happens to the ones you pull from the conveyer belt? Will they be rehabilitated and then chucked right back to their doomed future of becoming chicken nuggets? Seems like it's better to be pulled off the conveyer belt during your inspection, for it gives the baby chick a few more moments of non-nugget existence.” Hugh leaned forward in the chair, rested his elbows on his thighs and continued his train of thought. “Furthermore, I really don't like to think of myself as this baby chick, which you describe. It sounds as if I am caught up in a giant machine within an even larger factory that cares not for me as an individual but only insofar as I pass a test and become something that can be useful, sold, and bought. It makes me think that your metaphor for your patients is more so a metaphor for life, that we are all destined to die within a larger system and become metaphorical chicken nuggets. I don't think that I'm this metaphorical baby chick or future metaphorical nugget. Neither do I think that people are like this. Frankly speaking Doctor, this framework of yours is a bit jarring.”

Dr. I pushed himself away from the counter, collected his clipboard with notes and approached Hugh. No signs of offense or anger were present on his face, unlike Hugh's previous interaction with Dr. Carni. Dr. I's eyebrows and mouth seemed to obey the commands of the brain.

“Well, Mr. Mechta, I like my metaphor. It's simple, elegant, and concise. I find it to be akin to Newton's laws of gravity or Heidegger's writings on existentialism.”

“I think we should move onto why I came here today.” Hugh said, not wanting to debate the topics of physics, philosophy, and baby chicks. “Before we start, do you need to take my biometrics, like my height?”

“Your height?” The doctor laughed. “Are you expecting a growth spurt sometime soon, Mr. Mechta?”

“Nope, I have fortunately passed that stage of my life.” Hugh gave the doctor a smile, restraining himself from taking a detour in their conversation and detailing his experience with Dr. I.