proper level. Another seemed to be there to keep our cigarettes lit. The third I wasn’t sure about, but I would’ve guessed if my balls got itchy he would’ve been ready with a finger.
Marge beamed through the dozen long-stemmed roses arranged in the middle of the table. “Isn’t this wonderful?”
“Just great,” I said. “I’m out twenty bucks and I haven’t even eaten anything yet.”
That dimmed her beaming a bit. She said, “I’m sorry about some of the things that were said. I know you haven’t been feeling well and I should’ve been more understanding. Can we be friends again?”
Her voice contained an almost desperate pleading, and it touched me. At least, it loosened me up. “Sure,” I said.
“Isn’t this great? This is supposed to be the best restaurant in Mexico City. I’m so happy we’re finally doing something. Maybe if you’re feeling better we can start doing more things together? Maybe we can lay off the alcohol?”
I looked at her small, pale face. A funny, tough smile was trying to contradict the anxiety in her eyes. I made my mind up about something, or, rather, I decided to quit trying to fight the inevitable. After a while the fighting wears you out and all you can do is step aside and let fate take its course. There was a reason I brought her to Mexico and it was time I admitted it.
“That’d be nice,” I said. “How about tomorrow we rent a jeep and take a ride to the mountains? Do a little sightseeing?”
“You mean it?”
I nodded. “When we get back to the hotel, I’ll get on the phone and make the arrangements.”
For the first time in days a soft easy smile broke out over her face. “Lover,” she whispered, “maybe I’ll let you do a little sightseeing tonight.”
“Sure, honey. We’ll have ourselves a little party.”
The waiter showed up, and while the food was being arranged in front of us I thought about the jeep ride we were going to take. It would be a tragic, senseless accident, one which there could be no explanation for. Looking at Marge I felt sincerely touched, and I was pretty sure her passing was going to leave an emptiness in my life.
Marge was all smiles over the food. “This looks delicious.”
I grunted and took a bite, and was almost floored. A fiery pain shot through me, almost singeing my brain. I stayed in my chair, but just barely. For a second I thought I was going to pass out and then I didn’t know what to think except that I had to get moving. I said something to Marge about finding a bathroom.
As soon as I got to my feet a dull nausea chilled me. I think Marge yelled for me to hurry back before my food got cold, and I mumbled something back to her.
I couldn’t move, at least not right away. My legs were cold dead stumps, as if they were disconnected from the rest of me, and I almost collapsed before I got ten feet from the table. The restaurant staff gave me funny looks as I staggered past them, but none of them got in my way. As I pushed through the door I doubled over. A cabbie looked up from his paper and I whispered something to him.
“Que?” he asked.
“Please,” I gasped. “Take me to a hospital.”
Chapter 21
“So doc, did I drink some bad water?”
He grunted, his face expressionless, and continued poking me. “Lie down on the table please.”
My stomach was feeling better-at least I wasn’t feeling like I was going to drop dead on the spot. I stretched out on the examining table and he jabbed his fingers into my stomach.
“How does that feel?”
“Like you were working me over with a baseball bat.”
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, and kept with the poking.
“So what do you think it is?” I asked.
“We’ll see. Can you sit up, please?”
I sat up and he started tapping his fingers against my back. He mumbled something in Spanish, and sat down across from me.
“How long have you had this pain?”
“A week, maybe two. Maybe longer.”
“But it has become unbearable the last week?”
I nodded.
“Have you been drinking a lot of alcohol recently?”
“Just a little,” I said. “You know, a nightcap before bed to help me relax.”
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled, keeping his wooden expression intact. “Have you been under a lot of stress lately?”
“I guess I’ve had a pretty tough week.”
“But you’ve come to Mexico City on vacation?”
“Yeah, that was the plan. Come on, doc. What do you think I got?”
He scribbled something into a notebook and then looked up at me. “I need to run some laboratory tests before I can be certain, but I believe you have colitis, an inflammation of the membrane surrounding the colon. I need to take a biopsy of the colon to be sure. I also would like to take blood and urine samples to rule out other possibilities.”
“Wait a second.” I shook my head. Colitis. The sound of the word made my head spin. “You’re not cutting into me and I’m not sticking around for any tests. What do I do to get rid of this?”
He scribbled some more in his notebook. “It could go away with rest and proper diet. No alcohol, and drink plenty of fluids. Depending on the severity, it could require an operation.”
“How did I get it?”
“Hard to say,” he shrugged. “Colitis can be hereditary. There is also some thought that it can be triggered by stress. Usually the type caused by a traumatic episode. I must recommend that you let me perform the tests.”
“Sorry, Doc.” I shook my head. “But thanks for the help.”
“I see.” And for the first time a thin smile cracked his face. “You do not trust Mexican doctors?”
“That’s not it. I-”
“Never mind,” he said, softly. “Let me check that wound.”
He took the bandages off my forehead. “We can leave these scratches uncovered. They’re not infected but scars are going to be left.” His smile stretched out an inch. “You should have had a doctor stitch them for you.”
I was beginning to feel a little antsy. I knew I had to go back to Colorado. Running wasn’t going to work, not if it made me so sick with worry I was going to develop colitis.
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Anyway, thanks for everything, Doc. How much do I owe you?”
He shrugged. “You won’t accept my advice, why should I accept your money? There’s no charge.”
He turned his back. I started feeling a little hot around the collar and I wanted to get out before the heat spread. “Sure, if that’s the way you feel about it. Well, thanks.”
As I was heading out the door, he spoke. “If the pain doesn’t go away you should see a doctor. Left untreated, you could die.”
No, I thought. Not me, but others were going to.
* * * * *
I went straight to the airport. I had my passport and money on me, and the clothing and other stuff I’d brought along weren’t worth going back to the hotel for.
At the airport, I had a long talk with a ticket agent and finally got myself booked on a flight to Dallas that was leaving within the hour. I was able to board the plane as soon as I got to the gate. After taking my seat, a quiet calm took over me.
