|The Story||The Authors|
|Oblivious the effect Aben continued, "I am every much ze "cunnink leenkwist", zo you put it. Ees ferry dif-e-coult weeth ze anglaish tonk. But now I em to master eet. I prectiss you, no?" (This last phrase learned from a pair of giggling college students and scratched phonetically in arabic on a torn piece of paper taped to the dash board )He flashed his widest gold-toothed grin to her in the rearview mirror. He took her flushed expression as admiration for his exemplary English skills.|
|(...And then they had led her down the greentiled hallways (flash to the stuttery traffic of wheelchairbound patients, Haldol-eyed recent amputees, and funny Mr. Preej who swore all the time and whose hospital gown was forever coming open at the rear, allowing any and all access to the ghastly sight of his cavaderous buttocks the color of spoiled fungus) to the Examining Room...)|
"Now dee feerst ting I wantchoo to doo is chust to lie back and ree-lax," purred (well, he thought his manner was bedside enough to warrant to verb "purr") Aben through a wide smile which revealed the crooked headstones of his teeth, some capped in gold and others permanently discolored from a long-standing addiction to the betel nut.
She couldn't believe what he said. She gave him a smile and laughed at the
thought of sleeping with this guy. That wasn't going to happen - well, she sure
as hell was going to do everything she could to prevent it. Who the hell was
this guy anyway? Taxi drivers are just supposed to take you where you want to
go and get paid. Why was this guy talking to her?
"Pull over at the next street. That's the building," she said.
"Whatever ya say, woman."
She climbed out of the car and turned to the window to pay him. This time when he smiled, she saw nothing but white.
"How was that?" he asked, sounding exactly like every other native Bostonian.
"What the hell happened to your accent?"
"Well, I have to practice for acting class at some point. Between class and this job I don't have much time. I figure my passengers are fair game. What did you think?"
"Well, you had me fooled."
"Fart poo chuffer!" she exclaimed with great gusto and strode off with an air
of superiority, not yet realising that a yard or so of toilet paper hung
flapping from her behind.
"Ha Ha" snorted the taxi driver "there is paper stuck to ya bum" he chuckled again. The woman turned. She narrowed her eyes as she reached into the depths of her handbag
|and proceeded to give him the finger.|
|"Toilet paper or no toilet paper, I don't like to be yelled at." she screamed.|
...Your are going to be much more than just yelled at, youg lady, if you keep
up that disrespectful, childish behavior instead of doing what Nursey tells you
like a good little girl," said the Doktor, entering, shaking his head at her
and tut-tut-tutting with his tongue. "Do you want to be a good girl, or a bad
"I think she wants to be a bad girl," said the nurse.
"Yes, a very naughty little girl," replied the Doktor, taking his cue.
"The kind of little girl who is so naughty, so bad and rotten to the core, that she must be punished, again and again again, for unlike with other little girls, one punishment is never enough for this one --"
"Oh, yes, I think you're right, Nurse. I'm afraid we have such a little girl on our hands... Tut, tut... Now, let's see, then: what shall we do with her?"
....Pausing only to scream an arabic obscenity concerning a certain "fondness"
for syphilitic sheep that an errant jaywalker's mother may have had, Aben
watched the woman and her friend exit the cab and started to pull back out into
the lane of traffic. Her sharp cry called him back. He slammed the brakes.
"Wait for me. I'll only be a minute."
From the curb their eyes met again and again Aben felt something reach down and not so gently squeeze his entrails. Aben smiled nervously and turned the meter back on without losing eye contact. A trickle of sweat rolled down his armpit as she roughly grabbed her companions arm and hustled him into the building.
Aben sat in the cab in a severe state of nervous confusion. He turned the staticy drone of the AM radio to a roar and compulsively began to pick at the most recent scabs on his neck and upper back. This American heathen woman was making him think the most unclean thoughts. He must get rid of her straight away and go home. He must pray and scourge himself. Cleanse away these filthy thoughts with the whip. (the well worn end of which poked ominously out from its hiding spot under the front seat.) He must go now, and do these things. He must purify his heart and pray forgiveness for his sinning heart. Now. He must go now.
But for all the wanting in the world Aben could not muster the strength to go.