Saint Dave’s Dispensary
The nurse pushed open the swinging doors and pointed out the direction for Tom Wheeler, Larry Zelinsky and me. “Next corridor on the left.”
Dave Murray had dozed off reading a copy of Playboy. I did an awful imitation of a bugle playing reveille while Larry grabbed the magazine out of Dave’s hand and inspected the patient’s palm. “I think you got some hair growing there, buddy. No wonder you’re so exhausted.”
Murray sat up, drowsily rubbing his eyes. Finally recognizing his visitors, he broke into his hangdog smile. “Hey, guys. Thanks for dropping by. I never realized it, but they got some pretty good articles in that magazine. I just learned you’re not supposed to wear white socks with a black suit.”
“You brought a black suit to Thailand?” Zelinsky asked.
“Forget about him,” said Tom. “How they been treating you, Dave?”
“Oh, not bad. I feel a lot better. Got to the point I didn’t know if I was gonna make it before they brought me in…. How’s Dah?”
Tom and Larry hesitated. “That’s one of the things we came to talk to you about,” I admitted.
“She’s started on the needle,” Tom continued.
The sedation slowed Dave’s reaction. “What’s she doin’ that for? She promised—”
“Sometimes it’s hard for people to keep their promises,” I said, looking off a moment before asking, “Is Tukada still married to that American captain?”
“Yeah,” Dave responded slowly. “She only wrote him last week to ask for a divorce.”
“Then she can still come in here for treatment,” Tom said.
“I guess so,” Dave agreed. “But before you bring her in, be sure to see Chaplain Kirkgartner. He’ll make sure they take care of her the way he did for me. Otherwise, a bunch of these doctors just hand you a bottle of Darvon and say, ‘You got on it yourself, you can get off it yourself.’”
“A chaplain?” asked Zelinsky skeptically.
“Kirkgartner,” I replied, “is the cool young chaplain who runs the rap sessions at the Coffee House of Free Expression. And he’s the one who came up with a place for my band to rehearse when they were starting up. We still use it.”
“That’s the man she wants,” said Dave. “Dr. Harvey’s been okay now that I’m in, but she needs to see Kirkgartner first.”
As we started to leave, Dave called after us. “Can I ask one of you for a little favor?” He pulled out a plastic bag filled with virgin stalks of grass from under his mattress. “It was really nice of Mole to bring this in for me, but he forgot to cut it.”
“I’ll take care of it for you,” Tom promised, stuffing the bag into the cargo pocket on his jungle fatigues. “See ya tomorrow.”