The Masters of Triage

by Evan Appelman

part 2 of 5

He spotted her the instant he entered the restaurant. She was seated at a table at the far end of the dining room, waiting to be served. It was not one of his usual haunts. Ordinarily he had dinner in a little Mom and Pop shop close to his office. Tonight, for some reason, he had felt bored and adventurous, and he had headed across town to a more upscale establishment.

He walked over to her table. “Good evening, Ms. Malantis.”

She looked up, surprised, frowned for a moment, and then recognized him. “Oh, Dr. Orr. How are you?”

“Pretty good. And you?”

She smiled. “Not bad, I guess, considering. Are you coming or going?”

“Coming, actually. I just noticed you and thought I’d stop over to say hello.”

“I’m glad you did. Will you join me?”

“Thank you. I’d be glad to.” He seated himself opposite her. “Do you come here often?”

“Only when I’m bored with my own cooking. You?”

“No, this is my first time. I was feeling a need to try something new.” He picked up the menu and glanced through it. “Would you recommend anything?”

“I was going to order the grilled prawns. They’re usually pretty good here.”

“Sounds great.” He signaled to the waiter, and they ordered.

“It’s been quite a while since we’ve seen each other. How have you been?” It was an honest question. He had not queried her probability matrix since the afternoon she had come to his office three months earlier. Although he had occasionally thought about her in the interim, once it became clear that she was not going to call, he had ceased to regard her as his client, and he would have considered it unethical to follow up on her.

She smiled again, a little sadly. “Well, Roger and I finally broke up.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you. But we decided that it would be for the best. There just didn’t seem to be any way to put things back together.”

“And now?”

“Now I’m just trying to get my life back to normal. It’s been a little lonely, but I think I’ll be all right.”

The meals arrived, and they ate for a while in silence.

“You’re at the University, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Yes, just a lowly assistant prof in the English Lit Department.”

“You like the work?”

“Yes, especially the teaching, though that’s probably not the best recipe for achieving tenure. My specialty is contemporary fiction, and I enjoy convincing the students that they can often learn more about life from fiction than from nonfiction.”

“That seems true enough. The fiction writer usually has a larger canvas to work with.”

“How about you? Tell me, don’t you find it depressing listening all day to people’s troubles?”

He smiled wanly. “You do have to develop a certain level of detachment, and you have to be able to let go of it all at the end of the day. It can be a little tricky, since at the same time you want to empathize with the client.”

She laughed. “For the sake of full disclosure, you’re not considering me your client now, are you?”

“No, of course not. If I were, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“Good. I’m glad we can get things clear at the start.”

He looked at her thoughtfully. The start of what, he wondered. He wasn’t quite sure where things were going, or even where he might want them to go. The bill arrived, and he reached for it. “Will you be my guest?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, not tonight. I think this time we should go Dutch.”

The vague promise implicit in her words startled and excited him in a way to which he was unaccustomed. But he merely shrugged and replied, “As you wish.”

They paid and left the restaurant. Standing in front of the entrance she proffered her hand. “Good night, Dr. Orr. I enjoyed having dinner with you.”

“The pleasure was mine, Ms. Malantis,” he replied with a smile. “But I’m usually called Luce.”

“And I’m Sybil,” she responded.

“Good night, Sybil.” And without thinking about it: “May I phone you some time for a return engagement?”

“Yes, I’d like that.” She reached into her purse and extracted a pen and a scrap of paper. She scribbled briefly on the paper and handed it to him. “Well, good night, again, Luce.”

“Good night, Sybil.” He watched as she waved lightly and strode off.

He walked slowly home, thinking furiously. What are you getting yourself into, Lucien Orr, and who the hell do you think you are? Even ignoring the fact that she was your client a mere three months ago, what kind of a relationship can you possibly establish with this woman? Hasn’t she been hurt enough? You know what you really are, even if she doesn’t. You’d better drop it while you still can. The force of the arguments should have been overwhelming, but to his surprise, he found himself only half convinced. After all, he reflected, there have been precedents...

* * *

Still, it was a good two weeks before he actually made the phone call. She had laughed when he identified himself. “I was afraid I’d frightened you off.”

“No, I don’t frighten quite that easily. I’m sorry it’s been so long, but I’ve been busy with work. I was calling to see if we could arrange that dinner rematch we talked about.”

“Actually, I’ve been feeling a bit domestic these last few days. Why don’t you come over to my place for dinner, say, Thursday at 8?”

“Sounds like an offer I can’t refuse. I’ll be there.” He had just about decided to stop worrying and let things lead where they might.

And so on Thursday evening he found himself standing in front of the door to her third floor walk-up, clutching a bouquet of roses and feeling like an inept teenager. It’s been a long time, he thought. Too long.

She laughed again when she saw him, but it was a friendly laugh. “Oh, how old-worldly!” Then, as he began to flush, she went on quickly. “They’re sweet. I like them. Thank you very much. Come on in.” She took the flowers and led him into the apartment.

“That was a world-class dinner,” he said later, as he helped her transfer the dirty dishes to the dishwasher. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve eaten like this.”

“Thank you. Do you do much cooking for yourself?”

“No more than I can avoid. I boil a mean egg, but beyond that my domestic talents are pretty limited.”

“Well, now that you mention it, you do look as though you could be a little better fed. Maybe we could arrange some sort of special meal program for undernourished psychologists.”

“If this is a typical sample, I’d certainly look forward to it.”

Later, sitting beside him on her living room couch, she suddenly asked. “You’ve been living alone for quite a long time, haven’t you?”

“Yes, a very long time.”

“Forgive me if this is an impertinent question, but have you ever thought of changing your lifestyle?”

He smiled. “If I do, I usually lie down until the urge goes away. No, seriously, of course it’s not an impertinent question, and yes, I have often thought that a different lifestyle might be nice. But... well, I’ve always seemed to have a lot to do, and I guess I’ve just been following the path of least resistance.” And still am, he thought wryly.

He looked at his watch. “Well, Sybil, it’s been a most enjoyable evening, but I think I should be heading home. We both have to work in the morning.” He rose from the couch. She walked with him to the door.

“I’m really glad you were able to make it, Luce.” She paused and held out her hand. He clasped it, and then, on a sudden impulse, he drew her to him and kissed her. She stood motionless in his embrace, looking up at him thoughtfully.

He kicked himself mentally. Stupid, stupid! he thought. It’s too soon, much too soon. Suddenly he felt very old.

She continued to regard him in silence, then: “Luce,” she asked softly, “Would you like to spend the night?”

He froze, releasing his hold on her and staring at her, wide-eyed.

“Oh, dear,” she said, “Now I really have frightened you off, haven’t I?”

He continued to stare for another interminable moment. Then his eyebrows lifted, and he smiled. “No,” he said slowly, “I don’t really think you have.”

* * *

They were floating in space. In front of them hung the earth, a cloudy blue ball. Behind them shone the sun, warming them. They were not alone. Soft winged creatures were flitting about, brushing them gently with their wings and creating a musical humming that seemed to fill the void. The black sky was hung with myriad stars. Suddenly one of them flared into a supernova. It grew brighter and brighter, until its luminance overwhelmed everything else...

* * *

She lay beside him with her eyes closed. She opened them suddenly, staring at him dazedly. “My God,” she said, “Do you do that to all your women?”

His eyebrows lifted, and he smiled. “No,” he said, “Only to those I’m especially fond of. I used to be pretty good at this sort of thing, but I’m afraid I’m a bit out of practice.”

“You’ll do,” she said with a laugh.

“You don’t do too badly yourself,” he replied. That was an understatement, he thought. There was something quite remarkable about her lovemaking — remarkable and even a little disconcerting. A suggestion of underlying strength that belied her mild persona. But it was not something he wanted to think about just now. He kissed her gently and let himself drift into sleep.

When he awoke, he was alone in the bedroom. Sunlight was pouring in the windows, and the smell of eggs and toast wafted through the apartment. He dressed quickly and followed the scent into the kitchen.

Sybil turned when she heard him. “Good morning. I hope you like poached eggs on toast.”

“They smell good, and they are a lot better than my usual fare.” He stepped up behind her and kissed the back of her neck. “Somehow I never thought of you as the domestic type.”

“Ah, I am a woman of many talents, though poached eggs are hardly a culinary challenge.” She touched his shoulder lightly. “Actually,” she went on, “I’m going to have to send you on your way right after breakfast. I need to prepare for a ten o’clock class.”

Breakfast finished, she once again accompanied him to the door. “Well,” he said, a little awkwardly, “Thank you again... for everything.”

“It was nice, Luce.” A shadow of anxiety crossed her face. “You will call?”

She’s been dumped on a few times too many, he thought. “Of course,” he said. He kissed her lightly, turned, and was gone.

* * *

There have been precedents, Lucien thought. He was seated at his desk, staring idly into space. It was now over a month since he had first visited Sybil Malantis, and he still hadn’t a clue where it was all going.

So what were the alternatives? Not that he hadn’t been over them again and again, he thought, but let’s try one more time.

Alternative One: He could break off the relationship. The simplest and most logical solution. Return to the status quo. The only trouble was that he knew it was the one thing he simply didn’t want to do.

Alternative Two: He could continue to be Lucien Orr, family counselor, and nothing more. But for how long could he keep living a lie? How long could it be before she began to notice inconsistencies in his behavior and started to ask unanswerable questions?

Alternative Three: He could confide in her. For that there was no precedent. First of all, she wouldn’t believe him — she’d think him mad. He supposed that with some effort he could convince her, but what then? Could he really expect her to bear the burden of that knowledge? And what kind of life could they lead together? Would they want children? Could they even have children? And, if they could and did, what would they tell them? The whole idea was preposterous. And besides, the Council would never approve.

Alternative Four: He could simply tell the Council that he’d had it and wanted out of this whole business. The implications were staggering. Would he even be allowed to do it? There were no precedents for someone of his stature.

But for how many aeons had he been doing this thankless job? And what did he have to show for it? They must owe him something. It was an impossible assignment, and he had known it from the beginning.

But he hadn’t had much choice in the matter; it had been handed to him as a sort of penance after they’d put down the rebellion. So now, after all this time, wasn’t he entitled to some relief? Why couldn’t he just drop into an ordinary human life and let someone else do the heavy lifting for the next few millennia?

The more he thought about it the more appealing the idea became. He turned abruptly to the computer and typed out a simple message:

“Please convene the Council. I wish to submit my resignation. Luce.”

He queued the message and then hesitated, as the full impact of the decision hit him. Was he really prepared to throw over everything for this woman? Yes, dammit, he thought, I am, and he hit “Send queued messages.”

The response was not long in coming. There was a shimmering in the air, and a muscular man with a shock of golden hair reaching to his shoulders materialized in front of Lucien’s desk. It was Mike. He should have known that’s who it would be.

“Hello, Mike,” he said neutrally, “It didn’t take you very long to get here.” It was a meaningless observation, he knew. Time was not a relevant parameter to the Council.

“Hello, Cousin Luce. Just what the hell do you think you’re playing at?”

“I thought my message was pretty clear. What part of it don’t you understand?”

“What makes you think you have any right to resign? Have you forgotten everything?”

No, he had not forgotten. In particular, he hadn’t forgotten the end, when he lay defeated, broken in mind and body, and Mike had stood over him, laughing, “It’s all over, Cousin Luce.” It was the same Mike, relentless and unforgiving.

“It’s not your decision, Mike,” Lucien said coolly, “It’s up to the Council.”

“Don’t get feisty with me, Cousin Luce. I took you down back then, and I can do it again.” A golden glow erupted around him and began to brighten steadily.

Lucien rose to his feet in a flush of anger. His own aura flared scarlet around him. “Don’t push it, Mike,” he warned softly, “You don’t have the whole Council at your back this time.”

For a moment they stood confronting each other — two blazing stars. Then, as if on some signal, both of their auras dimmed. Mike laughed, but his eyes were still angry. “All right, Cousin Luce, I guess you’d have a bit of trouble explaining to your landlord why we incinerated this nice office.”

“Look, Mike, all I’m asking is that you convene the Council.”

“You can ask all you want, but I’m the one who’ll decide whether or not to do it.” His image began to fade into insubstantiality.

“Mike!”

The fading stopped abruptly, leaving a translucent, Cheshire-cat-like residue. “Well?”

“We were friends once, remember? Are we doomed to be forever at each other’s throats? Isn’t it time we got over the past?”

Mike returned abruptly to his full substance. He looked thoughtfully at Lucien, his features softening slightly. “I don’t know, Cousin Luce. You gave us all a pretty hard time back then.” He hesitated. “OK, I’ll convene the Council.” And he vanished.

* * *

To be continued...