The Rusted Scalpel

by Timothy Browne

  Maggie had barely scratched the surface of privations in only two small regions of the world when she realized she had exceeded her time. She was only supposed to talk for thirty minutes.

  She hastily began her conclusion. “Mr. Paul and members of the board of Wright’s Kids Foundation, I can’t thank you enough for what you are doing for the Hope Center. I know that God will bless you greatly for your generosity. I hope that—”

  “Excuse me.” A woman in a long red dress near the middle of the crowd stood and interrupted Maggie. Tears streamed down her face. “I’m so sorry, dear, but before you go, I must know what happened to that child,” she said, wiping her eyes with a napkin. “The one you showed in the beginning.”

  Maggie smiled at the woman and put her hand over her heart. “That picture was taken twenty years ago when John and I first started. We established an IV on that little boy and gave him a dose of an antiparasitic drug.” She stopped and grimaced, trying to decide if she should continue. “Some things are just too much…” she added. “That little guy was so full of worms that when we gave him the medication—” The woman’s eyes urged her on. “Sorry, sometimes the truth is hard…the parasites came squirming out both ends.”

  There was an audible moan from the crowd.

  “But the medication saved his life. This simple, simple treatment saved his life.”

  Maggie interrupted the crowd’s applause for the rest of the story. “Many of the people of that village were not so lucky.” Maggie qualified. “But for that little boy, the story ended well. We nursed him back to health, and because he was orphaned, brought him to the Hope Center, where he was fed, given a bed to sleep in and an education. He also received what he needed the most…love and hope for the future.” She wiped at one of her own tears. “He has grown into a fine young man. Amazingly, he now works for the office of the First Lady of Guatemala and is attending the university. He wants to become a doctor.”

  Maggie smiled at the woman in the red dress. “That is what mercy can do.”

  The crowd erupted in loud applause and a standing ovation. Wright bounded up the stairs to Maggie’s side, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and spoke into the microphone.

  “I told you she was something.” He kissed her forehead. “I was not planning on doing this tonight, but I don’t think we can let this moment pass. I ask each one of you to search your hearts and especially your pocketbooks.” The crowd laughed with him. “And prepare to give generously to this ministry.”

  The woman in red spoke first. “I pledge two hundred thousand dollars.” She looked at her companion, whom Maggie figured was her spouse. The man shrugged and raised three fingers.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Kim. Mr. Kim pledges three hundred thousand dollars,” Wright said, stirring a cheer from the crowd. “That is very generous, but I’m going to squeeze harder.”

  The Kims looked at each other and shrugged.

  “Come on, Mr. Kim. You’ll spend more than that at the craps table tonight,” Wright poked fun at him. The crowd roared with laughter and Mrs. Kim frowned and slapped his shoulder.

  Mr. Kim rolled his head from side to side. “Okay, okay,” he said and raised two fingers. “Two million dollars.”

  The crowd gasped.

  CHAPTER 13

  WELLTREX

  Nick and Maggie were both exhausted after the foundation party, too tired for romance but shared a good-night hug. They retired to their respective rooms. They slept through the night and most of the next day until they were roused to return to Singapore for more celebration.

  Wright was in his element, and if Nick was honest with himself, he was just plain envious. One of his college friends used to say that the man with the most toys when he dies wins. Wright wins. Nick’s old friend could never have imagined this kind of wealth and opulence.

  The launch party for the new medication was in the Zelutex building. Nick tried to wrap his mind around how much a bash like this must cost. There was enough food to feed a large army—a large army of salespeople, he guessed—and it was no potluck. Shrimp, crab, lobster, filet mignon, beef wellington, and more side dishes than he could count weighed the tables down. He never saw an empty tray as the catering staff continuously refilled everything. The desserts alone filled one side of the room and included a living chocolate fountain that poured over a shapely naked woman. The spectacle reinforced Nick’s opinion that rich pharmaceutical companies gouged every patient they could and made billions in the process.

  The party was centered in the expansive atrium of the Zelutex building and spilled into the garden. At the apex of the atrium was a massive glass brain that flashed with electrical impulses of red, blue and green, suggesting it was the living brain of the pharmaceutical empire. Nick had to admit the sculpture was mesmerizing and magnificent. The designer had captured the complexity of the brain with its neuronal and hormonal intricacies.

  Nick rubbed his eyes and turned from the brain. The optical overload had nothing to do with his visual impairment. His vision continued to improve, and his blindness seemed more and more like a bad dream. But his other senses were not faring well. The celebration band blared ’70s rock and was giving him a headache. He wished to be somewhere else, alone with Maggie, even though she was acting a bit off tonight. He wondered why. They had rejoiced together after Wright’s plea had raised another four million dollars for the Hope Center, matching his foundation’s grant. Eight million dollars. It was unbelievable. But despite it all, Maggie didn’t seem her bubbly self. Maybe she was just overwhelmed.

  Maggie sat next to him watching the people gyrate on the dance floor. She looked stunning. Maggie had told Wright that she had nothing to wear to the Zelutex party except for the black dress she had worn to the foundation dinner. After her long sleep, she had arisen to a rack full of designer dresses and shoes to match. She’d picked a violet Benny Ong silk evening gown. Nick wasn’t sure if it was because she loved the dress or because Wright’s wardrobe stylist had mentioned that Princess Di had loved the designer. The shoes that matched the dress were violet high heels with a bow at the toe and bejeweled on the side in the shape of a peacock feather. Nick suspected the latter swayed the decision as Maggie would often admire the shoes and smile. All he knew for sure was that with her native black hair and olive skin, she looked like a princess herself.

  Maggie reached up to make sure the strand of golden pearls with a large central diamond pendant still hung around her neck, then touched her earlobes to check the matching earrings. She had resisted wearing the expensive set, especially when Wright told them it had belonged to his mother, but he had insisted.

  Wright had said with an eye on Maggie, “The Chinese believe that the South Sea golden pearl imbues the wearer with wealth and prosperity. You deserve all of that.” His attentiveness toward Maggie was making Nick jealous. He didn’t think Wright was flirting with her, but he knew he could never accomplish what Wright had. Right now, he could hardly make his own car payment. After being away from surgery for six months, he had no idea what he was going to do or even how he was going to make a living. It was easy to compare himself to others, but he didn’t even have a yardstick long enough to measure himself against Wright. It wasn’t that they lived different lives—they lived on different planets, and Nick’s planet didn’t have any golden pearls.

  Nick rubbed his buzzed head. His hair was in that awkward in-between stage, neither short nor long. Wright’s hair flowed like a horse’s mane, and his chiseled jaw and high cheekbones smacked of a model’s mug, but it was his casual swagger that Nick couldn’t stomach. The head of this financial kingdom wore a white linen shirt unbuttoned to his chest with the collar slightly but perfectly turned up. A bevy of bracelets wrapped one wrist and a strand of hardwood beads hung from his neck. Nick watched Wright work the crowd with ease, hugging guests and conversing with employees. Wright socialized with such warmth, it was no wonder he was not only respected but beloved.

  Nick looked at Maggie and bac
k at Wright and realized something. He had only met Maggie’s handsome Blackfeet brothers a few times, but Wright looked like a long-lost brother with his tanned skin and dark features. Only his black eye marred his physiognomy, but Nick was astounded to see that it was either healing remarkably fast or was well concealed by makeup.

  He sighed, leaned to Maggie and cupped his hand over her ear. “Sure you don’t want to dance?” He had to shout to be heard over the music.

  She turned to him and said into his ear, “Nick, you are sweet to ask, but I’m afraid I can hardly breathe in this dress, and besides, I’d break a leg in these shoes.” She touched his cheek. He faked a pout that made her smile. “Okay, if they play a slow one.”

  Nick leaned back in his chair and sighed. What in the world was he going to do with himself? He wasn’t sure he even wanted to go back to medicine and trauma call. Washing out an open tib/fib fracture at three o’clock in the morning no longer sounded appealing. Chang would want him to ask the Holy Spirit. “If you desire the fruit of the Spirit in your life, you must let go of all your attempts at figuring it out yourself and let the Holy Spirit, who dwells in you, take full control of your life.”

  Nick closed his eyes. Father, what am I to do? He wanted to live in the hope that Chang so easily talked about—both now and for all eternity. Just like his eyes still getting accustomed to their restored sight, his spirit tried to see past his circumstances. Chang talked about the patriarchs of faith such as Noah, Moses, and Abraham. “They were people that could look beyond the horizon.” Nick loved the image, as though there was a way to gaze past the problems and hardships of life.

  He listened for God’s Spirit to guide him, but all he could hear was the throbbing of the bass guitar and the reveling partygoers. Suddenly a loud cheer dominated the sounds, and twenty cheerleaders, complete with pom-poms and miniskirts, came bounding up the stairs to the stage. The band struck up Kool and the Gang’s “Celebration.” The crowd went wild. People poured onto the dance floor as the girls shook everything they had and then some. Nick could feel the call of his lesser comforts. Rolling Stone magazine called it sex, drugs, and rock and roll, baby. He shook his head at the state of the world, which wooed him like a drug.

  The ruckus rose to a crescendo and Nick didn’t think he could take much more. Then Wright entered stage right, ambling past the cheerleaders to center stage, where a band member handed him a microphone. The crowd came to a hush, but the silence lasted only a moment.

  The Zelutex logo flashed on the huge monitor above Wright. An animated seedling of three healthy green leaves sprouted from the logo. Beneath the flourishing logo was the company’s mission statement: Better Living Through Science. The crowd erupted with whoops and applause.

  Wright smiled expansively and let his people revel. He pointed to the logo and the crowd, put his hands together in gratitude over his heart and bowed.

  “We love you, Wright,” his flock shouted. Someone started to chant “Zelutex!” and the people took it up and repeated it over and over until Wright held up his hands to quell the melee.

  “Is this a glorious night or what?” he yelled into the microphone, and everyone cheered.

  He raised the mic above the boisterous crowd that devoured his showmanship. They screamed as if Sir Elton John was on stage. Digital fireworks erupted on the monstrous monitor above Wright as well as on other flatscreens strategically placed around the room. The fireworks melted into the marketing campaign to promote the new medication. The Welltrex logo flashed on the screen. It was similar to the Zelutex logo. An animated leaf sprouted from the Welltrex letters. Then a raindrop dissolved the sprout and the letters, replacing them with a light-blue, heart-shaped tablet that said 200mg once a day. The words floated in a drop of water.

  “Welltrex is going to change the world as we know it,” Wright yelled over the roaring crowd. “Welltrex brings hope to millions of people around the world—those who are suffering from depression, anxiety, chronic and acute pain, and those needing treatment for their addictions. Those who have given up hope.”

  Thunderous applause erupted.

  “Come on!” Wright incited the crowd, swelling the applause and letting their optimism reach a climax. Finally, he raised his hands to silence his disciples and spoke prophetically. “The ancient manuscripts tell us that those who give a cup of cold water to those in need will never lose their reward.”

  The word reward reignited the crowd.

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Wright said, as if there could be any secrets in a room of four thousand people. “Welltrex will certainly make our lives a bit easier.”

  He laughed, holding out his arms to embrace all four thousand guests. His eyes sparkled. He dropped the microphone from his hand and threw his head back as balloons and confetti rained from the ceiling.

  The band broke into the O’Jays’ “For the Love of Money,” and the boisterous music crackled through the speakers.

  * * *

  Nick rolled his eyes. “I promise I won’t tell your new benefactor what I think, but that performance was everything I hate about industrialized medicine,” he said into Maggie’s ear as he held her close, swaying to the Eagles’ “Desperado.” “It’s shameful.”

  “Yeah, it was a bit over the top,” Maggie agreed.

  He pulled her closer, his hand on the small of her back. “Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?”

  “Well, not in the last five minutes,” she laughed.

  Her body was warm against his, and he wanted to lean down and kiss her but resisted. “You okay tonight?”

  When she laid her head on his chest, he could feel her body tremble and her spirit sink. He held her and waited. He understood where her angst came from. He battled it too. When Maggie had given her presentation last night, showing pictures of her and John building their lives together, Nick had felt like an outsider, an intruder. He knew his love for John was a mere fraction of Maggie’s and what she must be feeling—that somehow desiring tenderness and affection from another was a betrayal of that love.

  He didn’t want her to suffer any longer and decided to come clean. “Mags, I love you so much. I’m not sure I will ever love another as deeply. I can only imagine what your heart must feel—what you are going through. Just know I am here for you…willing to give you space…willing to hold you close or love you from afar.”

  She began to sob and let go of his hand, wrapping both hands around his waist and burying her head into his chest.

  She looked up at him, her dark eyes swollen with emotion. “Nicklaus, you know me as well as anyone. Thank you. You remember that dream I told you about? I know in my heart that John wants me to love and be loved again. I’m having trouble with that. I’m not sure I’m ready to let go. Thank you for understanding and helping me through this.” She stretched on her tip-toes and kissed him tenderly on the neck.

  “You want to get out of here for some fresh air?” Nick asked. She nodded. He took her hand and led her off the dance floor through the tables of employees celebrating their good fortune with Jell-O shots.

  Nick and Maggie exited into the garden with its cool ocean air and glorious view of a full moon rising in the east over the Singapore Strait. The moon glistened on the water brightly enough to illuminate the ships coming to the port.

  “That’s better.” Maggie sniffed. “I didn’t realize I was suffocating in the heat and commotion in there.”

  They had walked only a few yards into the garden solitude when they heard Wright’s voice behind them. “I thought I might find you two out here.”

  Nick and Maggie turned to see Wright accompanied by two women—a middle-aged woman in a gray pantsuit with a severe limp in her right leg, and a younger woman with shoulder-length straight hair framing cat-eye glasses.

  “Dr. Hart and Ms. Russell, I would like to introduce you to Ms. Leah Boxler and Dr. Amy Johnson. Ms. Boxler”—he indicated the older woman—“is the CEO and my right-hand person here at Zelutex
, and Dr. Amy”—he nodded at the other woman—“is our medical director.”

  Boxler’s grip was as firm as her German accent was thick. “Dr. Hart, Ms. Russell, it is a pleasure to have you in Singapore and to our company’s little celebration.”

  Wright must have caught Nick’s disapproving glance at Maggie. “Speaking of which, I hope you will forgive us for the show,” Wright said. “I too, feel like I need a long, hot shower.”

  He said exactly what Nick was feeling.

  Wright laughed. “I believe, Dr. Hart, that your scriptures tell us to be as shrewd as snakes and as innocent as doves. I’m afraid tonight we must slither like snakes. My people work hard for their money. They practically have to sell their souls to make a living, and it’s all they have to live for. They’ve earned some R and R. Believe me, I appreciate their work, and I wanted to give them a chance to relax and pat themselves on the back for a job well done.”

  Nick was surprised to hear Wright’s candor.

  “I know you must think this is exactly what is wrong with medicine, and you would be partly correct. But the sad truth is, to get these life-changing medications into the hands of the people they can help, we must operate within the world’s system. Our sales reps must sit day in and day out in physicians’ offices, pandering to them, stroking their egos, and begging for two minutes of their limited time. Don’t get me wrong; my employees are wonderful people. They are like you and me, trying to navigate their way through life, provide for themselves and their families and dodge the hardships in life. Making money for the company and for themselves is how they fill their lives—”