Upon A Pale Horse

THIRTY-EIGHT Check-Up

“Monsieur, the doctor will see you now,” the comely young receptionist said in delightfully accented English. Jeffrey stood and followed a second, equally fetching attendant, who led him to a sumptuous office with an en-suite exam room, the furniture high-end recreations of antique French provincial treasures. More than anything, the first impression Jeffrey had upon entering the room was of it being exquisitely tasteful.

Which perfectly matched the stately man in his early sixties who stood in one corner of the room, his conservative Hermès tie loosened, staring out the window. When the doctor turned to face him, Jeffrey was immediately struck by the man’s presence, which emanated from him with a glowing aura, like that of a celebrity.

“Monsieur Rutherford. Bon. You are here. Welcome. Please sit down, and tell me how I can help you,” the physician said, his English perfect, pointing to a chair in front of his desk.

Jeffrey sat and the doctor asked him a series of questions about his symptoms, degree of discomfort, and so on. He told the doctor about his recurring headaches, not needing to exaggerate his discomfort and worry. The older man nodded and motioned for Jeffrey to join him in the exam room.

Jeffrey knew what to expect and slid up onto the examination bed. The doctor approached and began probing his head wound.

“It’s healing nicely. I see no complications. Swelling is almost completely gone, and your hair is long enough so it covers the area, so it is not obvious, you know?”

“That’s not a huge consideration. I just want to know that there’s nothing they missed or that’s going wrong. Sometimes the pain is blinding.”

“Mmm. Yes, I imagine it can be. Take hold of each of my fingers and squeeze as hard as you can with both hands, please.”

Jeffrey complied, and then the doctor did a full neurological workup, taking him through the paces. At the end of the encounter the doctor waved him back to the desk, pausing to study Jeffrey as he made his way back to his seat. He wrote up some quick notes, humming under his breath, and then looked up at Jeffrey as if he’d forgotten he was still there.

“Bon. I see no abnormalities, so that is good news. If the scan was normal, then I would say that the headaches are simply a residual effect of the trauma and will fade over the next few days. Have you been resting, avoiding stress and movement?”

Jeffrey didn’t say what sprang to mind — that he’d been singled out to save the human race and traversed half of Europe over the last day.

“Yes,” he lied.

“Good. Then continue doing so and you’ll be fine. If you are still experiencing problems in a week, or if you start to experience any double vision, we will have another appointment, yes? Until then, we must let Mother Nature take her course.”

Jeffrey thanked him for his time and left the suite, stopping to pay the receptionist before taking the elevator to the ground level.

Outside, he glanced in both directions down the gray street. Clouds hung over the city, threatening rain. The sidewalk had a few pedestrians making their way towards the main boulevard, and Jeffrey joined them in their pilgrimage, his thoughts elsewhere, on retroviruses and global contagion and death, as well as on a woman who had cheerfully lied to him with the conviction of a Wall Street banker — and on a bitter academic in the Virginia countryside… and his beautiful daughter.

So immersed was he in his inner world that when he stepped off the curb he was almost run down by a truck, its horn blaring as it narrowly missed him. The driver made an obscene gesture as the engine revved and the big vehicle blew past him. He froze in his tracks, and then carefully crossed to the far side and continued on his way, the thin line between life and death again reinforced, in case he’d forgotten the precariousness of his mortal state.