thought Michael was just being a whiner.
Finally Michael looked Dan in the eyes and said, “He healeth those that are broken in heart, and giveth medicine to heal their sickness.”
Dan looked at Michael for a moment before speaking. “You know, if I tightened that up, it could be the slogan for the new HMO campaign we’re doing.” Dan sensed his brother was about to pass the plate and he wasn’t in the mood to make it easy.
Father Michael sat on the sofa and probed at his abdomen. “I don’t feel very good.”
“Who does these days?” Dan replied.
“Do I have to just come out and say it?” Father Michael hated having to ask, but he knew that charity sometimes had to be tweezed like nose hair from the giver. He held his hands out as if asking for gruel. “I need to borrow some money to see a doctor. There, are you happy?”
Dan walked to the bar. “Now, Michael, it’s in the Good Book,” Dan said. “Neither a borrower nor a lender be.” He poured himself a stiff drink.
“That’s from
Hamlet,”
Father Michael said.
“Good Book, good play, doesn’t matter. It’s a solid policy.” Dan took a gulp of the peaty scotch. “One I should have had in effect years ago,” Dan said, alluding to the thousand dollars he had loaned his brother. “Don’t they have, like, complimentary medical assistance in poor parts of the city?” He chewed a piece of ice and spit it back in his drink. “Maybe you should try something like that.”
Father Michael told Dan about the Free Clinic and about being turned down by County Medical. It was embarrassing to have to go through this with his brother, but the shame of it was nothing compared to how sick he felt. Even though the spasms had diminished in frequency, he still sensed that he was infected with something awful.
Dan could see that Michael wasn’t well. And as much as he wanted to make a point about responsibility and obligations, he knew he had to take care of his brother. “Look,” Dan said, “being the soft touch that I am, I’d loan you the money if I had it, but I don’t. I’m so in debt it’s not funny, and now I’m being sued by a dozen people, thanks to Mom’s joyride.”
Father Michael assumed Dan was just holding out on him. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. “C’mon, what about that big raise? I bet you’ve got a ton in the bank.”
Dan slammed his drink down. “You have no idea what the real world is like, do you? You think just because a person hasa nice place and a nice car, you think they’re rolling in it. Well, in the real world—”
Father Michael cut him off. He was pissed. “You don’t know the first thing about the real world,” he said. “You know, there’s a reason they call this La-La Land. The real world’s not about luxury cars and ocean views. It’s about children starving to death and dying of diseases we can cure. It’s about rebels armed with machetes chopping the hands off every man and boy in randomly chosen villages—” Father Michael went on a rant about the horrors of Africa, about mercenaries routinely invading refugee camps to kidnap children who were then beaten and tortured and “re-educated” and turned into an obedient army of rapists, murderers, and thieves.
Dan quickly surrendered. “Okay, okay, I know. Different worlds. But the fact is, in
this
world, I’m dead fucking broke.”
Father Michael took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He figured the only way he was going to separate Dan from his money was to turn up the heat. He stood and pulled up his shirt. “Look at this.” Michael pointed at a nasty purplish scar on his right flank. It was eight inches long and healing badly. It didn’t exactly look infected, but it didn’t look right either.
“What the hell is that?” Dan asked.
Father Michael touched the wound gingerly. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Dan the truth. “I got sick while I was in Africa. This, uh, this doctor had to
Finally Michael looked Dan in the eyes and said, “He healeth those that are broken in heart, and giveth medicine to heal their sickness.”
Dan looked at Michael for a moment before speaking. “You know, if I tightened that up, it could be the slogan for the new HMO campaign we’re doing.” Dan sensed his brother was about to pass the plate and he wasn’t in the mood to make it easy.
Father Michael sat on the sofa and probed at his abdomen. “I don’t feel very good.”
“Who does these days?” Dan replied.
“Do I have to just come out and say it?” Father Michael hated having to ask, but he knew that charity sometimes had to be tweezed like nose hair from the giver. He held his hands out as if asking for gruel. “I need to borrow some money to see a doctor. There, are you happy?”
Dan walked to the bar. “Now, Michael, it’s in the Good Book,” Dan said. “Neither a borrower nor a lender be.” He poured himself a stiff drink.
“That’s from
Hamlet,”
Father Michael said.
“Good Book, good play, doesn’t matter. It’s a solid policy.” Dan took a gulp of the peaty scotch. “One I should have had in effect years ago,” Dan said, alluding to the thousand dollars he had loaned his brother. “Don’t they have, like, complimentary medical assistance in poor parts of the city?” He chewed a piece of ice and spit it back in his drink. “Maybe you should try something like that.”
Father Michael told Dan about the Free Clinic and about being turned down by County Medical. It was embarrassing to have to go through this with his brother, but the shame of it was nothing compared to how sick he felt. Even though the spasms had diminished in frequency, he still sensed that he was infected with something awful.
Dan could see that Michael wasn’t well. And as much as he wanted to make a point about responsibility and obligations, he knew he had to take care of his brother. “Look,” Dan said, “being the soft touch that I am, I’d loan you the money if I had it, but I don’t. I’m so in debt it’s not funny, and now I’m being sued by a dozen people, thanks to Mom’s joyride.”
Father Michael assumed Dan was just holding out on him. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. “C’mon, what about that big raise? I bet you’ve got a ton in the bank.”
Dan slammed his drink down. “You have no idea what the real world is like, do you? You think just because a person hasa nice place and a nice car, you think they’re rolling in it. Well, in the real world—”
Father Michael cut him off. He was pissed. “You don’t know the first thing about the real world,” he said. “You know, there’s a reason they call this La-La Land. The real world’s not about luxury cars and ocean views. It’s about children starving to death and dying of diseases we can cure. It’s about rebels armed with machetes chopping the hands off every man and boy in randomly chosen villages—” Father Michael went on a rant about the horrors of Africa, about mercenaries routinely invading refugee camps to kidnap children who were then beaten and tortured and “re-educated” and turned into an obedient army of rapists, murderers, and thieves.
Dan quickly surrendered. “Okay, okay, I know. Different worlds. But the fact is, in
this
world, I’m dead fucking broke.”
Father Michael took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He figured the only way he was going to separate Dan from his money was to turn up the heat. He stood and pulled up his shirt. “Look at this.” Michael pointed at a nasty purplish scar on his right flank. It was eight inches long and healing badly. It didn’t exactly look infected, but it didn’t look right either.
“What the hell is that?” Dan asked.
Father Michael touched the wound gingerly. He wasn’t sure why, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Dan the truth. “I got sick while I was in Africa. This, uh, this doctor had to
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