The Fifth Harmonic (5 page)

“I am sorry? A dumb . . . ?”

“You know . . . Dumbo. The Disney elephant.”

“Oh, yes. Yes, of course.”

“Well, Dumbo could fly just fine on his own, but he didn't believe that. He thought he needed that crow feather to do it.”

She clapped her hands and laughed, and he found the sound delightful.

“A Dumbo feather. Yes, that is so true. I will have to remember that. And the fact that you see it is wonderful. It means you do not
view yourself as some sort of deity dispensing cures. You know that sometimes you are only a facilitator.”

“Whoa,” he said. “Let's not get carried away here. I assure you all those years of med school and residency are worth something.”

But what are they worth now? he wondered. NYU pre-med, Harvard medical, three years as an internal medicine resident at Beth Israel, almost two decades of clinical practice—all that training and experience vanishing into smoke.

Will shook it off. “You've got to know how the body functions and how its processes break down, and how pharmaceuticals work to mend it. If you haven't mastered that, you're going to kill people.”

“But you need more than competence to be loved.”

“Please—”

“Does that make you uncomfortable . . . being loved by your patients?”

“Well, love is such a strong word. I don't love them. I mean, I
like
them, I care about them, I want to do right by them. But love them . . . ?”

“Do you love anyone?”

“I love my daughter Kelly.”

“Anyone else?”

“Annie . . . my ex.”

“You love her? Then why is she ‘ex’?”

“She feels she's better off without me.”

“She left you.”

Will nodded. “Yeah.”

“Did you abuse her?”

He hesitated, wondering where this woman thought she got the right to ask that, then shrugged it off.

“How could I? I was never around.”

“And that was the problem?”

“I think it all boils down to that. Staying with me and leaving me . . . I don't think she saw much difference, except that leaving offered her a chance to find what she needed, while staying with me . . .”

“You wouldn't change to keep her?”

“‘Couldn't’ is more like it. After Kelly went off to college and it was just the two of us in that house, she started wanting more from
me and I didn't have it. I was up to my lower lip in my practice and she was bouncing off the walls of an empty house. And many times, even when I was with her, I wasn't really
with
her . . . I was thinking about some patient slipping away in the hospital . . . some puzzling set of symptoms I'd seen in the office that day. I wasn't there for her. I was physically present but I wasn't . . .
there
. And she knew it. The long and the short is, I didn't deliver.”

Why am I telling her this? he wondered. Then figured, what did it matter? He wasn't going to be around long enough for anything he said to anyone to matter.

“Did you try—?”

“We tried everything, trust me: we went round and round for years, counseling, the whole bit. Let's just say we wore it out.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Like crazy.”

“Does she know that?”

“If you mean have I told her, no. A little late for that anyway. She found a new guy, they're going to marry.”

“And you approve?”

“Yeah. He's a nice guy. He'll be good for her.”

“And you're happy for her.”

“Annie is a good person. She deserves to be happy.”

She gave him a long stare. “I think you are a good person too, Dr. Burleigh.”

What's this all about? he wondered. All this stroking made him uncomfortable.

“I try. I'm okay, I guess.”

“You
guess?
”

“I'm not one for much introspection. Haven't got time for it.”

Still she stared at him. “What is that quote about the life which is unexamined . . . ?”

“Being not worth living? Who was that? Socrates?”

“Plato.”

“Right. Well, I've got a message for Mr. Plato: Bull. Besides, in my business, I spend my time examining other people's lives, not the other way around.”

“Do you blame your practice for the failure of your marriage?”

“Me . . . my practice . . . we were one and the same. Somehow my patients always drew me away.”

Maya leaned forward, her face intent. “Perhaps you could not help it.”

“That's a cop-out.”

“No. Listen to me. Perhaps some stronger force inside was driving you. Perhaps because you are more than a doctor . . . you are a healer. When the Mother chooses her healers, they cannot resist.”

Not “the Mother” again.

“Let's not romanticize this,” Will said. “I'm a doctor. A guy with a trade. Someone who's learned about the body and knows a few tricks about how to fix it.”

“Surely it is more than a trade.”

“Okay, maybe it is. It's just that sometimes I find myself trying to compensate for those docs who seem to think the M.D. degree confers godhood.”

“But the fact remains, you were so devoted to your practice that it cost you your marriage. How do you explain that?”

Will shrugged. He didn't want to get into this. He'd been through it all during marriage counseling. He hadn't had an answer then, and he didn't have one now.

“Did you always want to be a doctor?” she said.

“Always . . . much to my father's chagrin. He wanted his only son to be a lawyer, join his firm.” Will shook his head at the memories of their battles. “Never gave up. Went to his grave still trying to convince me to go back to law school and become a medical-legal specialist. But let's get off me and—”

“But that is why we are here: you.”

“We're here because of this thing in my throat. Let's get to the bottom line here: Can you do for me what you did for Savanna?”

“No.” She shook her head and looked away. “I dearly wish I could but . . .”

Will was surprised by the jolt of alarm that flashed through him. She couldn't turn him away!

“But what?”

“Savanna was accepting. She let me reach her. You . . . you have placed many many walls between yourself and someone like me.”

“How can you say that? We haven't even spent an hour together.”

She was looking at him again. “I can tell . . . your sixth chakra is completely blocked.”

“So?”

“It's also called the third eye. Yours is essentially blind. It would take me years to help you as I helped Savanna.”

“I don't have years.”

“I know.”

They sat in silence, Will wondering why he felt crushed. He didn't believe in any of this hokum anyway.

“What is your full name?” she said. “What does the ‘W. C.’ stand for?”

Will took a breath. He'd always hated his name. “Wilbur Cecil Burleigh.”

Maya threw back her head and made a sound that was half laugh, half groan of dismay. “I should have known!”

“What's wrong?”

“Your mother must have sensed how you would turn out. Mothers know.”

“I don't get it. They're family names.”

“I have studied names. Each has a meaning, and I believe they attach to people for a reason. ‘Wilbur’ means the shining man, or the resolute brilliant one. Burleigh means dweller behind the fortress walls. And Cecil . . .” she shook her head. “Cecil means blind.”

Wearily, Will pushed himself up from the chair.

“Then I guess there's no point in—”

“But there might be a way,” she said softly.

“I'm listening.”

“You will think it radical.”

“Can't be more radical than what the surgeons and radiologists have in mind. Try me.”

“You will have to put yourself completely in my hands.”

He paused, thinking: You're talking to a control freak, lady. Be careful what you ask.

“I don't know if I like the sound of that.”

“I am not sure yet what it will entail, and I know it will sound like a huge step to you. But it will be no small step for me either. I will have to put my own life on hold while I concentrate on yours.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because . . . ,” She bit her lower lip. “Because for the longest time I've had the feeling that I was sent—or ‘drawn’ or ‘guided’— here, to this place, at this time, for a purpose. And you may be that purpose.”

Cue
The Twilight Zone
music, he thought.

“Hear me out,” she said, as if she sensed him withdrawing. “Savanna comes to me, I help her; she in turn goes to you, and sends you to me.” Maya's green eyes sparkled with excitement. “Don't you see? A circle has been closed, and now another one opens: You are a healer—a wounded healer—and I believe I am here to help you go on healing. But because you are the shining blind man in the fortress, you must learn to see before you can be healed. And you will not be able to see until we break down the walls of your fortress and let in the light. We must strip away all the layers of insulation you have built up over the years.”

“Insulation? Against what?”

“Against the greatest healing force in the universe.”

“Which is . . . ?”

“You will know it when you allow it to find you.”

Will sighed. “Okay. I'll bite: What do I have to do?”

Maya rose and began a slow circuit of the basement. “You must liquidate all your belongings and assets, pension plans, everything.”

“Ah, I see. The old sell-all-that-you-own-and-give-it-to-the-poorand-follow-me routine.”

“Follow me, yes, but put aside enough money for travel, and give only half to charity. The other half you will put into an irrevocable trust that will go to your daughter or your ex-wife or any charity upon your death.”

A psychic healer talking about irrevocable trusts—Will's bullshit alarm began to howl. And yet, he was baffled.

“But the whole idea of my following you would be to circumvent a certain minor complication called death.”

“The liquidation unburdens you of your lifelong accumulation of material baggage. Those possessions form one of your many walls, but it is the flimsiest, the one most easily breached.”

“Easy for you to say. What happens on the outside chance that I don't die? Do I get the remaining half back?”

“No. The whole idea is to cut yourself off permanently from those possessions. Thinking about how and when and if you will get them back will only distract you. You must banish them from your life with no hope of ever retrieving them. That way they cannot distract you.”

“Then who—?”

“Two years from now, if you are still alive, the remainder will go to me.”

The alarms ringing in Will's head rose in pitch and volume.

“Oh, I see,” he said slowly. “That will bring a windfall your way. Aren't you afraid it will ‘burden’ you?”

“Not at all.” She gave him a level stare. “Because I will not have it for long. I have uses for it. And if indeed you are alive two years from now, can you say that I will not have earned it?”

She had him there. But Will knew there was a catch; had to be. He simply couldn't see it at the moment. Just for the hell of it, though, he decided to play along.

“Okay, let's say I do all that. Then what?”

“Then you must meet me in Mesoamerica, where we will seek out your own personal cure.”

“Mesoamerica?”

“Maya country.”

The Mayas came from Mexico, didn't they? Hunting for his own “personal cure” . . . really, this was getting more ridiculous by the minute.

But then again, going away with this strange and beautiful woman . . .

“And how long will this little trip take?”

“Two weeks at most—I hope.”

That did it. Will stuck out his hand. “Nice meeting you, Maya. Thanks for your time, but I've got to be moving.”

She clasped his hand with both of hers and held on.

“No. Please, Dr. Burleigh. Do not go.”

He saw genuine concern in her eyes. For what? The money . . . or him?

“How much do I owe you?”

“Nothing. Please, I want you to think about—”

“With all due respect, I quite literally do not have time for this. I thought I'd give you a try, figuring I could spare a few days and a few bucks on the very outside chance that there might be something to this. But liquidate all my assets? Travel to Mexico and spend weeks looking for my ‘personal cure’? Sorry. I've lined up better ways to spend my last months.”

“What could be better than healing yourself?”

“Traveling to France, catching the harvest in Bordeaux, visiting the chateaux.”

He'd spotted a notice in
The Wine Spectator
a few weeks ago and on a whim had booked the trip. He'd always wanted to see France. Finally he was going to do it.

Will gently pulled his hand free. “I wish you luck. You seem like a decent person who sincerely wants to help, but this stuff isn't for me.”

“It is not just me who wants you healed,” she said, following him as he trotted up the steps to the first floor. “So does your Mother.”

He didn't look back. “I told you: my mother's dead—heart attack six years ago.”

“You know very well that I did not mean your human mother—I meant the All-Mother.”

“Oh,
that
mother. How could I forget about
her?”

She went to the desk in the front room and removed a business card from the drawer.

“Never forget the All-Mother,” she said, pressing the card into his hand. “She will give you a sign. Watch for it. She will smile on you to let you know that she wants you to be saved. Call me when she does.”

Let me out of here!

“I'll keep my eyes open. Meanwhile, I've got to run. Bye.”

And then he was through the door and back on the steaming sidewalk. Back in the real world. Relief poured through him.

He headed directly for his Rover. As he slid behind the wheel he glanced up and saw Maya standing in her doorway, watching him with her jade stare. She was saying something. He couldn't hear her, but her lips seemed to form the words, “You'll be back.”

Will sat alone in the dark on the wrought iron settee under the cherry tree at the base of one of Chateau de Mouchac's towers. He swirled his glass of La Louvière 1988. By the light of the rising moon, he stared into the maelstrom of red liquid and asked himself for maybe the hundredth time since sunset,
Why am I here?