Cross and Conflicts

CHAPTER XXVI: Breakfast with the Doctor

Doctor Dunong couldn’t have been more shocked. Two nights ago, there was his friend—menacing and glaring—standing by the entrance of his bungalow. If he hadn’t known any better, he would have mistaken him for a monster that even Science would fail to explain.

On his arms was a woman robed in a dirty hospital gown. Blood traced down to her ankle and dripped sluggishly, giving red stains to the polished floor. She was unconscious and oblivious, and he could tell that there was a major reason as to why he had brought her here.

“Who is she?” The physicist asked him. More than her identification nonetheless, he very much fancied why his friend brought this person.

Yet instead of responding to that inquiry, his friend simply told him—more like commanded— “Do something about her wound, ‘Doc’. She might not make it past tonight.”

He decided not to pry anymore and carefully received her then brought her to a spare room where he plucked out the bullet from her calf and stopped the bleeding. She was lightweight, but it seemed that there was sadness on her bearing, so heavy, which weighed her down. And when he removed her untidy garment, he unravelled more of her wounds and bruises. Clearly, to him, she has been through so much, and he deemed that it wasn’t only a lot of blood that she lost but far more important things to her.

“I’m going to kill you.” He heard her talk in her sleep while some tears escaped her eyes. This made him wonder how a girl who appears as amiable as a dove would have a sincere desire to commit murder that even in her dreams she yearned for it.

Noumenon, as she introduced herself to him, sat stiff and unenthusiastic in the seat adjacent to his. She initially only stared down at her empty plate, and she looked like she was already full with the thoughts abundant in her mind.

Although he earnestly cooked for his guest, Dr. Dunong didn’t feel the least disheartened that she wasn’t eager to taste the food he prepared. He isn’t really an exceptional chef but he was confident that he was able to make something edible to place on the long oblate dining table.

“Does the food look bad?” he finally asked her and this separated the novice from what she had been thinking.

Noumenon turned her attention to the owner of the house. “I’m very sorry for being impertinent, doctor. No, the food looks delicious.”

Indeed the dishes for breakfast looked very much so, and if she had to be honest, the sight was refreshing to her. It was already years since there were these kinds of food laid out for her, and she was given the liberty to indulge. Back at the monastery, even the thought of meat was prohibited but right there before her were chicken, bacon and sausages amongst other things early in the morning.

“Why don’t you try then?” He beamed. “Let me get some for you.”

“I can manage, doctor. That would be—”

“Oh, I insist!”

She could only watch him place rice and pieces of viands on her plate. She felt embarrassed, but she couldn’t find the voice to decline the kindness of the person who technically saved her life.

“Would you like a glass of milk or a cup of coffee?” he offered.

She felt even more bashful. This was already too much for her take. “I’ll be fine with neither, doctor. Thank you very much for your hospitality.”

Dr. Dunong felt relieved. At least, this young woman wasn’t fully dwelling on her troubles at the moment, and she seemed to be the type who doesn’t pull away from her reality even when she’ll choose to alter many of her perspectives and chase after goals that may imperil her life. She reminded him of his friend who brought her here. In a sense, they were both after something—earnest in their resolve. Yet again, he clung to his fascination of the reason why he bothered with her when he—this friend of his—could be called the embodiment of indifference.

He reminisced that later on that evening when he came with her, he visited him in his room.

“How very unlike you to bring home a guest,” Dr. Dunong said by the doorway behind him.

His friend had his back on him as he changed to a T-shirt and a pair of pants, and it appeared he wouldn’t want to reply.

The doctor continued, “I guess she’s special since she has caught your interest.”

“Hm,” he eventually uttered, “She asked me for help to kill someone.” And when he turned his body towards him, he had a sinister grin on his face.

Dr. Dunong brought himself back to his breakfast then stared at Noumenon. She noticed his eyes on her, and she turned conscious.

“Yes, doctor?”

He couldn’t help but ask. “What happened to you, Noumenon?”

His question was to be expected, and she wasn’t disturbed by it; on the contrary, she couldn’t force herself to be welcoming of imparting details about the tragedy she had been to. She had her head down, and she felt uncomfortable.

A flashback of bitter memories flooded her thoughts.

“I am the vice mayor of Intramuros, Manica Diamond. It’s my pleasure to finally meet you.”

“How are you, honey?”

Bang!

“Maaaaaaa!”

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!”

“Why?! Why have you done this again?!”

“Why, Noumenon? Honey, she needed to die.”

She bit her lower lip and tightened her grip on the spoon and fork on her hands. Then, as if on cue, tears streamed down her cheeks.

This sent an alarm to the doctor as he scrambled to find a handkerchief. “I’m sorry! That was rude of me! It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me.”

He grabbed a box of tissues and gave it to her to at least let her wipe off her tears. Her grief was still apparent, and it will take long for her overcome this. He can definitely relate to this, and he could also liken this to his friend’s hatred towards certain people.

When she managed to calm down, he apologized again. “I am terribly sorry.”

With puffy eyes, she decided to look at him. “It’s alright, doctor. I should be the one to say sorry for being very emotional in front of grace.”

He regretted asking her that question. He realized that it didn’t sit well inquiring about her trauma.

“You know, doctor,” though reluctant, she then said, “I had two mothers before.”

He quietly listened to her and observed the expression she was giving him.

“One was biological and the other was my foster mother. They were both killed by my father.”

It was there that he understood who she wanted to kill; the abhorrence of a child towards a parent isn’t new to him. Noumenon and his friend, he concluded, are really similar; they are both on the path to parricide.