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beautiful blue eyes! Count your blessings!” She kisses his cheeks again. He looks into her
eyes and nods his head slowly as his tears fall.
***
The intravenous feed does its work day after day. Meanwhile my experiences in the ward
impact me deeply on other levels. I haven't needed to go to an ashram in India looking a
guru; I have found the teachers of my heart here in the cardiology ward of the hospital in
Siena. It seems preposterous in some ways, yet, at the same time, so perfectly apt. Various
friends come to visit or call to check in with me from time to time to see how I'm holding
up. “I bet you'll be glad to finally get out of there, won't you?” they ask. I don't dare tell
any of them the truth for fear that they will think the bacteria have attacked my brain.
Pam is now in Paris with our tour group. Our client is a wealthy and generous man from
Louisiana, a sweetheart of a guy. This is the fourth time that he and members of his fam-
ily have traveled with us. There are seven of them in the group plus Pam who leads them
through the streets of Paris to the various venues that she has chosen for them. This portion
of the trip was supposed to be mostly in my court since I'm the one who speaks French.
But here I am at Le Scotte, and there she is on her own in Paris, but she assures me that it's
all going well and that they're having a wonderful time.
Last night they all went to the Moulin Rouge to catch the show. The previous day Pam had
stopped by to slip the Maitre D' a fifty Euro note, and they were given the table she had
requested. The show was amazing, she says, like a cross between vaudeville and Cirque du
Soleil. Very imaginative. Lots of beautiful, naked women. You would have loved it. We all
missed you.
For tomorrow she has arranged dinner for the eight of them at the home of our Parisian
friends, Arlette and Jacques. Arlette and Pam's mother met at the University of Kansas in
the 1950s when Arlette was there as a foreign exchange student, and Pam's mother was
working toward her teaching degree. They maintained their friendship through all the inter-
vening years, and we've picked up where they had left off. Arlette's husband, Jacques, was
the Governor of the Comoro Islands back in the 60s for nearly a decade. Anybody can take
you up the Eiffel tower, but only my wife can organize a Parisian adventure that includes
an erotic cabaret and dinner at the home of a former colonial governor.
She calls me almost every evening, unless they get back at some ungodly hour. She wishes
me good night and tells me she loves me. It occurs to me that I am one of those fortunate
beings who has a wife who truly loves him. After my roommates are all asleep, and I can
weep without alarming anyone, I sit quietly and try to count my blessings.
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