Doctor Aldelman
This would be the most important surgery of Dr. Mattias Aldelman’s sixty-year career as a physician. Mattias leaned over as far as his ninety three year old bones would let him and petted the three light brown American pit bull pups. One of the pups snapped at Mattias’ thumb.
“Oh, you are what they say you are, my little friends. Such aggression from one so young, but it is not your fault of course. You are like them—” He pointed out the smoky window of his Flatbush apartment at three teenagers playing one on one at a net-less basketball hoop. “And they are like you, no? Fierce and angry but ah—that was how they were bred, no? Like you, little pups, it is all they know.”
Mattias walked slowly to the window to pull closed the curtains Helen had made with her own hands forty years ago. They had enough money at the time to buy a nice set of curtains but they had both grown up during the depression and were not able to change their thrifty ways regardless of their financial condition.
Before he could close the curtain, one of the three boys pointed to him. It was Antoine. Mattias knew their names. He knew quite a bit about each of the three. Marcus and Antoine both lived across the street in the large public housing project. Neither had parents, raised by their grandmothers, like so many others. The white boy who hung out with them was called Beck. Mattias was unsure if it was short for a last name, maybe Beckham or Becker.
Antoine said something to the others and then casually dribbled the ball in the direction of Mattias’ apartment. Mattias left the curtains open and stood steadfast in the window. He was too old and had seen too much to be intimidated by a bully.
Antoine stopped just short of the window and grinned. He pointed to a red gem embedded in his left incisor. Helen’s. It was Helen’s ruby, a chip from the larger stone. Antoine was flaunting his prize to Mattias.
Mattias closed the curtains and hummed Liebestraum to calm himself and drown out Antoine’s laughter.
The puppies barked, first to one another and then to Mattias who waved a finger at them. “Oh no, no, my friends. I can’t feed you now. It would be a waste of good milk, you see.”
He went into the second bedroom he still used as an office, where the poor and the forgotten came to him for his help. How could he refuse now? He had not refused for sixty years and he would not start now. The sick had changed over the years from mostly white and mostly Jewish to now mostly black and Hispanic but they were still his patients and he would do his best for them.
He stooped to pick up a black leather bag, the handle worn to a smooth shine, its leather sides creased from frequent opening and closing.
“Ah, my bag. Where would I be without you? You have served me well and never once complained. Yes, yes.”
Mattias placed the bag on the stainless bed and opened it to survey its contents. He was looking for something specific and if it was like every other time he needed an item, it would be at the bottom. Such was life.
He removed some forceps and a packet of tongue depressors wrapped in waxy paper that had turned brown from age.
“Aha,” he said and removed two hypodermic syringes, a scalpel and some blades.
Back in the living room, he placed the instruments on the floor near the three yapping pups. It took him several minutes but Mattias was able to retrieve a small white bottle from an upper cabinet.
It was his last bottle of Propofol. Probably four or five years old but the anesthetic would work well enough for such a minor surgical procedure. He would use the true surgical approach to the operation. No reason to do the work halfway. Halfway work, as he knew from experience, results in halfway results, and the consequences of a botched surgery were severe. He must succeed for Helen.
Mattias hadn’t realized he was crying until he saw the tears near the bag. What was wrong with him? Helen would be ashamed of him showing such emotion while working. For shame.
He grabbed the spotted pup and placed him gently on the stainless bed. The puppy squirmed in his hand.
“I will call you Moses since you want to flee so badly, my friend. Moses of Flatbush. Such an honor to serve your master, no?”
Mattias shoved the needle of the syringe into the bottle of Propofol. He grabbed Moses by the scruff of the dog’s neck and held him fast to the slippery table. Moses panted and smiled at his master. Perhaps he thought he’d receive one of those delicious treats Mattias fed him. “No, not this time, proud Moses. This will not hurt but for a few seconds.”
Mattias poked the needle into the back of the dog’s shoulder and pushed the plunger. Moses jerked for a few seconds and then flopped on his side like a wet sponge. The other dogs yapped relentlessly at the old doctor as if they instinctively knew Moses had been hurt.
“Solomon, Joshua, when have I ever harmed you? Never, yes, you must not worry, little wise ones. Your friend will soon be awake and tormenting you as all good friends do, no? Patience, my boys. You are next.”
Mattias turned his attention back to Moses who seemed to be dreaming something wonderful as its tongue slid back and forth in rhythm with his eyeballs as he chased an imaginary rabbit or mouse.
Mattias held the scalpel with the precision of a young, fearless surgeon and made an incision across Moses’ neck. The happy pup made no movement as the Propofol induced an even wider smile from the happy dog.
The doctor’s fingers flew through the surgery as they had for countless years at
Mattias spread the flesh of the neck until the cords were visible. Several cuts with the razor sharp scalpel until Mattias had removed all the dog’s vocal cords. Now came the difficult part. Normally he’d have another physician assist him as he stitched the voice box open but he knew he could tell no one of his plan.
Mattias improvised with a hemostat, positioned to keep the voice box exposed. Twenty minutes later he had finished and bandaged the puppy’s neck with gauze. Later, poor Moses would be very sore but would later be fighting with Solomon and Joshua whom would also be sore for a few days. Soon, the first part of his year-long plan would be complete.
He stared down at Moses who, though somewhat bloody, was still smiling.
“Dear God, forgive me.” Mattias pressed his hands together and wondered how he would explain to Helen’s spirit what he was up to before he fell asleep later.
Mattias was still in good health despite his age and crooked back. Each day after the final patient had left his office he would carry a pail of meat out to the fenced-in patio of his apartment where he kept the dogs caged.
By early evening the dogs were famished and in near frenzy to eat. Today he had only chicken to feed to the boys, but when the opportunity arose at the hospital morgue, Mattias would furtively remove an appendage from a transient or John Doe to sate the hunger of pit bulls. On those occasions, he would pull the bolt from the cage and fling the arm, leg, or head into the small grassy area behind the porch. Moses, Solomon and Joshua would clamp on the dismembered appendage and violently rip the flesh in their canine tug-of-war.
It was cruel to starve the dogs and a sin to slice a cadaver to feed his boys, but necessary to achieve the results he hoped for.
He walked over to the porch and tied three chickens on ropes that hung from the ceiling of the porch. He released the bolt from the cage. The dogs patiently watched the swinging chickens until Mattias yelled in Hebrew, “beezras Hashem!” The dogs sprinted to the ropes, jumped high, clamped their viselike jaws on the chickens, and swung like hangmen until Mattias gave them a signal to let loose the ropes. As they hit the ground, each dog grabbed their prize and flew back in the cage.
Satisfied, Mattias went back in the apartment to read. In a week, he thought, they would be over a year old and ready. It was time.
“Eat well, boys,” Mattias said softly to himself. “It is all you will eat for a week.”
Saturday, the delivery trucks came. Mattias specifically asked that everything be delivered between 8 and 9 a.m., the time when Antoine and his friends shot hoops.
The men unloaded the 52” plasma TV. Not cheap, perhaps as much as he had ever paid for a single item before. The last time he had spent that much money was for a new car for Helen. That was years ago. How wonderful her expression when he surprised her.
The three teenagers froze mid-game and watched intently as the deliverymen unloaded the TV, a surround sound system, and finally, expensive video games. Antoine grinned. Helen’s ruby glistened in the morning sun.
Mattias tipped the men a few dollars. They seemed disappointed with the few bills Mattias handed to them. How things have changed. So many want so much more than they deserve.
And now he had only to wait as he understood human nature and greed made one do stupid things. Perhaps he would be wrong. Perhaps his plan would fail but he thought not. Predictability was a given when it came to thieves. Thieves and murderers.
Mattias opened the door to the guest bedroom and surveyed the scene. The boxes of new electronic equipment lay in the corner of the room unopened, as they would remain. He had the receipts to return them later. He reached over the lamp table, pulled the latch open on the cage and hurriedly backed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
He paused at Helen’s portrait in the hallway. He had it commissioned twenty years ago. Her wrinkles and gray hair couldn’t mask her overwhelming beauty. She had been lovely. Too good for an old doctor, God knows.
Mattias pulled the portrait off the wall and set it next to him on the side of the old rocker, and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. The noise came from the porch door.
First a cutting, scraping sound, then a large crack and the shattering of glass. Antoine and his friends had arrived. Mattias said nothing. The one called Beck peeked around the corner of the hallway and stared at Mattias. Mattias held the tough boy’s gaze and continued to rock in the chair.
All three teenagers walked into the great room and stood towering over Mattias. Only Beck had a gun. He raised it level with Mattias’ head and chambered a round in the Glock. Mattias knew the weapon. He didn’t live in a shell. It was a .40 caliber semi-automatic pistol with a fifteen shot magazine. He flinched when Beck placed the barrel on his forehead.
Antoine chuckled. “What do you need all that shit for old man?”
Mattias said nothing.
“I asked you a question, Aldelman.”
Mattias remained silent.
“Now where is it?” Antoine gestured to Beck. “If this old man don’t talk in the next five seconds, you bust him with that .4, hear me? One—two—three—four…”
“It’s in the guest bedroom,” Mattias said in a flat tone. He was glad his voice had shown no sign of fear. Bullies, that’s all they were. Bullies and killers.
“Watch him,” Antoine ordered and he and Marcus went into the bedroom. “Shit!” came Antoine’s muffled exclamation.
“All there?” Beck asked.
“Hell yes,” Antoine replied.
Mattias yelled out, “beezras Hashem!”
Antoine and Marcus screamed simultaneously. The unmistakable sound of an attack, the shouts of surprise, the cries for help transformed into gurgling, muffled pleas as the din quieted to the efficiency of ripped flesh and splayed blood.
Beck yelled out to Antoine, then turned back to Mattais, hesitated and ran to rescue his accomplices. Soon after he entered the bedroom his own screams were drowned out by the report of the one shot and then another.
Mattias stood from the rocker, walked to the bedroom and shut the door. He slipped into his jacket, placed his fedora on his head and walked out the front door of his apartment with the aid of the cane Helen gave him on their sixty-fifth anniversary.
He walked three blocks and knocked on the apartment door of his good friend Morey Weinstein. Morey took his time, but finally opened the door. He was also dressed in a jacket and tie and had a hat under his arm.
“Oh ,God, it must be the end of the world. Are we being invaded? The big shot Doctor Aldelman knocks on my door for only the second time in the century. Someone call the rabbi, for I must be dead.”
“You were always the smart ass, Morey,” Mattias said. He walked by Morey and sat down in a large recliner in the living room.
“Sit down, make yourself at home,” Morey said without a hint of hiding his sarcasm. “And to what do I owe this honor?”
Mattias removed his hat and placed it by the cane. “How long have we been friends?”
“Never, friends,” Morey said. “I suffered your acquaintance for eighty years now, you shlimazel.”
“Yes—and I yours, you putz, but I still call you friend and I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Mattias, you have more money than Trump. I should ask you for favors. I eat cat food three times a day.”
“Your cat should be so lucky. Seriously, old friend. I need help.”
Morey sat on the couch and removed his hat. “I’m late for temple.”
“It can wait.”
“Yes—it—can. For you Mattias, the answer is, I will do anything at all. You know that without asking. Now, what is it? Did you get a girl pregnant?”
Mattias smiled. “I need you to call the police and tell them you went by my house on the way to temple and saw three hoodlums breaking into the rear of the apartment.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want you to ask why?”
“Why don’t you want me to ask why?”
“Because I don’t.”
Morey sighed and shook his head. “My father was a cop.”
“I know.”
“My brother was a cop.”
“I know.”
“Well—then you know I will not lie to a cop. You know that, my friend, and on a Saturday, too.”
“I’m sorry,” Mattias said.
“You’re sorry. What have you done?”
“I can’t say.”
“You know I would do anything for you, but that.”
“Yes, I know.”
Morey stared in Mattias’ eyes. “Does this have something to do with those boys and Helen?”
Mattias nodded. His eyes welled with tears.
“Are they the same ones?”
Again, he nodded.
“Okay, I’ll do it, but not for you. I’ll do it for Helen.”
Mattias grinned sadly and held out his hand. Morey took it.
“Besides, I was once in love with Helen. She was the best looking of all the girls. I asked her to marry me in ’33.”
Mattias sat back in the recliner. “So, you tried to steal my girl from me, Morris Weinstein.”
“I did but she said she would rather marry an ugly doctor than a good looking banker.”
“Lucky me,” Mattias said.
“Yes. Lucky you, you putz.” Morey squeezed Mattias’ hand. The two men stood.” You know, Matty. Helen was something special.”
Mattias hugged Morey and rested his head on his old friend’s shoulder. His tears stained the woolen coat.
“Yes, she was, my friend.”
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