The Sword Master

             Life is quite strange. The way our lives collide with those of others. Others who have interesting experiences but for some reason don't share them with the world. My life has been pretty ordinary to say the least. Well except for that one experience. But then again it was not my experience. I just happened to know the person who lived through it. Although it has been years since this happened, I dont really know what to make of it. Fact or fiction. It is one of those "experiences" that happen only to a few and everyone else doubts them but are too polite to say so. Had I not been there when all this happened, I too would have had a much more difficult time believing Sam. Let me start from the beginning. A story rarely makes sense to those not familiar to the circumstances that led to...ah well. So, I met Sam many years ago. Sam was a student in the USA. He came to the USA for higher education and stayed. I did not know him back in medical school although our schools were barely 5 miles away. Even though he did part of his internship in my hospital, we rarely cross paths there. I met him, unlikely as it may sound, at a martial arts dojo, 4,500 miles away from home. In New York of all places. There I go again getting ahead of myself. Lets go back a few decades.
                  I was a high energy kid that most parents fear. Sugar had nothing to do with it. My mother had run out of ideas on how to get me to calm down enough to sleep. Even at night. Or at least something to take the edge off. Nuclear energy, they would joke, fueled me. That was of course before she found the local karate dojo. I crawled home for a month after that. Over the years as we moved cities and homes, my mother always insisted that I join some form of martial art. More for her health than mine. And so it was. Over the years, I practiced karate, kung-fu, jujitsu and many more. Each one as a result of my family's frequent moves and the availability of a martial arts dojo nearby. As I grew up, I saw my friends start going to the gym. I never could make myself do that. And it was not for a lack of trying. I needed the more intense work out that only a martial art provides. After medical school I came to the USA for higher education and found an Aikido dojo nearby. A great work out but for some reason not enough for me. One day as I wandered in a bit early hoping to get a few hours of work out and going over a few moves that my teacher had showed me. I changed into the traditional white gi top and the indigo blue hakama and stretched in the changing rooms downstairs before proceeding to the top floor of the three floor building where the practice rooms were. As I entered the dojo and I heard the loud shouts of kiai. And there they were. Kendo-ka. Kendo is the art of Japanese fencing. It is quite modern and very popular globally. The energy in the dojo was palpable. My non- martial arts friends would probably say so was the odour and smell. Aikido emphasized graceful smooth movements of empty handed techniques while Kendo was all about attacking the opponent with bamboo sticks or shinai at full speed. I sat at the back and watched the participants go through many paired exercises and later the open tournament style competition. Towards the end of their practice session, one of them walked up to me. He was still wearing his armor and his face mask so I could not tell. Not until he introduced himself. Sam.

                 Sam was genuinely pleased to meet me. After all how many Indians are there who are interested in Kendo. After they had bowed out and practice was over, he and I chatted for a few hours. The coincidences were shocking. We were both surprised to learn that we had grown up a few blocks from each other, had gone to medical school and then come to the USA for higher studies. However that is where the similarities ended. Sam came from a military family and was supposed to enter the armed medical core. Reading too many books (read comics) had landed him with myopia and he had failed to clear the physical for the armed medical college. Nevertheless, he had finished medical school and was working as a fellow in a nearby hospital. My class was about to start and so we said our goodbyes. Over the years we kept in touch. About five years after we met, I moved away to DC and started working at a hospital there. Sam have moved to Atlanta but we stayed in touch. At around this time, Sam and I independantly stumbled onto a style that is quite rare. In fact I found an Aikido dojo in DC that also had classes offered in that style of swordsmanship. I happened to mention that to Sam when he was in town for a Kendo tournament and for the first time he stopped us mid meal to go see that class. Apparently Sam had been searching for such a dojo for over a decade. True martial artists are a rare breed. Also a very strange breed. I reluctantly asked for my meal to be packed knowing fully well that it would be a waste. Reheating that dish (and I am forgetting what it was right now) could never handle the reheating..it did something to the flavor. Anyways getting back to the events, Sam and I went back to my dojo and watched a class. The teacher was quite charismatic and very talented. After the class, Sam introduced himself (and of course me) and spoke at length with the teacher. I too was drawn into their conversation and soon found myself promising to return and try out the class soon. I didnt know how given my other classes and work committment but their enthusiasim was infectous.
                  After we left the dojo, Sam could not contain himself. He was already planning on how he would travel regularly to train there at the dojo. I think some readers, especially those not familiar with martial arts might wonder what I am saying here. The ryu or school that Sam made me take him to was a kenjutsu dojo. Kenjutsu was the battlefield art of sword fighting from Japan. Kendo is the more modern sport version which is hugely popular and derived from kenjutsu. Sam loved everything to do with the Japanese sword styles. This was not the first time that I had been dragged to something like this. JapanFest took place each year in many cities., The one in DC is especially nice and many martial art dojos perform there. Sam would always drag me to watch them. And he never missed a single demonstration. I sometimes felt he should have been born a few centuries ago in Japan.
                   Sam was true to his word. He would travel a few times down to DC to study with the group and I found myself also joining with him. It was incredible. Sam could be very persuasive. I did enjoy the people in the group. They were very diverse and quite talented. But then most martial arts groups usually are.  Sam was the purest martial artist. His life, outside of the work arena, consisted of practicing martial arts. He was quite dedicated as well. Sam had black belts in five martial arts that I knew of and then some. He would never tell you of course. Humility was his other quality that drew everyone to him. Sam was quite well liked as well. I watched with admiration as he learned each and every kata that the sensei taught him. I struggled but Sam took to them like a fish to water. Initially, Sam would take the bus/flight to DC and crash on my couch. He practiced all hours that he could. Over time, he started staying at the dojo at nights when he was in DC. Although he told me it was because he could get more hours of practice in if he crashed on the couch in the dojo, I knew he felt a bit awkward as my living situation had changed in the decade we had known each other. I had married and now had two beautiful children. Real hell raisers. I dont know how my saintly wife put up with them. I could escape to the dojo once in a while. She, on the other hand, had no escape apart from work. I knew it was a bit disturbing for Sam. Sam had never married and I doubt he intended to. The others were more than happy to practice with him. Sensei really liked him and he progressed faster than most in the dojo inspite of being there only once a month or so. I think...no I know that he practiced in his free time and in between shifts at the hospital too. I had visited him once and found a few bokken scattered around his office. One was a gift from me on his 29th birthday quite a few years ago.
                  And so we came to accept that we would run into Sam at the dojo on weekends. He practiced the regular hours and at all other hours. If he found someone to practice with that was great...if not then he practiced solo. Usually it was the latter. And he loved it. Moving meditation he called it. I smiled. I did try to get there more when he was in town but it is hard with two small children and increasing work committments. There were other classes held at times when there was no kenjutsu or aikido class there. Time share martial arts, he called it before laughing loudly at his own joke. Of course, he was right. It was hard financially to stay afloat for most groups if they did not have such a time share arrangement. He stayed for the most part of the weekend at the dojo. When other groups were not practicing he stayed and practiced. Once the other groups arrived, he would leave for the Starbucks a block away. I invited him over many times. However, he would politely refuse. His patterns did not change. Every few weeks, he would arrive on a Friday evening and stay at the dojo till Sunday evening. He would attend every practice session we had and then some more. Sometimes he would watch the other classes that took place in between our practice sessions. They all seemed to welcome him in. The teachers and students alike. I guess everyone recognised a kindred spirit. I would drop off a blanket and pillow for him once he decided to stay at the dojo instead of our couch. The dojo was not well heated and could get quite chilly at nights. I would pick them up on Sunday evening after class before dropping him off at the airport. This went on for quite a few years. We both had adjusted to this arrangement and it suited us fine. I was happy to see him and practice with him whenever he was in town. Although I wondered at times the kind of dedication it takes to do what he did- sleep on a hard couch in the dojo, spend his life practicing and thinking of nothing else but martial arts. Truly a dedicated martial artist.
                 The events I speak of happened a few years after the birth of my second child. Sam had been coming down to train with the DC group for almost 10 years now. Sam had one quality that I really envied. Sam was usually a sound sleeper. A fact I had discovered years ago when the fire alarm in our building went off and I had to drag him down the stairs half asleep. He slept no more than 6 hours a day and yet slept more peacefully than anyone I knew. I, on the other hand, had not had a decent night's sleep after the birth of our eldest. Sam arrived as usual on Friday evening and I picked him up from the airport. We had dinner at our usual restaurant. A small Italian place that Sam favoured. After dinner I dropped him off at the dojo and left.
                The next morning, I arrived at the dojo at 10 AM to practice with him for an hour before the the morning class. Sam was already on the mats when I entered the dojo. I wasnt surprised by that at all. He usually practiced immediately after the first group had left at 9. Sam was in peak physcial condition. But he seemed to be sweating more than the usual amount. I had hardly ever seen him break into a sweat even when he went up against some of the best. I had just started warming up when he saw me and came over. He seemed to be quite excited. In between pushups and stomach crunches, Sam told me about the sword master he had met earlier in the day. I knew that the owner of the space sometimes rented the early mornings out but had never seen the man he described. Sam had woken up at 4 AM for his early morning run. After his 5k run, he was in the shower, when he heard someone in the changing rooms. He poked his head out of the shower and saw an elderly Asian gentleman putting on his gi in the changing room. He wished him and the elderly gentleman returned his greeting. He quickly finished showering and joined the elderly gentleman in the changing room. They chatted as they changed and then went upstairs to the mat/practice rooms to practice. It seemed that the elderly gentleman had rented the place but did not mind Sam's presence. They warmed up and then started their solo practice at opposite ends of the dojo. However, Sam could not keep his eyes away from the older martial artist. He seemed  to be over 80 and yet moved like a 20 year old. His movements were fluid. He was practicing a similar style of kenjutsu. Only his movements were nothing like he had seen before. Sam waited for him to finish and then approached him. The older gentleman was only to happy to work with Sam. From the first strike, Sam knew he was outclassed. The older sensei seemed to sense Sam's movements even before Sam had himself realised it himself. Sam did all he could to attack initially and then realised that he would be better off trying to fend off attacks. He did not have a chance to attack anyway and the older sensei got through his defences with ease. When they stopped, Sam was perspiring like it was his first day of training. Their sparring session had lasted less than 5 minutes. Sam bowed and apologised. The older sensei smiled and started training again with Sam. Sam, I knew, was as skilled if not more than our current sensei. The way he spoke of this older gentleman, I knew he had found a new sensei. Practitioners like Sam were rare. Our sensei had commented that Sam would not be with us for much longer. There was little more that he could teach Sam. I had felt both a sense of pride and envy at that statement of his but knew it to be true. I could see now that he was right. Sam had found a new sensei. I would have loved to train with them but I had too many things going on to be able to do so. I was happy for my friend. And so it was. Sam continued to train with us and with the elderly gentleman. His skill levels improved in leaps and bounds. It truly takes two- a good teacher and a good student. Sam did not hesitate to teach us what he was learning. However, he was always respectful of our sensei and that of his new sensei. The years rolled by.
                I often thought of coming in early to meet his other sensei but somehow never managed to do so. I probably would never have were it not for ...Sam was on a flight to DC as usual and it crashed. Everyone on board perished in the crash. It came as quite a shock to me. I was at the airport waiting for him when I learned of the crash. It took me a few days to process things. I couldnt believe that someone like Sam could die so easily. How truly fragile life really is. Of course, I attended his funeral. My third visit to Boston. The other two had been for his graduation from the fellowship program and for a conference. His lawyer met me at the funeral and informed me that Sam had made me the executor of his will. His will. Although I had one too, I never realised that I would ever have to read that of a friend and a fellow martial arts brother. It took me a considerable time to go through his bequests. He had extensive family both in the USA and back home in India. I was surprised to learn that he had two brothers and a sister who lived in the USA not too far from DC. He had left most of his weapons and martial arts gear to the dojo. Sam collected many weapons from different cultures. Some of there were quite valuable. I was very surprised to see that he had left me quite a few of these in his will. As we finished going through his list of bequests, there was a sealed envelope addressed to our sensei in DC and yet another to his other teacher. The one I had never met. He had left instructions for me to deliver these personally along with two rather rare bottles of sake from his wine collection. I was more than happy to fulfill my late friend's wishes. The first was rather easy to fulfill. It was the second one that proved to be a challenge.
                I inquired at the dojo management office and they had no idea who I was speaking of. Sam had left no name. Just the words Kenjutsu Sensei, DC scrawled in his barely legible writing using his favorite green ink fountain pen. Sam like fountain pens a lot too. His two passions, I would tease him- fountain pens and katanas. He would always come back that he was a samurai after all. I wondered if the gentleman had moved dojos or had another address where I could reach him. Sadly there was nothing else on the envelope that gave me any clues about his identity. I asked our teacher and he too did not know anything about that gentleman. I asked every group at the dojo and no one seemed to know of him. In fact no one had ever even heard of him. Or seen anyone of that description. I was at my wit's end. The man simply did not seem to exist. And yet Sam had trained with him for over a decade now. Had Sam found another dojo nearby? Or had he simply hidden the truth from me? These negative thoughts plagued my mind. I went to every dojo in a 5 mile radius. You would be surprised to learn of the number of dojos that actually exist in DC. I know I was. Nothing. No one knew of them. I cursed myself for not having paid closer attention to Sam's words and description of the style. I checked Sam's Facebook page. He hardly ever posted. Most were pictures that he had been tagged in by others. I posted a request about the identity of the style or the name of the master.
                 I spent my free moments thinking of a way to solve this riddle. As I watched my kids eat one Friday and my wife droned on about their plans for the weekend, it hit me. The sensei was always there to train. At 5 AM. every Saturday and Sunday. Sam had said so on many occasions. I knew now how to get in touch with him. However getting to the dojo at 5 AM was quite a challenge. I lived about an hour and fifteen minutes away. And I did not want to miss him if I was late. It had already been 3 months since Sam's passing. I quickly dressed, threw the blanket and pillow in the car and told my wife of my plans. She was not pleased. It was my turn to help the kids with their bath. But she stoically kept her silence and nodded her acquiesce. She was truly a saint. And I loved her deeply. I made a mental note to make it up to her.
                 I drove to the dojo and made it there just as the last students were clearing out. Some who knew of my friendship with Sam, came up to offer their words of sympathy. Sam had touched their lives too. I settled in for the night. I would be a long one. I dared not fall asleep in case I missed him. But whenever we try to keep awake, sleep will always invariably overcome us. And so too I passed out at some point in the night. I dont know when. I was woken up by a rhythmic clacking. Initially I thought it was the sound of the bamboo pieces at the base of the numerous scrolls hitting the walls. It took me a few minutes to realise that they were the familiar sounds of bokken hitting each other. Click Clack Click Clack. Over and over. I could hear the kiai. It was intense but not loud. But these were different. The bokkens barely seemed to make contact. And the speed at which they were moving was unbelievable. I had never seen anyone move with that speed. I rubbed my sleep heavy eyes and slowly adjusted to the dim light in the dojo. I could barely make out their outlines as they moved. It took all my concentration to see them and yet I could barely see them. I sat up and waited. I had found him. He had another student by the sound of it. Sam have never mentioned that. In fact, I clearly remembered Sam stating that the older sensei trained by himself. Well until Sam had joined him.
 

Keep your nose clean

                   He watched them laugh. The boy and the girl. Immigrants. Their clothes made them look American but their accents gave them away. How long ago did they land here? Possibly came by boat. No not Mexican, he thought to himself. Paki. Or possibly Indian. He couldn't tell. They all looked the same. How did that matter anyway? In a few hours he would rob them, and then.... He smiled viciously as he thought of the events yet to come. The boy turned to look at him. Could the boy have read his thoughts, he wondered. He had seen animals do that. The boy seemed worried and wary. That wouldn't do. The girl caught the look on her boyfriend's face and followed the boy's gaze. The boy smiled and calmed her down. He took this opportunity to touch her on the shoulder and his hand slipped down a few inches as he took his hand off off his girlfriend. The girl did not seem to object. They continued walking their bicycles. He stopped at a shop and let them get ahead a bit. That seemed to reassure them. The boy had been casually glancing back. They would still remain in his field of view. He had followed them from Prudential Center mall. But that was not how the evening had started for him. In fact he was not a criminal. Had not hurt a fly till today nor thought of it. He had kept his nose clean. always. Just like his pappy had taught him to do. Boston had been a big change for a boy from a little town in Alabama. A town so small that he was sure, he was related to everyone in some way or the other. A small scholarship to one of the two hundred colleges had allowed him to escape his dreary existance. He had never wanted to be a farmer. Although his father thought it was what he should do. Not waste time with fancy degrees. A bachelors was hardly a fancy degree as he had found out on his first date. Another first had happened that night. A rejection. The girl had taken one look at him and turned and walked out. Dungarees were probably not the right choice for a date in Boston. He had learned quickly after that. A few chance findings at thrift stores and trash thrown out by the rich kids in college had helped expand and considerably "upgrade" his wardrobe. His next date, secured after six months, had atleast seated herself before laughing at his plans for the future. She too had left. Although she had had the decency to pretend there was an emergency when the phone rang. He found her cussing him out on the phone when he emerged after paying for them. She was looking for her car keys in that small chic purse she had brought. Gucci. He had read the label. Much too large for the size of the bag. Probably a fake. Everyone in Boston seemed to be pretending to be someone they were not. He too had learned to do so. He hardly spoke about himself on dates after that. Girls seemed to like that a lot. They could speak endlessly. They spoke of trivial things. Parties. Bands. Music concerts. Movies. What did he care about these things? He could barely make rent on his scholarship inspite of sharing his room with three others. He pretended not to notice them and his roommates returned the favor. At nights, frequently after the lights had been turned out, he could hear them grunting softly and then a sigh. Release. An end to their frustration. He could understand it. Men were hunters. That was all they could think of. Raging bags of hormones. And here they were surrounded in the city by their prey. Girls in tight skin hugging clothes, much too small to hide anything. He used to smile. In his hometown, space was never an issue. Neither was finding a willing girl. Here of course things were different. They would  tease endlessly and yet never ...Ah well. He had learned their game well. Soon he achieved success in his extra-curricular activities. So much success that his roommates started acknowledging him and even inviting him out with them. He always politely made excuses for his absence. Hunters learn to hunt alone. He had learned this lesson back home out hunting and soon realised that only his jungle and prey had changed. The methods were transferable. Silence taught him loads, just as they had in the wild. Insecurities were rife. People were so starved of human contact in this densely populated city that it was shocking. College ended and he found himself seeking a job. No longer were exams and classes his problem, replaced as they were with frustration of applying to jobs and not finding any. Always the job seemed a good fit but very few converted to interviews and fewer to further interviews. He soon realised that this degree was not worth the paper it was printed on. He found a cheaper living arrangement. His three former roommates had been replaced with 7 others. The same encounters but different people. Did people really differ that much?

His money had all but run out. Finding odd jobs even at minimum wage was proving hard. He often wondered if he should move back home. He would be a laughing stock but at least he would have a belly full of food and a decent bed at night. Hard work had never bothered him. Dates were out. He could barely feed himself let alone take another out. Plus a depressed mind did not take to listening easily. He chased away a handful of easy targets before he took himself out of the game. Yes he did consider it a game. He had seen the rookie mistakes most of these others made and laughed at them in the past. Not out loud of course. That would be too cruel. Now he saw himself make the same. Karma or something like that class hippie had said, keeps coming back to haunt us. Not that he believed in all this new age non-sense. And just like that his luck had changed. A blonde he had designs on mentioned a job her cousin had been turned down for. He had had the good sense to ask some careful questions and for the first time he found himself leaving a date. This inspite of the bald offer of sex from the same blonde. Some things were too hard to pass up on. The recruiter was an old classmate that he had helped out in a moment of pity. A complete nerd who had no shot with the redheaded girl he wanted to go out with. That was until he had worked his magic and made it happen. A few months ago, he had received an invitation to their wedding. Their kids better not get his looks or her brains, he had chuckled. There would be no hope for them then. He dug up his old class directory and tracked down his classmate. He had to call in his favor but it was worth it. He managed to get the job. He had lasted six years at the job. A janitor. He cleaned after students in classes where at one time he himself had been a student. He smiled at the irony and the workings of fate. He saw behind their false smiles and wondered if they knew they had not future. He was quite sure none of them recognised him or knew of his time here. Keep your nose clean. That was what his father had taught him and he did just that. Kept to himself. He had a bit of spending money now and started dating again. During the day he was a lowly janitor but at night he came into his own. A prince of the nights. Life went on like that for a few years. Eight to be exact. And then overnight things changed. Recession hit. Some fool on Wall Street had goofed up in their greed and pushed the market to the limits. People were slowly let go. Clean toilets would still be needed and so he retained his job. Then Mike was let go. That shocked him out of his complacency. Just a bit. Mike had been a janitor too. He had joined a few months ago. The workload increased. He did not mind. Jake who complained was asked to leave too. Keep your nose clean. He went about his job as usual. Only now he checked in two hours earlier and left an hour later. The pay of course was not increased to reflect the changed working hours.

He still remembered the day clearly. He had already cleaned most of the third floor and was working his way down to the second floor lecture rooms, when he saw his friend emerge with a moving box. The same fellow who had recruited him. He rushed over to help him. His friend looked sad. In the ten minutes it took them to walk to his friend's car in the parking lot, he heard of the things to come. After his friend had pulled away from the parking lot, he gazed up at the buildings that had been home to him for a little over a decade now. He wondered when he would be asked to leave. He didnt have to wait long to find out. His supervisor was waiting for him by his cleaning trolley when he re-entered the building with an exasperated look on his face. He asked him to report to his office after putting the trolley back in its space. He meekly complied. In his supervisor's office, he got what he was sure the same spiel his nerdy friend had received. Budget cuts. Things were going worse. More redundancies were inevitable. He could finish the day but at the end of the day, he needed to hand in his badge, clear out his locker of all personal belongings and collect his severance packet from payroll the next morning. He tried to protest, but his supervisor raised his hand. There would be no discussion. He asked him to send Bill in when he saw him. He nodded and left the office. As he finished his rounds for the day, he wondered how he would come up with the rent for next month. He had just bought a second hand car three months ago. He wondered if he could sell the old Mustang. It was pretty beat up but worked quite well. A few weeks of labour had her looking just like new. Well as close to new as possible. He had named her Molly after a girl he had once gone out with. He had probably loved her too. Too bad she had decided to marry Will instead. As he reflected on this, he realised that was probably the reason he had decided to leave his home and come here. Ah well. Another Molly was leaving him. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to name the car, Molly. She was a jinx. He changed out of his coveralls and cleaned out his locker. As he played with his badge, he decided not to hand it in. He doubted his boss would care. The guy was too busy saving his own skin to care. He did not look back as he walked out. His friend had stood there for a few minutes and looked askance at the buildings they had spent so many years in. He had no such sentiments to express.
He zoomed off in his car a little faster than he had intended to but it felt good. A week later, he sold the car for half the price he had paid for it. As he watched the new owner drive away at speeds much faster than he had driven Molly, he felt a twinge of pain, albeit briefly. He went back to his apartment and packed his meager belongings in a small rucksack. Luckily, he had run into the same blonde again at the bar the same night that he had been sacked. She had put on a few pounds but still looked nice. They chatted and he had ended up spending the night at her place. Next morning, she asked him to move in. He was a bit surprised and started to protest, but she explained logically that he needed to save money while looking for a job. A few drinks had loosened his tongue it seemed. Well he could not fault her logic and decided to move in at the end of the month. A week later he found himself, sans car, and ringing the doorbell to her little condo. Her parents had died a few years ago and their life insurance money had helped her buy a couple of condos- most of which she rented out. Not a bad set up, he smiled. She was nice but a bit of a nag. She reminded him on his second night that he needed to go pick up his severence packet and could borrow her Miata if he wanted to. He nodded. The very next morning he took the bus to the payroll offices. As he collected his money, he spied an old Indian man come in and collect money from the other counter. He would not have thought much of it had he not seen him wearing his old coveralls. They had not changed the name tag. So they had replaced him with someone else. They had not even bothered to outsource his job. The fellow was paid in cash. No paper trial. So that was why they had fired him and hired the old man. A rage boiled up inside him and followed the man out. The old man slowly walked out. He had a limp of some sort that slowed his progress. The old did not go to the parking lot but instead to the road and waited at the bus stop for the bus that would come an hour later, he knew from his years here. The rage dissipated. He had wanted to hurt the old man but now...He punched a nearby tree and the punch caused him more pain than he had anticipated. The old man had glanced at him when he had yelled out in pain. He nursed his hand and slowly walked to the bus stop. He sat down on the small bench to wait. What other options did he have? The old man pulled out a small scarf and held it out gingerly. He nodded. His left hand had already started to swell. Probably a fracture. He did not have insurance so he would have to fix this himself. He gratefully accepted the gentle admonishment from the older Indian man as he helped bind his hand. He thanked the old man who brushed his thanks aside with a wave of his hand. The old man also handed him an Advil that helped slightly with the pain. The hour passed quite quickly and when the bus pulled up the old man wished him a quick recovery as he climbed on the bus. He waited there and watched the bus pull away before realising that he needed to be on it. The next bus would not be there for another hour and a half now. It was an hour back into town. No matter. He might as well walk. He could get a lift perhaps, although, he had very low hopes of that based on past experience and the time. It was past six now.
As he started walking dejectedly, he massaged his hand as best as he could. The Advil and the bandage had helped. He wondered about what he would do. What he could do. His degree was useless as he had realised years ago. Maybe he could get a job flipping burgers. Even those jobs demanded experience these days. As he ran through his options, it started to pour. New England weather is so capricious. It was not possible to stay dry or take shelter anywhere. Who knew how long it would continue to rain? He just continued walking. Better to get home sooner than later and change into some dry clothes. He cursed his luck all the way home. Should have borrowed the car.
An hour later when he entered the house, she was there waiting for him. She scolded him for not calling and walking home in this weather. All the rage that had been boiling up inside him an hour earlier came out in one explosion. He struck her. Hard. And felt his hand scream with pain. He had forgotten about his hand. He pushed past her and went to bathroom. He remembered that she had some painkillers there. Only Advil. He took three of them and walked back out to face an angry woman. She needed time to cool off and so did he. He ignored her questions and walked back out in the rain.

     Boston is such a quaint old town. He did not mind walking in the rain lost in his thoughts and cursing his fate. He wandered aimlessly for hours. At some point, exhausted from his exertions, he sat down on a bench at some bus stop. The bus arrived and as he climbed on, he searched for his wallet. Only then did he realise that he did not have enough money on his card. He got off ignoring the caustic remarks and the exasperated look from the driver. Another Indian or Paki. Damn foreigners. They were taking over everywhere. When did America become so...so non-American. Something needed to be done about these foreigners. They should be deported and prevented from taking over like this. He wanted to hit something. Anything. Just a few punches. Life had dealt him such a horrible hand. He wanted to ...thats when he first noticed them. The two of them. Walking hand in hand. Clearly not American. She wore one of those weird things that he had seen terrorists wear in news snippets. Only flashier and much more clingy. Showed off her curves and the deep cut at the top showed off much more. The boy could barely keep his eyes off. He didnt know what came over him. He found himself getting up and following them. These foreigners needed to be taught a lesson. Get tough with them and they would leave. America had grown soft. He would show them. One foreigner at a time. If it took him the rest of his life so be it.
            They were out on a date by the looks of it. Early on in their relationship but this was not their first date. The girl walked quite close to the boy. The cycles away from them rather than between them. Some barriers had been overcome. Good move, boy. He chuckled at the thought. They were not holding hands yet so they were not that close. Although the boy would casually let his hand brush against hers and she did not seem to object. Testing waters. He remembered how he himself had done that at one time. Each touch like an electric current surging through his nervous system. A hope lit like no other in his mind. Ah to be in love and young again. They walked slowly. Meandering would be more accurate. As far he could see the boy and the girl were in no hurry to get anywhere. Probably going home after a date. That was good. He would not have to wait for them. The road was quite dark. Boston, although an ancient city, did not have a very good street light system in most parts. Well it did but what they had was insufficient for any purpose. For once, he was thankful. He blended easily into the darkness and was able to follow them inconspicuously. He could hear their jilted conversation. Meaningless small talk. Just an excuse to stay out for a bit longer and share each other's company. He wondered why they just did not go to one of their apartments. Probably roommates.

Friends

                  Ashok lay on the bed reminiscing. Friendship is a strange thing. He lay there thinking back on his life. At what point did they become friends, he wondered? He couldnt be sure. What had it been. Ten- Twelve years? No, It had been twenty years since the last time he had met Asim in any case. He remembered that day quite clearly. 7th June 1993. He doubted he would ever forget that day when Asim gave him the news. They were playing one on one baseketball. Asim had waited till after they were done with their game. Another draw. They had always been equally matched. As they sat on the emply bleacher, seats sipping on their Gatorade, Asim had broken the news to him gently. His father was being moved, no transferred. They would be leaving in a couple of weeks. It was always that simple with Asim. Quick and to the point. As he had struggled to hide his involuntary tears, Asim had looked far away into the distance and continued sipping his drink. He had never thought that this would come to pass. As he had struggled to voice his thoughts, Asim had looked at him. Straight in the eye. It would be alright he had said. Then, just as suddenly, Asim had pointed to the bright lights of the theatre that stood across the street. Wouldn't it be great to meet there after say fifteen or twenty years? To reconnect after all the years? Play another game of basketball? Grab a real drink? Ashok remembered Asim boxing him playfully on the shoulder at this point? He looked up to see Asim wink. They had tried to get fake id cards. But no matter what the id said, every shopkeeper, bar owner and liquor store owner had been able to guess their real age. Twelve. Heck they looked like they were ten no matter how hard they had tried to look older. Ashok had been lying down on his bed till now. He wondered if he still had that fake id card? He sat up and opened the drawer on table next to his bed. He rifled through his drawer and found the old tin lunch box that he had used as a child. He opened the box and was hit by another wave of nostalgia. Cards, nick nacks and other things that a young boy would hold dear. And then he found it. His id card. Jose Jesus Lopez. He laughed out loud. They had been stupid. The picture was his but the details were someone else's. As he replaced it in the box, his eye caught the small bundle of letters that lay there. There were only three letters. Tied together with a piece of rubber band that had melted and stained the paper. The rubber band had fallen apart but still served its purpose. Well the stickiness of the molten dried rubber bands is what kept them together. It did not matter to Ashok. Nevertheless he carefully removed the rubber band.

                       After Asim had moved to California, they had kept in touch via letters for a few months. Then these too petered out. They tried emails. The new thing. It had worked for a while  Then the interval between the emails like the letters grew longer and then they finally stopped coming. Ashok could not remember if he had sent the last email or if Asim had. Life had taken over. New friends. New activities. Then moving for college. His first real girlfriend. Who would gradute to becoming his fiance. And finally his wife. He looked over. She slumbered softly next to him, oblivious of his thoughts. His career as a staff writer at Boston Globe kept him fairly busy. He knew he could use the resources at his disposal to find Asim quite easily. Find him and everything that had happened to him in the intervening years. But then again that would ruin the surprise. He looked at the Sony alarm clock. The same one he had used all these years. Three days to their meeting. He wondered if Asim was still in California. Or even in the USA for that reason. He didnt know yet. But he would in a few days. He looked at the clock again. A little over 67 hours to go. They had made a pact. One of those life altering pacts that only twelve year olds can dream up. To meet again at the theatre, twenty years to the date and time. To them it had made sense. Now he felt it was a bit silly. What if Asim was halfway around the world? What if he had other committments that would prevent him from coming? A phone call would have been more practical. But Ashok would be there.
                       
                         He had moved back to Boston after graduating from college. The winters had been an improvement on Michigan and so his wife, Miyako had not complained about the move. Their flat was a lot smaller but young couples in love Boston. And for two in love, like them, it had not mattered. Miyako and he had selected a flat in Fenway. Secretly, he had been glad for it as his route to work took him by the theater daily. Sometimes, he stopped and wondered about Asim. His life. Had he gone to college? Had he a girlfriend? A wife? Maybe a child? What did he do for work now? Today he had stopped by the theater again. Only a few hours ago. He would not have long to wait now. Tomorrow he would visit the pastry shop they had loved as kids and place an order for chocolate eclairs. Asim loved that. And perhaps some creme brulee. He had always had a sweet tooth. Ashok closed the box and put it away. Carefully. He had to be more careful now that Miyako was pregnant. After seven years of trying, she had finally conceived. But that wasnt without its side effects. Her sleep was quite light these days and she had all the weird cravings. Why a week ago she had insisted on eating steak at one in the morning. He looked at her as she slept. She looked so peaceful. He sat there for a while and then, on impulse, he planted a kiss on her cheek before turning the bedside lamp off and lying down next to her. As he lay there, in the darkness of the night, he could hear the sounds of the passing cars in the street downstairs.He listened to the street sounds for a while before his attention was captivated by the ticking of the clock that he could not see. He knew it was on the wall. Miyako had picked it out at the flea market. IT was an old brass clock from Europe that someone who had fallen on hard times was forced to sell. A family heirloom, Miyako had said. He had just nodded. She was the art history major. Besides a few years ago, she had picked up a Turner at the flea market and they ahd sold that for a tidy sum. He glanced over at her again. He could barely see the silhouette of her face in the dim moonlight. He loved her so much. He hoped that Asim had found someone like her. That was his last thought as he slowly drifted into sleep.

                   The next morning, he woke up a bit later than he usually did and so these thoughts were the last thing on his mind as he rushed to get to work. The next two days were quite busy at work. He had almost forgotten about his plans to order desserts. Luckily for him, Mickey's had had enough to cover what he needed. As he went home the evening before their meeting, he was rather happy. The latest ultrasound had shown they were having a little girl. One as beautiful as Miyaho, he had said. Their parents had been thrilled too. They have all given up hope on a biological child. Asim would be so happy to hear the news too. He clutched the packet with the desserts a little tighter. His boss had agreed to let him have the afternoon off that Friday. Not that he cared. Most people took off without permission on Fridays by two in the afternoon. He entered their flat. Miyako was lying on the bed. Strict bed rest, the doctor had cautioned them. Miyako wasnt taking any chances. He smiled at her and then went off to prepare dinner. He would wake her up later. She already knew about the twenty year old appointment. He had told Miyako so much about Asim, that she was looking forward to meeting hm as much as Ashok was. He cooked in silence and hummed alter as he put the food on the table. Miyako was already there. They ate in silence and called it  an early night. Tomorrow was the big day. Ashok could not sleep for a long time that night. The excitement of coming events was too much. He lay there listening to the clock tick away. Counting down the seconds.
                   Ashok did not remember when he passed out the prvious night but that hardly mattered. He literally jumped out of bed the next morning and was out fhe door in less than a half hour. Miyako was surprised. Usually he was not much of a morning person. She smiled as she heard him slam the door shut. She had instructions to be ready by 3 pm so they could go wait there. The pact they had made was to meet at 4 pm. That day Ashok could hardly focus at work. He turned his column in and was told off for the copy editing errors. He did not care. His edictor asked him if he was sick but Ashok shook his head. As he left for the day, the editor shook his head. Perhaps it was to do with the new baby. He know of Ashok and Miyako's bad luck with children. Three miscarriages over seven years. He hoped this one would make it. They were almost there, he had heard Ashok tell Amanda, the graphics designer a few weeks ago. He sat back down at his desk to correct the article Ashok had just handed in and thought no more of it. We all need a little help sometimes.
                   Ashok almost skipped all the way home. Asim and he had been inseparable as kids. The terrible two. The teachers were petrified of them. No matter who casued the trouble these two would find themselves being punished. They must have a stake in such actions, their teachers had reasoned.Ashok chuckled as he rememeberd their exploits. Putting red ink into the teacher's cup of tea to make them think they were bleeding. Or the time they had put super-glue onto the toilet seat in the faculty lounge. Mr. Cornwall had been forced to cancel the exam after spending three hours stuck to the throne. Or the time they had set off the fire alarms in the principal's office. He had rushed out half clothed along with his secretary. Had created quite a scandal that one prank had... He laughed as he walked past the theatre. Some of the others on the street gave him looks. The look that one would give a crazy person. Ashok didnt care nor did he observe their looks. He continued on his way home.
When he got home, he found Miyako waiting for him. She was just as excited as he was. They have a quick lunch and then Ashok went off to the theater to meet Asim. Miyako was to wait at home for them to return. It was the height of summer and they had decided it was better if she waited at home. It did not make sense to tax her especially in her delicate condition. Ashok nearly ran all the way to the theatre. And then he waited. They had decided to meet opposite the ticket counter and thats where he waited now. He stood there and eagerly peered into every face that passed by. Thankfully he was looking for someone Indian. Even then, Boston has a large population of Indians as he discovered that day. Every male face was scanned with a hope which was soon dashed. Finally at five, after two hours of waiting, he sat down on the bench that was there. As time had passed by, he had started to lose hope. Maybe it was only he who remembered. He did not blame Asim. It HAD been twenty years. The pact seemed silly now. And yet he could not make himself leave. Not even when there was screeching of tires half a block away. He watched the ambulance screech to the site after a few minutes. It was just a few minutes before five. Since Asim would have been there a few minutes later, he just had to stay. Someone had been hit by a car or truck, he found out from a passerby. Boston drivers, he had thought but had gone back to scanning faces. As he sat there, he wondered how longer he should wait. The excitement of the accident had died down by now. The crowds had dispersed. It had been distracting for a while. Very sad though and yet it had helped him pass the time as he waited. He glanced at his watch again. It was a little before six. He zipped up his jacketand turned up the collar. He should have taken the fleece jacket that Miyako had suggested. Ah well. He would give him thirty minutes more and then leave. It was rather strange waiting here. A few of of the ushers had approached him when they saw him there. They wanted to see if he was okay. When he had mentioned why he was there to the last one, the man had given him a stragne look and left. After that they did not bother him. Although the weather was not as kind. Boston weather was so unpredictable. He shuddered as a fresh gust blew by. He watched as the invisible hands picked up a stray piece of paper. He observed it dance with her invisible partner. So beautiful. Almost like a waltz. A very passionate waltz. As he stood there observaing the pice of paper, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
                        He turned to see one of the ushers. His hopes which had risen with the tap, were dashed as he observed their maroon livery. Maroon with gold. Frayed over time. He wondered if someone had worn the same uniform all those years ago. He impatiently tried to wave the old usher away, when the usher asked him if his last name was Williams by any chance. Ashok nodded. His father had been American and his mother Indian. They had met when his father had backpacked across India. They had met and his father's one month trip had turned into five years. And then they had come here to Boston and raised him and his sister. The usher smiled. A man had come by a few minutes before he had come and stopped by the counter. He had been on duty at that time. The Indian man had left a note for a Mr Williams. They had naturally assumed Mr Williams was Caucasian or African American man, given the last name. He had not seen Ashok waiting there until a few minutes ago, when one of the other ushers had pointed to him and....He left the sentence hanging. Ashok could guess the rest. The usher reached into his usher reached into his inner pocket and brought out the note. Asim had been there. Ashok nearly cried. He had remembered too. The usher patted him on the shoulder and smiled before he left Ashok to read his note. He had seen so much working there at the theatre. Twenty two years. He thought he recognised Ashok. But he couldnt be sure. He had once thrown two boys out for setting a toilet on fire with firecrackers. No it could not be one of them. They had been inseparable too. Friendships are strange things. He smiled as he traveled down memory lane. He looked up at the lights and displays. This had been home for him for so long. He wondered what he would do after they retired him in a couple of years. Meanwhile as our usher took a leisurely stroll through memory lane, Ashok had sat back down. The cold, surprisingly, did not seem to bother him anymore. He could feel a strange glow. Not from the billboard advertising the latest blockbuster though. He slowly unfolded the hastily written note. Asim still had the same beautiful handwriting. He smiled as he read his friend's note. He had remembered something that he had to do and would be back soon. If he wasnt, could Ashok leave his phone number and address on the other side of the note. Asim would call soon and they could meet later the same evening. Ashok smiled. Trust him to be so spontaneous. After all their pact had been a spontaneous one too. He fished inside his pockets for a pen and wrote down his address, phone number and even drew a crude map of how to get to his apartment from the theatre. He found the old usher inside the counter and handed him back the note. He explained the situation. The old man smiled kindly. He had seen far stranger things in his time there. He promised to do as asked. Ashok thanked him and left. As he walked home, his sense of elation was mixed with a sense of dejection. It is strange how these two contrary feelings could coexist at the same time in one person. Human beings like friendships are strange things.
                As he walked into his apartment, he saw Miyako stand up and search the hallway behind him. He slowly walked to the sofa and sat down. She peeked outside and then finally closed the door. She came and sat down next to him. Of course she assumed the worse. She placed her hands in his and then rested her thin neck on his shoulder. He wrapped her in his arms and told her everything. She smiled. There was still hope, she reminded him. As they sat there, they watched the last lights of the sun go out, and the moon rays shine through their window into their tiny apartment. It was a really pretty sight. The same sight that had convinced Miyako that this would be their home all those years ago. He smiled. How quickly he had forgotten. Back then, this was all they could afford. Two fresh college graduates. Then Miyako had found the Turner and they could have moved but somehow they had stayed. He kissed her on the forehead. Gently. He loved her so much. She purred her satisfaction. They moved closer. As only lovers can even while hugging. They sat in  silence there for a while. Silence interrupted only by the sounds of the occasional passing car in the street below and the ticking of the clock on the wall behind them. Peace, he thought must be something like this. If only he could freeze this moment forever. As they sat there lost in the moment, he thought he heard a knock on the door. Faint at first but it grew louder after a few seconds. It came in sevens. Tut-tuta-tut-tutt-tutt tutt ...tutt. He almost jumped off off the sofa. Their old code.Miyako looked cross. He aopologised and half stammered his explanation. He was here. HE WAS HERE.
                 Miyako smiled at her husband. She could still see the strange lost boy who got excited by the strangest things. They had met in the library. Or so he thought. She had seen him, heck almost stalked him for three months before she had engineered a meeting at the library. She nodded. She did love him so much. She tousled his hair and went off to fix her make up a bit. He was too excited to notice. Men! As she walked into the bathroom, Ashok threw open the door. There he stood. Asim.
                He had changed. Well of course he had. It had been twenty years. TWENTY! Two decades. Five or six presidents, he count note remember. Measuring time is so hard at times. They stood there unsure of what to do with silly grins on their face. One tried to hug as the other tried a hand-shake. Then they switched. And finally they just shook hands that turned into a bear hug. Tears streamed down their face. It was joyous reunion. Ashok ushered him into the flat and onto the sofa. Asim pointed at the pictures on the mantlepiece and Ashok walked him through the last twenty years of his own life. Miyako would be out shortly, he told Asim. Asim nodded. Asim told him about his own life. He was divorced with one child. A seven year old boy, Adam, who lived with his mother. Bad divorce laywer, he joked. He still got a couple of days with Adam every month. Not the best situation but ..Ashok nodded his understanding. Divorce rates were rising. Infact, Wendy, a colleague of his had written an article about it a few weeks ago. Asim told him about his life in California. He had found work as a casting agent. The chatted amiably for a while. Then Asim got up. Ashok seemed a bit surprised. Did he have to leave already? It had only been a few minutes. Miyako wanted to meet him. Asim shook his head apologetically. He had to meet someone that night. Maybe tomorrow? If Ashok was free. Ashok laughed. Of course he was free. Besides Miyako would kill Ashok if he let Asim go back without meeting him. Asim laughed. They made plans to meet the very next day for brunch. And then wander around Boston. Just like the old days. Visit all their old haunts. They embraced before Asim left.
                After Asim left, Ashok sat down on the sofa. It was nice meeting him again, after all these years. He glanced at the clock. 7:30 PM. He had been here only for fifteen minutes. He noticed the unopened box of desserts that Miyako had placed on dining table. In his excitement, Ashok had forgotten to offer him any. No matter. they would last. Miyako emerged from the bathroom. She looked  around the apartment. And then at him quizzically. She had heard voices but was surprised to see Ashok sitting there all by himself. Ashok told her of their plans. She smiled. She could prepare something for their brunch tomorrow now. She wished Asim had stayed for dinner. She had laid out the dinner things while Ashok was out. She pulled him off off the sofa so they could go  have dinner. He pulled her close instead and they hugged there. She knew how much this meant to her husband. Men may be incapable of emotional displays and her husband was no different. Yet she could see the subtle change in her husband. She held him close. He would make a great father. Inspite of his doubts.They danced softly. Swayed to a beat that only they could hear. Miyako loved to dance with him. He had taken her dancing on their third date. Thats when she knew, she would marry him. They danced for a while before a rumbling from his stomach made Miyako burst into laughter. Ashok made a face and reminded her that he had not eaten in a few hours. They laughed and went off to have dinner. Ashok discussed things they could do tomorrow with Asim. Miyako smiled. He was giddy as a schoolboy. Not surprising since the last time they had met they had been school boys..
                After dinner, they watched the news. Ashok loved watching the news. Miyako thought it was funny that he did since he was a news reporter himself. She tousled his hair. No matter how much he combed it it always looked unruly. A black mop she used to say. She never really saw the news. It was too upsetting these days. But she liked to lie next to him as he watched the news. As they sat on their sofa and  he watched the news, she rested her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beating. She felt close to him. It was so relaxing to sit there like that. Soon they would have another...
               AHHHH!!!! His cry interrupted her thoughts. He sat up suddenly. She almost fell off the sofa, as she had been sitting next to him and had been pushed off as he jerked up. She was about to tell him off when she saw him pointing to the screen. She looked at the screen. They were flashing the video of an Indian man being taken away by the ambulance. She heard the newsreader tell them about the accident that happened in Fenway around 5 PM the same evening. A pedestrian had been the victim of a hit and run. The driver who had hit him was still absconding. It had happened a block away from the theatre. A middle aged man in a black sedan, number plates unknown had committed the crime. The police were on the look out for him. An ambulance had rushed him to the nearest hospital. The victim was said to be in a serious condition. As they shifted to the on-site reporter, Miyako heard her say that the victim was in the ICU. The doctors were not sure if he would survive the night. He had suffered extensive injuries and had been in surgery since arrival at the hospital. As she spoke, the newsreader paused as news readers do, and listened to her earpiece and then relayed the latest update. More details had been released by the hospital. His name was Asim Cooper. The famous Hollywood director. Mr Cooper, a resident of California, had recently been in the news for his very public divorce from his wife, the famous Hollywood beauty..... He had been hit by a driver in Fenway as he crossed the street. The doctors had operated on him and inspite of their best efforts he had succumbed to his injuries just moments before. He had had five surgeries over the past three and a half hours. The official time of death was 9:29 PM. A tragic loss. He was survived by a son. They did not hear the rest of the newscast about his achievements in his short life, including the Oscar he had won last year....Friendship is a strange thing.
                        

The Black Knight.

"What do you say to a woman who asks you if she looks different?, he asked me. "I know she is getting older. A couple of weeks ..maybe a month at most more and she will cease to capture my interest. Its inevitable. I know it. You know it. Heck! She knows it too. ...Or atleast I think she does..." he had continued in this vein without waiting for me to respond. After nearly a decade of knowing him, I had gotten used to it. I had also become accustomed to his monologues. My eyes quickly flashed to the old grandfather clock with roman numerals on the wall. A lucky find at the antique bazaar. It was atleast fifty years old and made of bronze. Although old and a bit offputting for those who like their bronze to shine, I loved the watch. I had loved it at first sight in college and had purchased it with a month's worth of savings. Since I did not go out much it had not been hard. Caring for it was just as fulfilling. I kept it well oiled and tuned. Yes sometimes it lost a bit of time but then it was a beauty to behold. I could still see the the pendulum rocking back and forth through the glass window near the base. The face was octagonal- a bit of a rarity in such clocks..There was no seconds hand either. But then again did I really need to count the seconds? No. No I just had to wait for a half hour to pass and then he would rush out the door without having me spoken a word. Except for the initial greeting that I offered perfunctorily. I smiled as I realised that nothing really had changed in all the time I had known him.
 Him being Jose "Joey Casanova" Cuervo. I met him in college quite by an accident actually. Not his but rather an accident that his former roommate suffered. I am a little shaky on the details now but I remember something about his roommate having caught some sort of bug. One of those diseases that is contagious but not life endangering. In any case James or Joey as he insisted I address him as had had to move into my room. Mine was a double seater but slightly smaller than all the other rooms in the undergraduate dormitory at Harvard. And so most had chosen the other rooms. I did not mind the smaller size of the room. The second bed was now a spare bed that my elder brother would use when he passed through town infrequently. He usually let me have the money his company gave him for the hotel stay in lieu of using the bed. I did not complain. It was a tidy sum even in those days that I used to indulge my passion for books. So I wasnt pleased to say the least with this new arrangement that caused me to lose a nice, though irregular income. I had had the room all to myself the first year and a half of college and had grown to enjoy the solitude. I had never been into socializing and this room had been perfect. No room-mate had other perks as well. No one night stands by the roommate that needed me to stay out or spend the time in the hallways. The room had been the smallest but the arrangement was perfect. I had watched him move in and continue talking about the latest person he had scored with a few hours ago. I had wondered then how many hours it would be before he told me to clear the room so he could have one of his trysts. As he continued talking about Becky..no that wasnt it..Mandy? Chelsea?...Oh I dont remember. There have been so many names that I stopped keeping count or track for that matter. In any case his moniker was well deserved. Born to a Mexican father and an Italian mother, Jose had inherited his good looks and genes from both. I met them a few months later and I was amazed to see how handsome his father was and how young his mother looked even in their early sixties. His charm came from his father and that was clearly evident. Although I doubt his father had felt the need to go after anything in a skirt since meeting his mother. In any case, I inferred that from his comment that he had been a sort of surprise for his parents born almost eight years after their fifth and last child. Joey was the youngest and throughly spoilt as a result. His confidence he gained from his mother, who clearly knew what effect she had on men. I had found most of the boys in the dormitory loitering around my room one evening and discovered later why. She had come to visit her son and was waiting for him there. After that I always knew when she was in our dormitory by the way they behaved. Joey had gained his first moniker at eleven. With his boyish grin, charm and confidence, he resembled the Joseph Tribbiani of F.R.I.E.N.D.S  quite closely. Save for his smooth straight long jet black hair. I know women would have loved to have a head of hair like his and he let it grow long. I wondered why his parents had not objected. Mine had insisted I shear mine to a buzz cut with frequent regularity. Probably a result of being born into an Army family. My father or the Colonel insisted on that and many other rules that are found in such families. I did not mind although my classmates had always found it a reason to make fun of me. That and my shabby clothes. Army personnel are not paid well and my parents did the best they could with four other kids to clothe and feed. We had moved fairly often and as a result I never did form any close friendships. In fact Joey would be the only friend I made and that too only because he had been forced to move into my room.

                       I wondered as he continued his monologue about his conquest of the prior evening, how I should break it to him that I would prefer if he kept his trophies and the goings on outside of these rooms. A direct approach had seemed tactless. Initially at least. However as he continued with his sordid tale, I realised that it might be best to get it over with quickly.
"...so she was on top and I..." he was saying.
"Joey, I know you have an ...an active social life. But could we keep things PG in the room? I mean if you could..." I remember blurting out but soon found myself at a loss for words.
He had looked at me shocked for a few minutes. And then he had burst out laughing. He had an infectious carefree laugh that drew everyone in. I waited with bated breath. I was qutie sure he would tell me to go jump in the well or something. Where was I getting off telling the great Joey what he could or could not do? I was but a gangly chess playing pimple faced kid with glasses and the barest hint of muscle while he was the football quarterback all star, 6'2" tall muscular jock. It was a bit of a joke if you ask me that he had been placed in my room. Joey for all his popularity was quite down to earth. A rare thing. He admired my chess skills and even the rare marble chess board that my father had given me as a gift for getting into Harvard. Another rare thing. He had offered to buy that from me on a number of occasions. He knew what the board meant to me and so when I looked shocked at his proposal he would laugh. Just like he was laughing now. It took a while before he stopped laughing and then told me that I need not worry. He never brought home any of his, and I quote, "babes". Its best that they not know where he lived, he told me with a rougish wink. I did not honestly know what to make of it. So I had just let it pass. True to his word, he never did. I was surprised though when he did not opt to move back at the end of the quarantine period. By then he and his tales had grown on me. I did not really have much to share and so was quite content in smiling and nodding at him. At appropriate times when he glanced in my direction to make sure that I was still listening. Or was it to make sure that I had not fallen asleep.
                College ended and I did well on the MCATs. I had to cross the pond to join the medical school. medical school while Joey went off to law school. I found it rather weird that he opted to study law. He had never shown much interest in books. Well not unless they were about women or helped him understand them better. Although on the latter I still have my doubts. There are men who like women and Joey was one of them. He was a predator. The one parents warn their little girls to stay away from. I realise I am using cliches but trust me, Joey was just that guy. And yet for some reason we had kept in touch over the years. I did start dating in medical school. Infrequently at first and then I met her. Rebecca. She came from a conservative family and had not been allowed to date through school and college. We started dating only because she and I were on the same group for rotations. We spent so many hours together that it had not even been dating at first. Not until one night after the others had left that she asked me flatly.
"I am assuming you ARE going to ask me out on a date at some point? Or will I HAVE to do that too?" as she stood there with her right hand on her hip and her cute blonde turned to right that I had gone down on my knee and used a line from Top Gun. Thankfully it had worked and she had agreed to go out on me. Two years into my psychiatry residency and six years after we had been going out, I had finally asked her to marry me. But even then it was still a bit indirect. I had ignored all the hints she had been dropping for a year then. Frankly a deaf and blind person would have gotten her hints. I was too shy to ask her directly so had hit upon a plan. I had put the ring on her toothbrush- the one she used when she slept over and had written out the question on the mirror in her favorite pink lipstick. I had waited till she went to the bathroom in the morning to get on my knees for the second time in our relationship and held a single purple orchid. Waiting with bated breath for her to discover. Her shrieks had woken up pretty much everyone in the house. When she opened the door, she was in tears and had screamed her assent for a while. I had had to kiss her to get her to stop. Although that had not really done much good. My housemates forgave me when they found out why she had been shrieking. She hadnt. Not for ruining her favorite lipstick. 50$ it had cost me to replace it. Who knew lipstick could cost so much. I did not care about that. I would have asked my brother to be the best man but he had been killed a couple of years ago and my father had died of natural causes a few months ago. So Joey was my choice for best man. In fact my only option. He had taken his duties quite seriously. Stayed sober till the toast and then of course had ended up "scoring touchdowns" with all the bridesmaids. Even the much older forty year old spinster cousin of my wife. I had feigned complete ignorance of the goings on when my wife had confronted me. I knew of course that this was bound to happen. What does one expect when one leaves a wolf free to roam in a chicken coop. I had taken the precaution of spending my meager inheritance and emptied out my savings for a honeymoon in Hawaii. Rebecca had forgotten all about the goings on at the wedding on the first class flight over. Right after the first glass of champagne. I was quite sure I would hear the sordid details once we returned first hand from Joey.

                 Joey had earned his second much deserved nickname from his numerous affairs. He was like catnip to women. And he could not stay away. One had pretty eyes. Another a beautiful smile. A third had the right...You know what I mean...He had "hooked up" with pretty much every girl who had walked through our campus in those four years, including a few faculty members and the dean's daughter. He had narrowly escaped being expelled. That too only because the coach went to bat on his behalf. He had carried our college in their games against Yale. I sometimes wondered why he had chosen Harvard of all places? We did not really have a sports department to write home about. But Joey was Joey.  In college he would tell me of his adventures regularly. After we moved out, I sort of lost touch of what was going on in his life. I hardly had had time in medical school to keep in touch. But Joey would burst into my life every few weeks and catch me up on his life events. As we progressed in our chosen professions, these visits became more infrequent. I sometimes missed our days in the college dorms. In a way I was living vicariously through him. His adventures were hilarious. Some even dangerous. Like the time a lady's boyfriend  walked in on them. He narrowly escaped being shot and even ended up becoming friends with the guy. I would not have believed him had I not known the boyfriend, a fellow medical school classmate.  Another time, he had had to clamber down three floors using the fire escape wearing nothing more than his boxers, when the husband of the woman he was with had returned home suddenly. Straight out of some sleazy Hollywood movie. But all true. I wondered if Casanova had been as successful. And if Casanova had reveled in recounting his affairs with in such graphic detail. I think he got as much of a kick having those affairs as he did recounting them. And here he was. Recounting his latest one. It had been almost a year since I had seen him last. I was happy to see him inspite of what I knew was coming. A good half hour of him talking about his life before making polite inquiries and then leaving. Just as he had arrived. I always got the feeling that a hurricane had passed through my life whenever he made his irregular infrequent visits.
              This visit had started the same way. We exchanged pleasantaries and then had started talking about his latest "friend". I could tell from the clock that it would be another twenty minutes before he left. He did seem a bit concerned this time though. Something was different. This woman was not like his other women. Something had changed. Or there was something that was bothering him.He had started out by taking a seat on my rocking chair but had soon tired of it and was now pacing my office. Slowly at first and then more rapidly as the clock kept ticking. Was he in love, I wondered? No not him. He did not fall in love. I sometimes wondered if he was capable of love or even if he knew what love was. He did have a bit of a narcissus complex. But that was to be expected. I wondered if he had other issues. I did not ask. I quickly stole my eyes away from the clock and met his gaze. I hoped he had not caught me looking at the clock. It did not seem like he had. I quickly nodded and he seemed reassured. He nodded and resumed his pacing.
 "I dont know what got into me. I should never have ....she is married too...so there is no question of a future together assuming that I would even consider it...Plus she is married to an old friend. I would hate to do this to him. Hell I had never intended for this to happen. I did not even know when it happened. She is great though. A wildcat. Who knew. I am sure her husband does not know. He is a silent sort but you never know what they will do. The loud ones I know how to handle. You remember that fellow Kurt", he said referring to the fellow who had nearly shot him years ago. "Kurt was a breeze to handle. A couple of beers. A little logic and he was okay. The silent ones.  The silent ones are the dangerous ones. They are unpredictable. The loud ones are all bark. The silent ones will slit your throat while looking at you in the eyes. I have seen it so many times. I was defending one such bastard a few weeks ago. I almost failed to keep him off the electric chair even though everyone including me knew he was guilty. Had killed his girlfriend and her lover  in cold blood. After torturing them for hours. Even made the fellow swallow his privates." He shuddered involuntarily. I remembered reading about it in the papers. A thin gold rim wearing bespectacled accountant, a former choir boy and now scout troop leader. In short a complete nerd. Completely harmless. Except for the fact that he had killed his girlfriend and her lover in the most cold blooded fashion. He had spiked their drinks and waited for weeks before they had fallen in the trap. Then he had tied them up and slowly proceeded to dismember the lover while his girlfriend had watched. Those two had suffered. The reported had estimated that they had been alive for atleast 36 hours before he had slowly let them bleed to death. Joey's firm had been forced to take the case on. An innocent bystander would think that Joey only took the case out of guilt. Guilt for the number of times, Joey had been in the lover's shoes and escaped unscathed. A sort of penance by proxy or something. But I knew otherwise. There was no way the man would be let off and Joey had loved the challenge. The same way he loved to woo any woman into his arms. And into his bed. Or her bed.

                        He never brought them home. Infact I dont remember being nvited to his house in these years, although he had been to my house plenty of times. Mostly at birthday parties or other get-to-gethers. My wife seemed to have forgotten about his antics at our wedding. She had even gone so far as to setting him up, in spite of my rather bold protests, with one of her co-workers at one of these parties. Rachel. Come to think of it, I had never seen Rachel with him.. Nor had Rebecca ever spoken of setting him up with anyone after that. Rachel for her part had never uttered an ill word or thought about Joey. One does not send innocent sheep to a lion and expect them to fall in love. I was quite sure what had happened to Rachel. Joey was slightly different in that respect though. The usual womanizer will wine, dine, bed and then move on without so much as a second glance. But Joey was a class act. He had a way of leaving on amicable terms. Some of these women still remained friends with him. Whatever that meant. Michael Jackson would probably call him the smooth operator. I wondered sometimes why no one called him Bond. He was quite suave and charming. Well dressed and always seemed like he had just stepped out of the shower and dressed. I for my part looked like the perfect professor in my tween jackets with patched elbows. A style that I had picked up in college. Tweed jackets in those days were cheap and the leather patches a necessity to cover up the fraying at the elbows. These days the jackets cost a packet but I loved them so my wife let me indulge myself. Even now he was wearing dark blue denims- not the jeans that are frayed but the more expensive semi formal looking jeans. He wore a nice shirt and a dark jacket. Patent leather brown shoes and a nice Rolex watch. His dark hair was tousled and I could see the tie poking out from his top pocket.  Although he seemed agitated, he was dressed quite well. You know there are some people who will put on something horrible and yet look amazing, while the greater majority of us could barely carry off a suit. Joey was in the former category.

"...I dont really know what to do...I want to end it...but I am afraid she will tell her husband....she is quite keen that we continue without him finding out...."He jumped up at this point with a small cry of pain jolting me back from my mental musing back to the scene that was unfolding before me. He had been pacing the room and had plopped down on the sofa in my office only to jump up. He was rummaging through his back pocket. He must have sat on his phone, I thought. Instead I saw him fish out a small black marble knight from his pocket. It was beautiful. These were quite rare. I had an entire set at him.
"...oh this ...I had picked it up the other day at her place but forgotten to put it back...." his voice trailed off. He placed it on the center table and continued with his musings. How they had gone into their affair. The entire sordid details. If I had had any talent in writing I could have written a few Mills & Boons sort of cheap novels out of the details of his life. Alas that was not to be...
"...anyway.." he took a deep breath and let out a sigh. "that's how it stands. How are things with you guys?" he asked me casually now. I muttered the usual things knowing that his departure was imminent. Sure enough, he left a few minutes later but not before making plans to meet up for dinner soon. From prior experience I knew he would cancel a couple of days before the dinner meet with some flimsy excuse. I played along but did not bother to make a note in my diary. After he left, I had a few things to take care of, a couple of evaluations and some paperwork. As I was leaving the office that day, I noticed the pretty little chess piece. He had left that behind. I would have to text him and let him know. I left it there. No sense taking it home and then bringing it back. He woudl probably swing by the office to collect it anyway. I left the office after wishing a good night to my assistant. Ruby. A nice girl. She smiled and wished me. By the time I reached my car, I was looking forward to seeing Rebecca and reading about this case I was due to evaluate the next morning. By the time I reached home I had forgotten all about the chess piece.

                         That evening, when we were getting ready to go to bed, I casually mentioned his visit to my wife. She was not very interested. I found that a bit weird. Usually she loved gossip. Especially this sort of gossip. Way better than the stuff in the tabloids these days, she used to say.Must have been a long day at the hospital. Rebecca had become a cardio-thoracic surgeon. A very demanding field. I did not think much of it. I wanted to read a bit for a patient was I supposed to evaluate the next morning. Rebecca seemed tired so I went into the library and read at my desk there. It was an interesting case. A kleptomaniac who had inadvertently stolen a gun and then been arrested while trying to pinch an umbrella from a chain store. The gun, as it turned out had been used in a murder, and so he had been arrested. He was referred to me to confirm whether he was a true kleptomaniac as his lawyer had claimed and a victim of circumstance or a killer. It did not help that he did not have an alibi. I chuckled at his bad luck as I finished reading his file. It was quite late and I decided to call it a night. As I turned off the light, the chess board caught my eye. Somehow it seemed to have been moved. No one came in here usually. This was my domain and my wife let me have this room all to myself. I clicked the light back on and walked over the marble topped table that supported the chess pieces. Sure enough, someone had moved the pieces. I would have to ask my wife about it in the morning.  This had been my father's and I had fond memories of the table. As I re-arranged the pieces, I noticed one of the pieces was missing. A black knight. I looked under the table. No not there. I looked under the two deep brown leather high wingbacked chairs that flanked the table and people sat in when they played. No not under the chairs. Nor on them. This was strange.  Where could that piece gone? I looked over at my desk. Had someone placed it on the desk? I walked over and check there. A half hour of carefully searching the room carefully on my hands and knees turned up nothing. I finally gave up and went to bed. Rebecca was already snoring softly. Deep in sleep. I would speak to her in the morning. The next morning, I woke up a bit late and rushed to the office, forgetting completely about my plans to ask Rebecca about the missing knight.
                      The office was fairly full that morning. A colleague had called in sick and so would I see a few of his cases? I could hardly refuse Ruby and nodded as I walked towards my office?.I heard her call out that he was already in my office. As I entered the office I saw him seated on the sofa waiting for me. He was playing with something but I had other things on my mind. I introduced myself and sat down. As we spoke, I quickly realised that he was an epileptic and needed to have his medications decreased. His current dose was cauaing hallucinations. I wrote him a new prescription and had Ruby send it over to the local pharmacy. As he left he complimented me on my chess piece and replaced it on the table. I thanked him absentmindedly and only after he had left did I notice the chess piece. A black knight sitting there.

ENDING 1: BURNT

                The piece was there. Just where he had left it the previous evening. I remembered the black knight that was missing from my set. I walked over to the centre table and picked it up. It was exactly the same shape and size of the one that was missing from my set. That bastard. That Son of a.....I started cursing him when a knock interrupted my thoughts. Ruby poked her immaculately curled red hair crowned head in and told me that a friend had popped by. She had pushed my next appointment back by a few minutes. She smiled at me and stood back to let him enter. 

"ah...I had hoped I had left it here...." Joey had walked in and noticed the chess piece that I was holding in my hands. "Good. Thanks for taking care of it. I would stay and chat but need to rush across town for a deposition. Thanks." he pocketed it with a rogish wink, pumped my hand whilst clapping me on the right shoulder with his left hand and then left.

                I stood there gaping like a fool. He had not only had his way with my wife but also screwed me over in one move. The least he could have done was leave my chess set untouched. But true to form he had collected an even better prize. A piece of the chess set that I treasured so deeply. And there was nothing I could do.

ENDING 2: MEDIUM

                       The piece was there. Just where he had left it the previous evening. I remembered the black knight that was missing from my set. I walked over to the centre table and picked it up. It was exactly the same shape and size of the one that was missing from my set. That bastard. That Son of a.....I started cursing him when a knock interrupted my thoughts. Ruby poked her immaculately curled red hair crowned head in and told me that a friend had popped by earlier. He said he would stop by later. She handed me a note. Joey. That rat would stop by an hour later. He had some business that he need to take care of.. She had pushed my next appointment back by a few minutes. She smiled at me and closed the heavy mahogany doors behind her. I stood there gaping like a fool. He had not only had his way with my wife but also screwed me over in one move. The least he could have done was leave my chess set untouched. But true to form he was going to return to collect that piece. His trophy. A piece of the chess set that I treasured so deeply. And there was nothing I could do.

                       No this would just not do. Not this time. Kurt may have let Joey's deplorable behavior slide but not this time. Not me. No Sir. He would pay. I might have let it go had he just had his way with my wife. Oh dont judge me harshly. I am not a saint. I dont expect my wife to be either. Yes I did not do what Joey did and nor was I interested in sleeping around. My work consumed me. I had hardly been around. Who was I kidding. Eleven years and no children. She must have been driven into another's arms. I was just surprised that it had not happened sooner. I was no great prize either. I have to admit that. The first few years, we both had tried. It wasnt easy. Somehow along the way, our work won and we stopped. The perfect working power couple. Our energy was all gone by the time we both got home. The vacations we had promised to take every year had become every other year. And ....I dont even remember when we went on our last vacation. Oh we did get to travel. Conferences, reunions, Christmases and Thanksgivings. The occasional wedding perhaps. But these too felt like work these days. Our careers had taken over. I had wanted to talk to her about it but....It was too late now. It would have to wait till I dealt with this scum. I had always thought of him as a brother. Let him into my life. He had been my best man even. And he stole from me. Stole that one gift from my father that I had cherished. He knew how much I adored that chess set. No. This man would pay. And he would learn to respect other people. Their property. Their lives. Their loves. He had to be taught a lesson. How could he taunt me like that. He must have known I would find out. He had to have known. My thoughts were interrupted by a knock and the arrival of my next appointment. Mr Jones, the kleptomaniac who had stolen a gun by mistake. And landed up in jail. His guards, two young police officers let him in and also dropped off the entire box with the things he had been found with. The would wait outside in the waiting room facing Ruby's desk. They did not seem to want to wait outside my door. They never did. One look at Ruby was enough to make any man grow soft in the knees. I smiled and nodded my acceptance. They smiled and followed her to the waiting room. I for my part let Mr Jones into my room and closed the door behind me. Ruby's desk was at the end of a short corridor and the waiting room was just beside it.

.                       The case was interesting. Truly interesting. In other circumstances, I would have listened and jotted down detailed notes. I had even wanted to write a peper for our annual conference on this case. Today, after the betrayal I just couldn't focus. How could I get him? There had to be a way. As a forensic psychiatrist, I was intimately aware of the methods for crime detection. The crime in itself was not the tricky part. It was very easy to kill a person. Poison, bullets, electricity...there were a myriad ways by which a homicide could be made to look like a suicide. Made to look and yet be seen through. Modern forensic science had advanced a lot. There were so many methods today to readily distinguish a suicide from a homicide. Even the most smartest criminal left traces, evidence...something behind. I had been on countless such teams. In hindsight, some of them looked so foolish to have overlooked something. A thumb imprint. A glove...sometimes just  a fiber from one of their socks. No I would have to plan this out. To the last degree. There was no room for error. If I made one, a colleague...no by then a former colleague of mine would be breaking through those doors to arrest me. And I did not fancy going to prison. Not for meting out justice. He deserved his fate many times over. How was the question? How? The man on the couch continued on. He was a kleptomaniac. There was no doubt about it.I would let him finish his spiel, certify that he was a kleptomaniac and then let the law take its own course. Could he have stolen the gun? Quite possibly. I could not say for sure and my report would say as much. As he droned on interminably, a plan started taking shape in my head. The more I thought of it, the more sense it made. Could the suspicion be cast on me? No. I would be in the clear. Heck I would even have an alibi. I  was sure of it.

                 I went over the plan in my head a few times. Yes it would have to do. I had some work to do and there was not much time. I interrupted my patient.
"Mr. Jones. There is a new form of therapy. Hypnotherapy. It has been used in other conditions with good success. I wonder if you have tried it? I dont see any mention of this in your records so am not sure..."
Mr. Jones turned to look at me. He shook his head.
'I dont think so. But I am willing to try...Anything..I just want to be rid of this...this affliction..this disease...its so embarrassing...please doctor..." his voice was shaking. I felt sorry for him. For how I was about to use him. There was no other way. And so with his permission I put him into a deep trance. He sat on the couch in a trance. Completely a slave to my every command. And every suggestion. I poked my head out and let Ruby know that she was to let Joey in the moment he arrived. If she was surprised at this departure from my usual practice, she did not say anything. I smiled at my plan, closed the door and sat back in my chair. To wait. It wouldnt be long. Justice for once would be swift. But a little noisy. And that was how he found me a half hour later. Ruby kncoked and silently mimed that he was here. Then she stood back and let him in.
                 
"ah...I had hoped I had left it here...." Joey walked in and his searching eyes found the chess piece on the table. Just where he had left it the evening before. I smiled.
"Good. Thanks for taking care of it. I would stay and chat but need to rush across town for a deposition. Thanks." he pocketed it with a roguish wink, pumped my hand whilst clapping me on the right shoulder with his left hand and then started to leave through the same door he had come in through. I smiled and stepped out for a few minutes making sure that Ruby saw me do that. As he departed, I crossed the hall and entered the office of my colleague.  Dr Frank Mosby. Mosby was the one who was sick and his office was empty. Most psychiatrist offices have two doors. One by which patients enter which was the common entrance to all the offices in our practice and an exit which was private and led directly from the office to the exterior. Ruby didnt see me step into Mosby's office.  She was blushing at the praise that Joey was heaping on her. True to form. Anything in a skirt. I felt sorry for her. But then again he would not be able to do much. In a few minutes he would be dead. I ran out and hid in the corridor. It was a nice long corridor. The other exit from my office opened into this corridor as well. I had already unlocked the door in preparation. The plan was fool proof and everything went as expected. Joey stepped into the corridor and headed for the elevator at the end of the corridor. He passed by me. I had seen him put the chess piece in his back pocket. I took aim with the gun and shot him. Twice. Both times through the heart. I didnt have much time. I quickly found the chess piece and entered back into my office. My patient was jumping about and screaming at the top of his voice. Just as I had instructed him to do when he heard two loud bangs. And thats exactly how Ruby found me when she rushed in to tell me of what had happened.

                     I followed her out of my office and into the corrider out of the main doors to our modest offices into the larger corridor that led to the elevators. The two officers who had accompanied Mr Jones were standing over the body. The moved aside to let me examine him. I pretended to look shocked inspite of knowing everything. I checked his pulse. Ruby grew more hysterical when I pronounced him dead. The two policemen almost had a fight there over who would take care of her. Kids. It took me a while to calm her and the patient down. She was hysterical and he was feigning hysteria. I calmed them both down with some injections. In her case it was a mild sedative. In his  a bit of saline. By the time I stepped back out in the corridor, it was packed with police. One of the two policemen had called 911 after "discovering" that Joey was dead. The police came by. and questioned me. Most criminals are unable to produce one witness. I had four. Every movenment of mine and every second of mine was accounted for. Watertight. Thats what I remember one colleague call such an alibi.
                    Detective Lyons was the officer in charge. An old hand. He listened to what I told him. Of course I knew Joey. I held nothing back except for the part I had played in his demise. It did not take them long to confirm my statements. Joey had had a string of trysts not only in Boston but also it seemed up and down the East and West Coast. He had even been arrested once for stirring up trouble in a bar in Los Angeles over a woman some six years ago. Nothing serious, his counterparts assured him. I could have told him everything in much greater details than what Detective Santos of LAPD told him. Ruby was a saint. She completed my alibi. As did my kleptomaniac patient. The police were perplexed by the absence of the murder weapon. The perpetrator must have it on him, Detective Lyons assured me. Their first mistake. I smiled internally. Of course, he did. It lay in the box not two feet away from us. The body was taken away and soon the crowds dissipated.
                     My patient was coming to as was expected. Ruby had decided to take the rest of the day off after she gave her statement to the police. She had had the good sense to cancel my other appointments. Mr Jones graciously agreed to let me complete his evaluation inspite of the shock he had received. It did not take long. I released him into the custody of the two officers who had accompanied him. They also took the files and other evidence box they had brought with them. I led them out and closed the main door behind them. Detective Lyons was still questioning Ruby in the waiting room when I knocked and entered. They were almost done.
"Do you need anything else from me..." I asked him.
He shook his head, handed me his card and gave me the usual- call me if you remember anything else...I nodded. He touched me on the shoulder and squeezed. Joey had been a friend after all. I nodded and shook my head. I said something...I dont recall what it was...something abou tthe tragic nature of his passing...and what a good man he had been inspite of his flaws...or something like that...The detective nodded and said a few words conveying his condolences and then left.

                 With no more patients to see, I left after emptying out the garbage and recycling. The gun was safely on its way back to the police evidence room. There were no fingerprints on it. Powder marks had been washed clean. There were no bullets in the pistol. I had used two of my own. No fingerprints on anything as i had worn gloves. Latex gloves. These I had disposed off in the garbage. They would be lost soon. In a huge heap of garbage in some landfill soon. .

               I drove home and found my wife there. She had not gone to work today. She was feeling a bit sick and so had stayed in bed after I left. I felt her forehead. She was a bit hot and seemed clammy. Dutifully I went off to fetch the day medicine. She accepted it gratefully. It was some bug that heen going around at her hospital. She caressed my cheek for a bit...I finally told her what had happened at the office. She did not seem shocked.
"Was bound to happen someday. The way he carried on...I had warned Rachel. But she was so insistent. She would make him fall in love. Yeah right...a rake like that would never love anyone."
I was a bit shocked at her vehement tone. She had just recently been in his arms, hadn't she? I did not ask.
"It was so long ago...it does not matter now but one day Joey had stopped by. He tried to hit on me. I threw him out. I know I should have told you but you always looked up at him. I did not want to ruin your friendship. You have so few friends as is. I am sorry that he..." she said in a sad voice. I touched her cheek. Softly. I was so wrong to suspect her. But then he had stolen my chess piece. So he had deserved it. I tucked her in and kissed her on the forehead. She purred a bit. Rebecca was so beautiful. I stood there for a while watching her and then finally crept out slowly. I turned out the lights in the bedroom and drew the curtains. I would let her sleep till dinner time. Perhaps I would cook something, the way I did when we had first gotten married. I walked downstairs to my study. I still needed to type out my report for Mr Jones. I worked, undisturbed, for the next couple of hours. Finally I printed out the report, signed it and put it in an enveloped. My back was stiff from sitting there. I got up and walked around the office. The French windows had been Rebecca's idea. I opened them and stood there letting the fresh air in to my office. I loved this house..I thought about checking on Rebecca to see how she was doing. As I was walking out of the study,  I noticed the chess board. It was still missing the chess piece. I felt my pockets. Empty..And then it struck me. I had forgotten to take the piece from his pocket. Oh what a fool I had been. I had had so many chances. I could have easily taken the piece from him. I felt stupid. My water-tight alibi not withstanding, I had unwittingly joined the ranks of the clever criminals who had left something behind. I wondered if Detective Lyons would come by and find the incomplete chess set? would he connect the dots? It was a matter of time. I didnt care. If he did, I would take my punishment like a man. I resigned myself to my fate.
                     I started to leave the study when Bugsy, my twelve year old German Shepherd stopped me. He was holding his leash and looking at me and then at the door. I knew what that meant. He needed to go. Usually Rebecca took him. Bugsy was no fool. Seeing Rebecca in bed, he knew I was the only one who could take him now and so here he was. I smiled. Dogs can be so intelligent. I picked up a few poop bags, tied the leach and took a firm grip at the other end and walked out behind him. We walked for a few blocks. He sniffed and marked his territory here and there. Left coded messages for his other four legged friends. Ancient methods of passing messages. I wondered what he wrote. And just as quickly he would walk on. He covered quite a bit of ground that day before finally settling down on one spot to do his business. I waited for him to finish.  It is strange. sometimes, I think pets own us and not we who own them. I mean every whim of his was attended to. He even had someone to wipe his butt for him. I chuckled at my own joke as he went. He gave me a look as if to say, do you find it funny that I have to take care of business? I dont laugh when you go to the bathroom. i game him and apologetic look which he ignored and continued. When he was done, he moved away to let me pick up his royal droppings. I scooped them into the bag and tied a knot. Quite a bit today. We walked home in silence. Except of course for the infrequent pit stops for him to leave more messages.
                       By the time we got home, my wife was already up and in the kitchen. I walked in and threw the bag of poop into the trash. She was cooking something.
"Where did you go?" she asked me. I told her.
"Did he poop?" she continued. I nodded.
"You didnt throw it away did you?" she searched my face. I pointed at the trash can.
She dived at the grabage and pulle dout the bag. She pulled on a pair of glosed and opened the bag.
I was a bit shocked.
"did you get all of it?" she asked me again. I nodded slowly.
"Did he swallow your wedding ring again?" I asked half amused.
Bugsy had obtained his name through his antics. He loved swallowing precious things. Especially my wife's diamond ring. As a surgeon she had had to take it off frequently. And Bugsy loved swallowing that ring. I found it hilarious. She did not. I noticed her ring on the table. I pointed this out to her but she continued rifling through Bugsy's droppings. Even he was sitting there looking at her surprised. I wonder what he was thinking..
"AHHHH!!!! Yes. I knew it. ..." She was holding up an oblong object. I could not tell what it was...
"I am so sorry, Honey. I was vacuuming the study the other day and had put my ring on top of the chess set. This rascal tried to swallow it but ended up swallowing a knight. I have been keeping a close eye on him since" she said looking at Bugsy accusingly. Bugsy for his part was lying down on all fours with his head between his front paws. He did not move, just made that innocent face of his whenever he had done something naughty. I was too shocked to move...So Joey..Joey had not...He was innocent...I suddenly felt faint. The blood seemed to have drained from my brain. I just sent an innocent man, well relatively innocent man, to meet his maker for a crime he had not committed. My knees felt weak. I dropped into a chair.
"Are you okay? Are you feeling alright?" she had rushed to my side and was taking my temperature with her hand. She measured my pulse. My skin was clammy. Little beads of perspiration had sprung up all over. My heart was racing. She forced me upstairs and into bed, convinced that I had caught the bug from her. Unlike her I had always had a weak constitution and caught the flu every year with amazing regularity. She seemed to have had made a full recovery in a few hours. I might end up taking longer. Rebecca used to joke that she could always predict the beginning of flu season. I was the first victim every year. I did not resist and let her put me to bed. I still could not believe it. It had all been for nothing.
                 I stayed home for a two weeks. I needed time to recover. To grieve. To repent. I would find a way to repent for my actions. By the time I was myself again, it was too late. Initially I was numb but later had had a nervous breakdown at the sight of my friend killed in that horrific manner or that's what everyone thought. It was bound to happen, my colleagues said. The hours, the demands and the horrific things we saw in our line of work made us prime candidates. I read about it in the newspapers a few days later. My wife had faithfully collected them for me. I loved reading the newspaper and so she had not discarded them. I read them slowly. Over and over again. The police had found the chess piece on Joey. They looked into his past movements thanks to pressure from Mr and Mrs Cuervo, Joey's parents. That had led them to the house of Mr and Mrs Bernard Mathews. His cell phone had called Rose Matthews 143 times in the past week alone. Didn't take a genius to figure out why. When no one answered the door, they knocked harder and the door just opened. They realised that it wasnt even locked. That was strange. Especially at 9 PM. They walked in and discovered the body of Mrs Matthews. Shot about twelve hours ago, twice through the heart with a pistol. Apparently Mrs. Matthews and Joey had been secretly seeing each other for a few months. I was shocked to read that. Months. So he had been in love. Mr Matthews .had been arrested as the prime suspect. He was found suspiciously loitering near my office. Whilst everyone was rushing towards the noise, he was trying to run away from it. A patrol car had stopped him and remembered him clearly. Apparently he had been following Joey and was planning to kill him. I had beaten him to the punch. The police put out an all points bulletin for him and he was picked up soon after at the airport. Trying to flee. The case had been cracked in a matter of hours. The DA made a few public speeches about the efficiency of the police. He was running for the post of Mayor soon. This was excellent publicity with the teary eyed Cuervos in the background and the disheveled Mr Matthews in the custody of the police being dragged away to prison after his sentencing. He looked the part of a killer. He was quite an ugly bloke. A cross between Jack the Ripper and Dr Jekyll, the reporter had stated. I wondered where he had seen Mr Ripper before to be able to make such a comparison. After all Mr. Ripper had never been caught. Or identified for that matter. He was a middle aged man, With large eyes. red. From lack of sleep I assumed. He had an unkempt beard or the start of one. He had not been able to shave. Six days of shaving and even I would look like that. In fact I would look a lot like him if I had gone through the same experiences in police custody. He had a scar on his right cheek. Running from his ear to the outer edge of his right eye. Still visible under the facial hair. Quite sinister looking. He wore the same black overcoat that he had been wearing when he tried to flee. Made him look more like a gangster than anything else. They never did find the murder weapon. How could they? He had dumped the one he had used to kill his wife somewhere and he wasn't about to tell them where. The pistol that Joey had been shot with was being used as evidence in another case. How could the police explain how a gun in their custody was used in a murder elsewhere. He was sent to the electric chair quickly. Premeditated murder. An open and shut case, the reporter had written. Cleverly.
                      I folded the newspaper and threw it down. I sat up on the bed. Rebecca had had brought the chess set up to the bedroom. It was sitting there next to my bed. I picked up the black knight and felt the smooth black marble in my hands. Fine quality work. Perfect. Just like my alibi...perfect. I put it back on the square. And then ...without a second thought, move the white pawn two squares...starting a new game.