"And how's the patient today?" Cowley asked.
"Depressed," came Bodie's answer. He looked depressed himself.
It was no good beating about the bush. Cowley knew that his agent, Doyle, was on prolonged sick leave and he'd read the doctors' reports. Doyle had dislocated his shoulder, not for the first time, and it was taking too long to heal - if ever it did. Every time Doyle went to CI5's doctor for the all clear, he was given yet another sick note.
"Well, I want to see both of you at 8 o'clock tomorrow morning. In the meantime, Bodie, here's what I want from you."
Cowley went on to explain the next assignment. He'd teamed Bodie up with a new recruit, Evans, and it was proving a fruitful partnership. If Doyle were written off, then this could develop into an (almost) equally good pairing, thought the pragmatic Cowley.
Doyle had been kept busy though. As he'd been quick to point out, there was nothing wrong with his mind. Unfortunately he'd been too good and had completed the paperwork and chase-ups so quickly that Cowley was running out of things for him to do. His latest assignment was digging through a cold case - a serial rapist that three task forces were trying to get a lead on. Not CI5's usual hunting ground, but it kept Doyle focussed. Although he was ambidextrous, writing with his 'wrong' hand took too long and was frustrating. Cowley gave him a dictating machine and put Betty on overtime. CI5's own records department had been glad that Doyle had been contracted out. He had worked them into the ground wanting this and that file and trying (and sometimes failing) to keep his temper when a file or piece of paper went missing. He knew it was wrong to take his pain out on a third party. Bodie and others had tried to keep Doyle's spirits up but they were losing patience with him. Even his girlfriend had finally had enough (which was another blow to Doyle's morale). He had showed no emotion - not even curiosity - when Bodie had told him that the Old Man wanted to see both of them the following morning. Doyle felt in his heart that this was the end of the line. Cowley had been generous in keeping him on the staff for this long. His sick leave couldn't go on forever. He wouldn't beg Cowley for extra time. It was time to go.
Bodie arrived first and they had to wait a couple of minutes before Doyle turned up. He didn't even try for an excuse as he sat down. Cowley noticed that there was no air of expectation from his agent or even curiosity. Doyle had passed the sign called 'hope' and was heading down a road called 'despair'. Bodie's assessment was right; Doyle clearly was depressed.
"Since your physiotherapy doesn't seem to be working, despite your best efforts," Cowley thought he'd throw in a small bone of comfort, but there as no reaction, "I thought we'd try something else." Silence. "You're familiar with Chinatown." Since it was a statement not a question, Doyle didn't respond and waited impassively for the rest. Bodie glanced at him and didn't feel reassured. "Madame Mai-Sing is a leading light in the Chinese community here." Pause. Silence. "She is what some may call a 'seer', a 'wise woman', a 'shaman'. Now I don't believe in second sight or the laying on of hands, but my experiences in the Far East told me not to be dismissive of that which the West doesn't understand. Take the proven benefits of meditation and reflexology." Still no reaction from Doyle. Bodie though was wondering where this was leading, and what his role would be. "Madame Mai-Sing is an expert in healing and holistic medicine. Acupuncture has had proven success. We may not understand it, but it works. I don't know if that would be the route she would take with you, Doyle, but I want you to see her and see what she can suggest. This is a letter of introduction."
Doyle leaned forward to take the envelope off Cowley. But Cowley didn't hand it over. Doyle looked at him for a moment, wondering why. "You don't seem to be convinced, Doyle," Cowley observed.
"I'm not sure if I can hear the bottom of a barrel being scraped, or the sound of a dead horse being flogged - sir," Doyle said sarcastically. He wasn't getting better, so why drag it out?
Bodie groaned inwardly. 'Cool it, Ray,' he thought.
A wave of anger flared across Cowley's soul. "Madame Mai-Sing …"
"Yeah, I'm sure she's good at whatever it is she does, but it seems unlikely that sticking needles in me is going to put my shoulder back where it belongs."
"I'm ordering you to give it a try." Cowley thundered as he handed the envelope over.
Doyle looked at it and then looked at Cowley. "It's in Chinese."
Cowley translated the address for him. "Bodie will take you to the area and then he's to get on with his assignment."
Bodie felt a twinge of something he couldn't name. He'd been reticent to his friend about the assignments he'd been given as he didn't want to rub it in any further about what Doyle was missing out on, and the exciting and interesting jobs he'd been given with Evans while Doyle had been laid off, or how well he and Evans were getting on.
Doyle got in the passenger seat and waited to be driven to his destination. That was another source of irritation for Doyle. He wasn't allowed to drive and had to rely on taxis, friends or public transport. But he'd also taken to walking. He'd walk for miles, sometimes in the dead of night when he couldn't sleep, or jogging. He'd come back exhausted, which gave him a small lift of the spirits. He counted his blessings that his injury wasn't to his legs or his spine. He was, in most respects, as fit and healthy as he'd always been. He couldn't go to the gym or go swimming, but at least he could jog as far as he wanted to. There was still a small ember glowing in the hearth of hope, even if Doyle increasingly chose not to see it.
Bodie cruised off in a worried silence. He glanced at his mate now and then but Doyle was just staring out of the side window, making no attempt at communication. Bodie sighed privately. Doyle's silences had increased of late, and he made excuses not to come out to the pub or for meals. He said he wasn't good company and Bodie couldn't argue with that. He was being a pain in the arse. As they reached Chinatown, Doyle said that Bodie could drop him off and he'd walk.
"It's all right. I've nothing pressing. Tell me where to go."
This last comment had usually elicited a snide comment from Doyle in the past, but he was beyond the joking stage now.
"Ok. Turn left here, then first right."
The roads got narrower and Bodie had to frequently squeeze past a delivery van, or stop altogether while a large truck took its time.
"I bet there's more than a side of beef going into those shops," Bodie had commented at one point as they watched a delivery, the road being blocked again. The ex-copper made no comment and watched impassively. Not for the first time, Bodie wanted to drag his partner out of the car and shake him till his teeth rattled, or knock some sense into him. But he felt that Doyle would allow any violence just to happen to him. He was past caring.
Eventually the passenger said, "This is as far as we can get. I'm not 100% sure from here. We'll need to ask."
Bodie noticed the deadness in his friend's voice as they pulled up on the pavement and got out of the car. He had to try at least once more to reach him. He took Doyle's arm.
"Look, Ray, I don't believe in this nonsense either, but let's at least give it a go. As Cowley said, just because we don't understand it doesn't make it wrong." No reaction. Doyle continued staring at Bodie's chest, waiting patiently for the lecture to finish. Bodie sighed in frustration, running his hand through his hair. "Look, I don't know how bees fly but they do." He wasn't sure he was making sense any more. "Do you know why bees fly?" No reaction. "Because no-one told them that it's physically impossible. Look, what I'm trying to say is: suspend disbelief. Don't pretend to understand, but pretend to believe. It seems to me that most of this kind of alternative stuff boils down to the patient believing it could work."
"The placebo effect," Doyle interrupted, trying to bring the lecture to an end.
"Exactly!" Bodie said, delighted that Doyle was following him, though he hadn't stopped staring at Bodie's chest.
"Can we go now?" Doyle didn't sound enthusiastic, just bored with the whole thing.
"Look. I think you owe me one."
Doyle finally managed to meet Bodie's eyes. "Perhaps," he said cautiously.
"Just go along with this. Try to pretend that this is the greatest break-through since penicillin. Try for my sake, Ray."
Even in Doyle's tired mind, he could hear the desperation in his mate's voice.
"Yeah, all right," Doyle shrugged indifferently and walked off.
It wasn't the great 'hurrah' Bodie had wanted, but it was all he could expect. He trailed after his mate, who was asking directions and showing the envelope. They walked down a couple of alleyways. Bodie was on alert for any muggers but Doyle seemed indifferent to his surroundings. As they walked around the area, Bodie noticed that some of the Chinese did a double-take when they saw Doyle, and slipped like cats into the shadows. It seemed that Doyle's reputation as a copper still held sway here. The pair went up a flight of external stairs and arrived at a very ordinary door. It was opened before Doyle could knock. Clearly they'd been expected and watched for. A very pretty young woman answered the door and said something in Chinese. Doyle explained that they didn't speak the language, but bowed formally out of politeness, handing over the letter of introduction. Bodie followed his example, bowing deeply. He was rewarded with a beautiful smile containing perfect pearly teeth. She turned and they followed her slim, lithesome body to the back of the premises. Bodie noticed that the girl held no allure or fascination for his partner. The woman indicated the easy chairs and they sat. Bodie watched admiringly as she disappeared down a hallway.
"Doyle," Bodie whispered as they waited, "I hope you're meditating on the power of healing in Madame Whats-Its hands."
"Madame Mai-Sing," Doyle said flatly, still gazing into space. It didn't answer Bodie's question. Bodie had been going to ask Doyle if he remembered any of the Cantonese which Esther, the Hong Kong secondee, had taught him but, on reflection, Bodie thought it not a good idea to remind Doyle of (another) lost love.
Presently the woman came back. "Madame Mai-Sing," she announced brightly, indicating down the hallway as though she were a magician's assistant springing a surprise on her audience. Then the eminent woman herself appeared. Bodie didn't know what he was expecting and was rather disappointed with what he saw. The woman was short and fat, almost totally spherical in fact. She waddled into the room in a shapeless black two-piece, her slippers were worn through and she had a slim cheroot in her hand. The skin was as wrinkled as badly cured leather. The round face almost hid a pair of sparkling, intelligent eyes. She seemed to be on the wrong side of 90 and hardly a tooth in her head. She said something angrily and waved Cowley's letter at the men. But, to the Western ear, Chinese usually sounded angry; it didn't mean anything. The men shrugged in confusion and the young woman said something to the sage.
As the women were speaking, Doyle turned to his partner, "I think you can leave now, Bodie. You've held my hand long enough. I'm sure Cowley's given you something to do."
Finding nothing comforting to say, and feeling impotent and angry, Bodie turned to leave.
"Oh, and Bodie." His friend turned back. "I'm sorry I'm being an arse. I'll try to believe, really I will."
Bodie paused. Was this a small break-through? "I know you will mate. That's all I'm asking." With that, Bodie left.
During the exchange the pretty woman had been replaced by a sullen boy of around 9 or 10. He was wearing a tatty tee-shirt and baggy pants. Incongruously, he had a lit cheroot in his hand too.
"I'm to translate for you," he said, as though he could find a hundred more interesting things to do instead.
Doyle thanked him and followed Madame Mai-Sing and the boy to a gloomy back room. Translating for Madame, the boy told Doyle to take his shirt off. Doyle would have preferred not to be examined in front of a child, even a child as 'old' as this one, but there was no alternative. He'd promised Cowley - sort of - that he'd go through with this; and he'd promised Bodie that he'd believe. Madame pushed Doyle to the examination couch. Doyle sat up on it and hoped that was as far as Madame was going to go. She screwed her eyes against the smoke from the cheroot and manipulated Doyle's shoulder. She worked her way round the rest of this upper body, then dragged him off the couch to a standing position. Doyle was very wary. There was only 'south' that the woman could examine! Fortunately her barked order translated as: 'She wants you to walk across the room and back'. Doyle, of course, had no idea why but did as he was told. If she'd told him to eat an ice cream while standing on his head, he would have gone through with it. She eyed him speculatively through the smoke. The boy, too, copied (consciously or unconsciously) her stance - leaning on one side, hand on hip, cigarette hanging from bottom lip, scrutinising. Doyle felt tired and irritable and wanted just to get this charade over with. What the community - and Cowley - saw in this woman was beyond Doyle's imagination. Eventually she nodded, as though coming to a decision.
"She wants you to lie on the couch," the boy translated.
"Why?" Doyle asked irritably.
There was an exchange between the Chinese, and the boy told Doyle that Madame had thought acupuncture the way forward.
"Has she seen my medical notes?"
The boy translated, "That's the Western way. But she knows you've been bad inside for a few months. She says your soul is torn and bleeding."
Doyle was too weary to debate this and lay on the couch, staring at the stains on the ceiling, trying to make shapes or pictures out of them. He tried to still his mind and reach out for the belief he'd promised to Bodie. Madame went out for a few moments and returned with an autoclave and a blanket, minus boy. Doyle noticed with relief that she was, for the moment, also devoid of cheroot. She lifted the lid on the steriliser and a waft of perfumed steam rose from it. With tweezers, she lifted out the needles with care and laid them reverentially on a towel. Doyle was relieved that she was following basic hygiene - he hadn't really expected that from his experiences here so far - but he worried about the needles even so. Like most people, he was rather nervous of them. He went back to staring at the calming ceiling. He felt her take his shoes off, push something under his legs and a blanket being pulled over his body. She turned back the cover to reveal his bad shoulder and set about her work. The needles didn't hurt as much as Doyle had thought and the steamy room was making him feel very relaxed. He wondered whether there was some drug in the steam, or the josh-sticks she was burning, to make him feel 'out of it'. No matter; nothing mattered. He drifted off.
Doyle didn't know how much time had passed by the time he woke up. He was alone and the josh-sticks had burnt down. There was no sign of Madame, the boy or her equipment. Doyle tentatively turned back the blanket and slowly sat up. He rubbed his shoulder tentatively. The skin felt hot. He felt very rested for the first time in weeks. His intellect told him that it was just the effects of the sedative Madame must have used. He tried to put his shirt on. His heart sank when the familiar pain jolted through his shoulder; the joint refused to move any more than it had before. He wanted to scream. He just about resisted punching the wall in frustration, or tearing his shirt to shreds. He rested his forehead against the wall as tears and anger threatened to engulf him. He tried the calming techniques he'd learned over time but he was too overwhelmed. His anger found a focus - the two people he most trusted in the world (outside family) - Bodie and Cowley. He felt they'd betrayed him as never before. He swore softly, calling them several names he wouldn't say in public. Having got that off his chest he felt a little calmer, and he eventually dressed and padded down the corridor. He was greeted by the young woman who had first let them in - or at least he thought it was the same woman. She smiled prettily - lost on Doyle.
"I don't know if you understand English, but can you thank Madame Mai-Sing for me. I feel very rested." It was the only positive thing Doyle could think of to say. The word 'cured' died in his throat - and his heart. "Could you ask her how much I owe her?" His voice was unsteady and he was still very shaky.
The woman looked at him for a moment while she translated his words in her head. "Major Cowley-sir is paying. No worry paying."
Then Madame appeared, perhaps on hearing voices. The boy was with her, on another cheroot. The boy translated that Madame wanted to see Doyle again the day after tomorrow. He would need several therapies then, the boy added mischievously, you can carry on shooting the bad guys. Doyle didn't know whether the boy was freely translating! Doyle smiled, remembering Bodie's words - look like you believe - bowed, and thanked Madame and her assistants. The young woman gave Doyle a card with his next appointment on it. He smiled again, but his audience saw the hollowness in it and the hole that was in his heart. He was not a believer.
Bodie was anxious to catch up with Doyle. At least he had something interesting to relate now. Doyle even seemed to have a bit of emotion in his voice as he told of his strange after-noon, even if that emotion were anger. If only Bodie knew how much rage Doyle was holding back - but perhaps it was better that he didn't.
"So, in short, the afternoon and your precious Madame was a total waste of time," Doyle concluded through gritted teeth. Tears were close to the surface and Doyle glared at his friend defiantly.
Bodie's heart sank, but he at least could think objectively. "Look, Cowley never said that Madame was going to wave a magic wand, Ray, and that all would be hunky-dory straight away." Bodie, though, thought that it would have been a brilliant idea if Cowley could at least have warned them both that that Doyle would need a series of treatments and not give out the impression that all would be well overnight. It was Bodie's turn to have a 'wee chat' with Cowley once he got him alone next day.
"I hope you're going to go again, Ray," Bodie pushed.
"Don't have much choice, do I? What's next, bloody voodoo?!" Doyle was on the point of losing it. He was pacing the kitchen like a caged - or frightened - lion.
Bodie heard the catch in his friend's voice and, on this occasion, couldn't blame him. He felt, though, that Doyle was blaming him - and more directly, Cowley - for this. He was running out of words to reach him.
"Look Ray, just sit down for a moment will you."
Bodie was trying to keep them both calm but didn't know what to offer. Doyle cautiously sat. Bodie sat opposite and looked again into his friend's troubled eyes. Doyle was defying him; daring him to come up with comforting words.
"Give it a couple of weeks, Ray. Just give me that, then and only then can we say that you've given it a fair wind. Eh?"
Doyle was on a knife edge. Bodie waited, holding his breath. Doyle broke the silence, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "I don't know, Bodie. I don't know." He began to rock gently as emotions washed over him. Bodie never felt less able to comfort.
"Ray," Bodie started softly, "I've a feeling that you - or rather Cowley - are onto something. You know, this might just work."
"Like your flying bee?"
"You were listening, weren't you?" Bodie teased. He smiled tentatively, hoping that Ray didn't think he was taking this too lightly.
Doyle knew when he'd been got and smiled tentatively in return. It was the first positive feeling Bodie had had from his mate in a long time. He sighed inwardly with relief.
Dutiful Doyle did carry on with his appointments. When he could, Bodie took him. Doyle knew that it had more to do with a pretty pair of almond eyes than making sure that his mate was ok, but he didn't mind. He began to express a bit of interest at last and showed his partner round the parts of Chinatown that the tourists never saw. He introduced Bodie to some interesting contacts and personalities there. Bodie was delighted, not only with the fascinating information which his friend possessed but, more, from Doyle's increasing contact with the world and its surroundings. Ray was coming round. The fact that, incredibly, the treatment was beginning to do its magic, was also to do with Doyle's increasingly positive mood. One month after his first treatment with Madame Mai-Sing, Doyle got the piece of paper he'd been yearning for - A1 fitness certificate. He nearly cried with joy and relief. He took Cowley and Bodie to the best Chinese restaurant Madame knew of. He'd invited her and her helpers too, but they declined his kind invitation. However, Bodie made a mental note to himself to return to Chinatown on his own in the near future and find again that set of pure, white pearly teeth and that silky waist-length hair he'd seen shimmering at Madame Mai-Sing's.
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