NORBAC Chapter 8

by Simahoyo

When we finished we compared. Mom's was real art. People would want it in their homes. Mine was rather average, I thought—but I had gotten that far away look she gets when she is caught up in her artwork, Mom stood.

"I'm going to add these to my collection. You should see it, Maura. It's quite thick by now."

She came back with one of those folios she puts her collections in. I loved her smile. She sat down on the sofa and patted a place next to her, and as I sat, I saw Daddy standing there like a little boy left out of a ball game. Mom crooked her finger at him, inviting him to join us. We nestled close, and Mom opened the folio. There was a drawing typical of any small child—pie shaped face, scribbled hair and all. I laughed.

"My first effort, I hope."

"Yes, notice that you have given me fingers, elbows and knee joints. You also saw that I have eyebrows and an iris inside my eye."

"How old was I?"

"Five. I had hoped you might become an artist, but instead you were showing early signs of an interest in anatomy."

"So, you taught yourself to read at three, and boy was that a shock to your poor old Dad. Then you were drawing like a much older child. We were starting to suspect we had someone special in you."

Dad was half smiling, half concerned.

Mom hurriedly turned the page, and there I was, face furrowed with concentration, crayon in my fist, and tongue stuck out as small children do when trying a new physical challenge. I laughed.

"I can see myself in this drawing. Thank evolution I outgrew those habits."

Dad smiled. "Most of them. When you concentrate hard, I can still see some of those lines."

"Benny—you don't talk to women about lines!"

"Ooops, sorry."

We went through, year by year until I have moved away from home. I could see my own development in sketching, and how I had changed physically. Then there were the sporadic visits, my hurried efforts—Mom's attempts to capture my changes as I moved like a butterfly through their lives. Our rift was there in the blank space until today. I looked critically at Mom's rendering of me—and I found me lacking.

"Stop it, Maura. I know what you're doing, and this is a guilt free zone." Dad was using his, "And I mean it" voice.

"Well, if I'm turning into my mother, then good. She's a good person."

Mom nearly fainted. "What? Me? I wasn't even-"

I placed my hand on her arm. "Guilt free zone, remember?"

She blushed then followed up with a guilty laugh.

The next day we went shopping for Dad, because his waist size fluctuates. The tailor shook his head.

"Sir, you must try to eat better."

"My daughter, the doctor, says the same thing."

"Yes, she does, and I'll write you up a special set of menus later."

The Tailor, a nice man named Mr. Drobnjakovic, has seen to Daddy for years, gave me a wink. "Good for you."

Once we had Dad settled, he took off for an hour at the Press Club while Mom and I went to the Institute of Contemporary Art. We had a lovely time, even with fans stopping to speak to her. It was a bit embarrassing when she introduced me as the, "Special Administrator of NORBAC in charge of the Ebola Crisis." to everyone who spoke to her.

Then Daddy met us, grinning. "I found a Thai restaurant that also serves food you like. We can eat together."

Thelonius Monkfish—only in Cambridge would that terrible pun be appreciated. We sat down and to Mom's relief, they had Mandarin dishes, sushi and Vietnamese choices. My eyes went to the curries—Jane isn't fond of them either, so this was my chance to enjoy some of my favorites with Dad.

"Oh look, Maura. This triple spicy curry has five stars after it."

Mom got that, "I'm not budging." look in her eye.

"Lips that touch triple spice curry will never touch mine."

I laughed because Dad always says that to her about pretend deflated, and ordered a tame green curry with bird peppers instead. I indulged in my favorite—red curry salmon. And Mom got subgum, shrimp fried rice and a small serving of fried shrimp. I expected one of those shrimp to migrate tp my plate before dinner was over.

As we were pouring green tea, my cell phone rang. I excused myself, and walked into a quiet corner. I was hoping it was Jack.

"Dr. Isles, this is Sergio Cabrillo, calling from Brasilia. I'm with the South American counterpart to NRBAC, Prevenҁấode doenҁa internacional da America do Sul. We would very much like to coordinate efforts with you to stop Ebola where it has started and prevent a tragedy like the 1918 Influenza Epidemic."

"This is wonderful news. I have heard about PDIAS. I'm currently in Boston but will return to Toronto in four days."

"Oh dear. Tomorrow would have been perfect as President Rousseff will be meeting with Presidents Kirchner, Morales, Bachelet, Humala, and Maduro at a special conference. They will be discussing our participation in the Ebola Crisis."

TBC