La Enigma Cynthia
“Ah, Ms. Cunningham, you’re right on time, please come in.”
“Thank you, Debbie. And how are you, Dr. Klein?”
“Great. Have a seat, we’re gonna take some X-rays of your teeth.” The cheerful dentist and his assistant laid the lead apron across the torso of the tall woman to protect her from the brief shots of radiation used to photograph her teeth. “So, how do you like Squamish so far?”
“It’s wonderful. Everyone’s so nice. I’m looking forward to winter, so much closer to Whistler.”
“Ahh, you like skiing?”
“And the partying.”
“Still, you can always drive to Whistler from Vancouver. Why did you take the job at our local lumber mill?”
“Well, I could say that it was because they were the ones who offered me the job and let it go at that.”
“That is the usual reason people work where they work, it was the job that was offered. But you had a job in Vancouver.”
“Yes, and I was doing okay there. But the traffic, the ridiculous rents, it was getting so that the only place that I could afford was the Downtown Eastside, and I would rather not live there. Vancouver is a beautiful city, but it is a city. With all the problems of cities.” Cynthia let out a deep breath. “So when I saw the opening for purchasing agent here in Squamish, I went for it.”
“A change of pace. Here. Bite down on this flange to hold the film in place.” As Cynthia bit down and held her head still, Debbie moved the X-ray machine into place next to her cheek. “Hold still.” Debbie pushed the button. After taking a shot of the upper teeth, they had her bite down on another film container for the lower teeth. “There, now we do the other side.”
The dentist removed the X-ray film from Cynthia’s mouth. “So how’s your new job, so far?” Debbie moved the X-ray machine around to the other cheek.
“Pretty good, actually. The boss has got me working on a proposal to take to Federal Way. He wants me to accompany him there next week.”
“Federal Way. That’s in Washington.” The dentist made a face. “Still getting used to the American company owning our lumber mills.”
Cynthia laughed softly in her husky voice. “No truck nor trade with the Yanks, eh? Americans feel it too. The lumber mill in Port Angeles is owned by a Japanese company. Mac-Bloody had over 400,000 acres in the U.S. and had facilities in Tacoma and other places.”
“Yeah, I know. Here, bite down on this. I guess we shouldn’t be too wounded in our Canadian pride. Still, it’s our trees!” Sigh.
Debbie zapped her. They took several more shots of Cynthia’s teeth and then left Cynthia in the hands of Debbie and the metal tool she uses to clean the plaque from the gums and teeth.
The X-ray photographs developed quickly. Dr. Klein returned to the room. “Debbie, are you finished yet?”
“Just a few more minutes. Her teeth seem to be in good shape.”
“So is the rest of her. Cynthia, I saw something that concerns me. We’re going to have to take a pair of larger shots of your skull. That means we put the lead apron back on you and place a film plate, about 8 by 10 inches, on one side of your head and shoot from the other, and switch it around and do it again. Do you mind?”
“No, not at all. If it’s necessary.”
“It’s necessary.”
After Debbie finished cleaning Cynthia’s mouth, they placed the lead apron over their patient. A film plate was placed hard up against one side of Cynthia’s face, pressing her ear. The X-ray machine shot the high energy photons through her skull and jawbone from the other side. Another film plate was placed on the other side of Cynthia’s head, and another shot was taken.
“There, that should be enough for now.” announced the dentist. “It’ll take some time to develop these larger pictures, we’ll have to schedule another appointment.”
Cynthia stopped at the desk to schedule another appointment. A boy, about age nine, looked up at the spectacularly tall woman with the drop dead figure. “Ma’am, how tall are you?”
“Shhhs!” hissed his mother. “I’m sorry, Miss,”
“Oh don’t worry about it.” smiled Cynthia. “It’s quite all right.” She leaned down toward the young man. “Six three.”
“Wow.”
As much as Cynthia wanted to take the rest of the day off, she had to get back to the office to work on the proposal.
When Cynthia returned to the dentist’s office for her next appointment, the dentist showed her the X-ray photographs. “You’re teeth are in good shape as we can see. But we’ll have to replace that filling in your lower left first molar. A tad of decay has crept in under the old silver. It happens, even when you brush and floss. But this picture of your upper right is what prompted me to want to take the larger skull pictures. This bright white line visible here, did not look natural.” Dr. Klein then revealed one of the 8 by 10 inch photos. “Please, Miss Cunningham, could you tell me what that is?”
Cynthia inspected the picture. “The line is the antenna. That, I believe is the battery pack, with a lithium watch battery, should be good for another year before needing to be replaced, and that, right next to my eardrum, is the speaker.” She looked at the dentist and smiled. “I s’pose I could tell you that I’m on a spy mission here in little old Squamish at the lumber company, and shucks, you might believe it! Never mind that a six foot three woman with cantaloupe sized breasts would not blend into the background, not in a small town. At least I washed the blonde coloring from my hair, leaving the original mouse brown look.” She went on. “But I’m no spy. Other people who hear voices are classified as delusional. So are those who claim to have microchips implanted under their skin. In my case, the voices in my head can be surgically removed. I would like that done. Before I really do go crazy.”
The dentist sighed. “I would like you to waive medical privilege, so we can go to the police.”
“No. No police. I just want the thing removed. So I can get on with my life.”
“Miss Cunningham, if that’s who you are, I don’t blame you for not wanting the police involved. I certainly don’t blame you for wanting this object removed from your head. I understand that. But considering that you propose to go across the border to your meeting with the corporate bigwigs in Federal Way, the Americans have been pretty jittery about this sort of thing since September 11, 2001. Frankly, so are we Canadians. That Ahman Ressam guy rode our ferries from the mainland, to Victoria, and then to Port Angeles, with a couple of glass bottles of liquid nitroglycerin in his trunk. That idiot didn’t stabilize it! Not all Al Quaeda types are idiots, as we saw with the attack on the World Trade Center. If this radio was implanted by a government agency such as our Security Intelligence Service or the American CIA, I can see having it quietly removed and letting you get on with your life.”
“Yes, please.”
“But I cannot take a chance that you might be involved in something criminal.”
“I’m not involved in anything criminal!”
“Let me explain. I have a theory that most of the BC bud taken into Washington is carried by respectable looking middle aged white couples driving Oldsmobiles.”
Cynthia laughed. “They don’t fit the profile.”
“Neither does a tall white woman with a flashy figure.”
“You don’t think I’m a druggie, do you?”
“No. You’re not using and they wouldn’t be comfortable with you carrying their product. Your accent sounds like you grew up around here, though sometimes you say ‘about’ the way the Americans say it. But a lot of Canadians do that, even me. When I had my practice in Victoria, I felt surrounded by the State of Washington. The Olympics look closer than the 20 kilometer width of the Strait. The Seattle radio and television stations come in clear there, people get to thinking temperatures in Fahrenheit more than Celsius. So we sound like Americans, who can tell the difference?”
“Why did you leave Victoria? You did not like the American presence?”
“No, it was not that. It’s an island. Fifty bucks to ride the ferry. Each way. But look at you. Everyone in town noticed you as soon as you moved in. Still, the police and airport security, the border patrol types, they’re profiling for Arab looking men. If they or some other organization wanted to cause trouble, someone like you could help ‘em do it.”
“Why would I want to help a terrorist?”
“Who knows? Maybe you’re mad at the government or something. Maybe you don’t like capitalism. You have it in for the Americans. Or us Canadians. Or the WTO. Were you in Seattle for the WTO meeting and protests?”
“If you must know, I’m a former Lib who went to the Reform Party and now the Coalition because I’m fed up with Chretien. I would never vote for NDP in the provincial elections. However, just because I’m fed up with Chretien does not mean that I would ever betray Canada. I am quite patriotic, you know.”
“I’m glad to hear that. So who implanted the radio in your head?”
“I’m not sure who they are, to tell you the truth. I just don’t want anything to do with them anymore. The device doesn’t seem to send any radio signal, so I don’t think they can track me. I know I stand out in a crowd in Squamish, or anywhere for that matter, but there are lots of little towns like Squamish, all over Canada. I’m counting on them not knowing which little town I’m now living in.”
“It does not emit any shocks or other torture as a means to control you?”
“No, it does not. But I hate being awakened by that woman’s voice in the middle of the night! I want it out!”
“Well, we can decide on going to the police later. Let’s get that filling changed. No need to allow further damage to your beautiful teeth. I’ll refer you to a surgeon I know. An ear, nose, and throat guy. I will consult with my attorney on this. You know I have to report child abuse if I suspect it, there might be other things I’m required to tell the authorities.”
“I understand. Maybe the ear, nose, and throat guy can keep me anonymous but allow the police to listen for any transmissions it picks up after it is removed from my head.” Sigh. “Let’s do that filling.”
The trip to Federal Way was a success. After her presentation, a corporate vice president spoke to Cynthia and her boss. “Good hire, Bob. She’s as smart as she is beautiful. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot more of you, Cynthia Cunningham. Maybe we can have you live here in Federal Way and work for us.”
“Ah, gee thanks. But I’m happy to live in Squamish. Less traffic there, as long as you stay off the highway to Whistler.”
Back in British Columbia, she went to see the ear, nose, and throat specialist in North Vancouver. “This is damn good work.” commented Dr. Weinstein as he inspected her skin over the implanted radio. “The scar is well hidden, at that it has been reduced to almost nothing!”
“Yes. It was good work. I hope when you remove it, you do just as good work, I like my looks.”
“Yeah, well that’s the thing. Most people I do, it’s to restore their hearing. They’re going deaf. I’ve not had to be this good on the cosmetic issues. If we do it here in Canada, it will be at least six months, as it’s not an emergency. Medical Services Plan, you know.”
“Can we get Medical Services to pay for the surgery in the States? I don’t want to wait six months.”
“Well, the heart guys and brain guys in Seattle tell me that Medical Services, they call it the Canada Plan or the British Columbia Plan, is one of their best customers. It’s because they can schedule the surgeries right away, and with heart and brain problems, you often cannot wait. In your case, we can wait in that it’s not life threatening. You’ll just have to cope. However, Medical Services may pay for the surgery to take place across the line, which could be scheduled much sooner, even next week. My license allows me to participate in the surgery in an American operating room. We’ll need that, both for the Medical Services sponsorship, they feel better politically if a Canadian physician is involved, and for the health of you ear. The removal of the speaker case and the battery pack will have to be done with great care, we do not want to damage your hearing or your sense of balance. As for the cosmetic issue of the scar, there’re not many people who can do the work I’m seeing here, and none of them are in Canada. Most of them are in California. They can assist us with the initial incision and with restoring the skin after the radio is removed.
“What are the risks?”
“Worst case scenario, you can die on the operating table. But that’s the case with any surgery. In your case, highly unlikely. More likely, damage to your hearing and to your sense of balance. You would have to readjust your walking with the balance tubes in your other ear, and you would have to adjust to not hearing in one ear. Familiar voices and music would tend to sound weird. And, of course, we could leave a big ugly scar on your cheek.”
“I still want the radio out. As soon as possible. Preferably without a big ugly scar and loss of hearing and balance. Let’s do it.”
“We’ll be happy to. But, to get Canada to pay for an early surgery date in the States, they’ll have to know about the radio implant.”
“Of course. It’s medically required to remove it. They can keep that record confidential.”
“Well, yes and no. You see, Cynthia, you have communicated to me and to Dr. Klein and his staff that you want this kept hush-hush, and that you don’t want any police involvement. If we were discussing a marijuana addiction or being gay, we could keep that confidential, no problem. After all, when you smoke pot, you only hurt yourself. And who cares if you have a lesbian relationship with a consenting adult? But if you abuse a child, we are legally required to tell the authorities if we suspect or know about that. Here you are with a radio receiver implanted in your body! That has Dr. Klein and me very concerned, more so since the September 11 events. Terrorism is like child abuse, if we know about it or suspect it, we have to report.”
“Yeah. Well. I assure you, I have not been involved in any terrorism.”
“Then what have you been involved in, Cynthia? I’m not an electrical engineer, but that’s an extremely sophisticated device. It’s not like you can buy a surgical radio implant at Canadian Tire! I’m telling you, the cosmetic aspect of this surgery can only be done by a few people, mostly in the U.S., some in Europe. I know of one Canadian surgeon who may be able to do this, he lives and works in Los Angeles and is working toward naturalization as an American citizen. This operation was not performed in Canada, unless the specialists were flown in. Most likely California. Some of the specialists there will change your looks, your fingerprints, even your gender, without keeping any record, for a payment in cash. They love cheating the IRS, the American version of Revenue Canada, by working under the table. Why not implant a radio to enable someone to communicate with you without leaving a record of a telephone call? As long as they’re paid enough money, they will do it. Somebody spent some bucks on you, Miss Cunningham.”
“Doctor Weinstein, I understand your concerns. Now please understand mine. Yes, I could go to the authorities and report this. I did not consent to have this radio device surgically implanted in my head. Because I did not, and because I can testify that I did not, I can send some people to jail for a long time. Then when I am driving that two lane road from here to Squamish, my car can suddenly slide off a curve into Howe Sound. It could be fifty years before a diver finds my car, solving the mystery of what happened to dear sweet Cynthia Cunningham way back at the turn of the millennium. No thank you! I’d rather live to receive a few retirement checks.”
“We could have you placed in a witness protection program.”
“No fucking way!”
Sigh. “Right now, I’ll respect your wishes and try to set up an appointment with an operating room in the States. We’ll keep this confidential.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“How you doing, Cynthia?”
“Woaauugh!” Cynthia stared at the ceiling, groggy from the drugs. There was a big bandage over her cheek and ear. At least the room was not lit up with bright lights. That would hurt. She was grateful that the television set was turned off. As her eyes began to focus, the nurse looked her over.
“I call in Dr. Weinstein.” said the cheerful nurse.
As the nurse left the room, Cynthia noticed a large vase of flowers, decorated with ribbons and a Canadian flag. “Now I remember,” she thought. “Stopped at the bank to convert some money to American dollars. Then to Vancouver International with Dr. Weinstein for the trip down. Good thing the airport security bought the story about tooth fillings. They are touchy since September 11! Good thing, actually. Told the folks at the office that I was having a weird cancer removed before it got out of hand. They all wished me luck. I hope it was them who sent the flowers.”
Dr. Weinstein entered the room. “How you feeling, Cynthia?”
“Sore. But now if I hear voices, it’s just good ol’ fashioned insanity.”
The physician laughed. “What a relief! I’m only losing my mind! Nothing serious! Nobody will notice the difference!”
“Don’t make me laugh, it hurts!”
“Sorry. The operation went well. Dr. Forest says that the incision went back together very good. A laser treatment after a couple of months, and nobody would be able to find any scar.”
“Wonderful. Who sent the flowers?”
“I don’t know. Would you like me to read the card?”
“Yes, please.”
The physician briefly pointed at the flag. “They know you’re Canadian.” He picked up the envelope and looked at the card. “It’s from your group at the lumber mill.”
“I’ll have to thank them.”
“The operation went perfectly. Since you made no mention of your breast implants, we did not touch ‘em. You don’t need ‘em, you’d be a respectable Size C without ‘em. But then every scalpel cut carries a risk. And because you didn’t tell us about that device attached to your privates, we assumed you did not consent to that being removed either.”
“That,” she emphasized the word, “I really want kept confidential.”
“Understood. But, uh, as your physician, I advise that it be removed. For hygiene. For your physical health. And most important, your mental health.”
“I do want it removed. But unfortunately, it’s booby trapped with a spot of C-4.”
“Oh shit. That would make a lovely mess in the operating room. Well. We will have to study it some more and try to figure out how to defuse it.”
“I would like that.”
“Well. I have to get back to North Vancouver. Got a plane out this afternoon. Will you be all right? Dr. Forest will look after you, make sure you’re ready for that bandage to be removed.”
“I’ll be fine. Thanks for everything, Doc.”
After the physician left, the nurse returned with a meal. Some jello, chicken in gravy over utterly tasteless potatoes, and a roll with a square of margarine. “The usual post-surgery feast! The nutrition you need, cooked to eliminate everything harmful including taste.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me until after you’ve tried it. I’ve been told San Quentin has better food. Just kidding.! Ah lets see, the TV. We’ve got all the cable channels and regular channels. We also can play movies.”
“I’d like to see a movie. Have you got 6th Day with Arnold Schwazenegger? If not, I would like Matrix.”
“Lemme look. We have Matrix, all right, it’s a popular one for hospital patients. Ah, we do have 6th Day! Why 6th Day?”
“It was filmed in Vancouver.”
“Oh! You like looking at the familiar sights in a movie.”
“Yeah, but then they talk about a Congress passing a law, like British Columbia became a State. But then, if Quebec ever walks out of Canada, who knows?”
“Want me to start it?”
“Sure.”
Right when the actress Sarah Wynter delivered the line “Kinda takes the fun out of being alive” a visitor entered the room for Cynthia.
“How ya’ doing, girl?”
“Bob, you didn’t have to come all the way here.”
“For my favorite purchasing agent? Of course, I had to come! Man, they love ya’ in Federal Way! I’m in town on company business as well.”
“You don’t tell me everything.”
“Neither do you. Look. I don’t have a problem myself, if you’re gay and all,”
“I’m not gay.”
“Well, uh, what I mean is, somebody thought I was your brother or something and they told me some things, like uh, well, you obviously lied on your resume and your application, like uh, sheesh! Nobody guessed it!”
“Oh shit!”
“I wasn’t s’posed to know about that. Huh? Cynthia. That’s not your name. Cynthia Cunningham die in a car wreck when she was seven? Are you running from a felony beef? Lying on your resume and application is grounds for dismissal---“
“All right!” Sigh. “After I get outta here, I’ll come by to pick up my stuff. We’ll make up a story to tell these people who pitched in to buy the flowers.”
“I didn’t say you’re fired! Just because we have grounds to fire you doesn’t mean we’ll fire you.”
“Oh. Well in that case, I’ll come back to work.”
“Atta girl. If there’s a felony beef or terrorism, you’re fired. If it’s child support, well, you can’t pay it if we fire you. Other than that, you know Cynthia, you seem to have a lot more education then you let on in your resume. And smart! I’ve never seen anybody convert from board feet to cubic meters and back the way you do. I won’t tell anyone, but you be careful. We’ll be happy to have you at work. Even if,” Bob looked around and leaned down close to speak softly, “you’re a guy.”
Cynthia reached up with a hand, Bob clasped it. “Ow! It hurts to smile.”
“I hope they got all that cancer.”
“They did.”
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