Beyond the Stethoscope

By Lawrence Segel

Beyond the Stethoscope invites you to explore the worlds of medicine and the metaphysical in an illustration collection of 32 stories. With keen humor and deep insight, Lawrence Segel finds elements of the fantastic in seemingly mundane situations such as waiting rooms, garages sales and telemarketing calls, along with tales of eternal life, alien beings, and dystopian visions of health care. Combining rational determination with a willingness to explore events that defy description, Beyond the Stethoscope will make you think twice about where we come from, what the future holds, and the world we live in today.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Feb 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781312906440

Book preview

Beyond The Stethoscope Copyright © 2015 by Lawrence Segel

Published by ManTaoPublishing, Aurora, Ontario

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher and the copyright author, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in a review or where noted.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locals is entirely coincidental.

Issued also in a print format.

This edition ISBN 978-1-312-90644-0

Text design by David Bester

Cover design by Liam Nickerson

* Stories with an asterisk feature original illustrations by Scarlett Tustin

There are an infinite number of starting points in life 

as there are

an infinite number of paths one can journey on.

This does not preclude the possibility of 

retraced steps

crossed paths

shared destiny

In fact it guarantees it!

Knowledge may simply be retracing and retrieving

information from past paths.

Intuitive friendship may also be re-crossed paths,

Endings may be inseparable from beginnings.

Perhaps a man is nothing more than a Comet’s tail

(tale)..........

title_page

* The Fortune Teller

The heavyset, middle-aged woman stepped off the bus, gained her footing on the edge of the concrete sidewalk, and quickly looked from side to side. To a stranger, it seemed like she was making sure she wasn’t being followed. In fact, she was doing just that. To her satisfaction, she had clearly not been seen. She didn’t want anyone knowing what she had finally resorted to.

She walked down the cracked sidewalk until she came to a bend. There was the dead end street with the name she had been given during an abrupt phone conversation. She cautiously turned down it, thankful there was still plenty of daylight breaking through the tree-lined road.

Suddenly, she grew brave and began to pick up her pace. Somewhat satisfied, she could see her destination growing close. To bystanders, Ms. Petricelli looked quite out of place on such a workingman’s street. A tight fitting red silk dress showed too many unwanted bulges. With her high heels, and an ostrich feather hat atop her platinum blonde-dyed head, she had dressed like she was going to a ball. Or perhaps, given the neighborhood, like an overdressed hooker showing off the merchandise. Still, beneath all the fine clothing, she was somewhat ungainly, with a gait that resembled a fast waddling duck. She clearly had not mastered the model’s confident strut.

The tremendous pain of

loss in love,

The awful hurt of

an ended relationship,

The shattered hopes and dreams

of a woman,

And winter came early.

She maintained her pace until the end of Chestnut Ridge, although now puffing from such unexpected and unfamiliar exertion. Finally she arrived at her destination, and began to slow down. She gazed at the last house on the dead end. It was not exactly what she expected. A weather beaten, red brick bungalow with a large dirty picture window seemed to glare back at her suspiciously. A huge Weeping Willow perched like a grimacing statue on the lawn. A few fat crows sat in its branches and carefully looked the stranger over. 

birds-clipping-path

Another crow, perhaps the leader, sat on a small black sign at the end of the gravel drive. Its red lettering was faded from age, and the post was half bent with wood rot. Ms. Petricelli carefully read what remained:

pentagram-card

She paused and wondered how she had allowed herself to enter a world of superstition and forbidden occult arts. After all, she was a churchgoing woman. Hadn’t her priest warned her about the dire consequences of the Devil’s work? Yet he had provided no answers to her problem, just absolution of her sins following endless confessions. A friend had suggested an alternative path, one that could offer real guidance for her future. Desperation had buoyed her disbelief and fear. Be damned the men of cloth–she would try anything now.

Yes, this was Isabella Petricelli’s moment of truth. Would she be able to summon the courage to knock on the door and face her questions, and possibly her fate, head on? Or would discretion rule over valor as it had done many times before, ending with a slinking away without the answers she craved? Before she could choose an option, the screen door swung open. A tall thin brunette dressed in peasant dress and head scarf stepped onto the cement porch and grasped Isabella’s arm.

Good afternoon, Ms. Petricelli, said a calm but firm voice. I believe you have an appointment for 2:00 pm. The imposing gypsy with penetrating black eyes gazed down at her watch reading 2:30 pm, and then threw Isabella an admonishing look. Nevertheless, I have been waiting for you and not given up. Please come in and I will do my best to help you with your situation.

Isabella felt somewhat reassured by these kind words even though the grip on her arm had not loosened and was now indenting her skin. She walked through the front doorway and stood at the entrance hall. Madame Scarlettina finally let go of her arm, closed the door, and led her into a cramped parlor off of the kitchen. Between two chairs was a small oak table covered by a yellow tablecloth embroidered with black pentagrams. A burning white candle stood at attention in the middle of the table. She motioned for Mrs. Petricelli to be seated and then took the chair opposite her. Scarlettina began shuffling her well-worn cards, and then placed them on the table. She looked at Isabella, but did not say anything.

Thus, began a staring contest of sorts. Isabella started to become red faced and uneasy. Finally, she burst out, Well, aren’t you going to ask me why I am here? And almost as a disrespectful after thought, she added. And, how much money will it cost me for your answers?

Scarlettina burst out laughing while looking into her eyes. It appeared outwardly to be somewhat rude, if not cruel. She then smirked knowingly. Now what kind of a fortune teller would I be if you have to ask me all the questions? I know why you are here, my impatient dear. Then, a serious expression came over her face. Questions are easy. Answers? Perhaps, not so!

Isabella grimaced, threw her face into her hands, and began to moan. He’s a bastard. I hate him for what he has done to me all these years. But, I love him. I can’t give up on him. It’s like I am possessed. What should I do?

Scarlettina pulled the woman’s hands from her face and pushed them on to the table. She then lifted her chin with her fingertips. Scarlettina looked into her eyes and shook her head.

Do you think you are the first woman who has come to me complaining about a man? A man, who has a wife, but wishes more entertainment than she can provide? I know you have felt like a sideshow for many years. You have given up your own life to be a small part of his. You are like prisoner. And now, as you age and mature, you wonder if you wasted it all on someone so unavailable. Do I leave him? Is there still time to begin anew?

How do you know all this? Isabella shouted, feeling vulnerable and now leaning forward in her chair despite herself. I have never spoken to you about my lover before this meeting. Have you been watching me? Having me followed? You want hush money, don’t you? Is this blackmail?

Watching you? Scarlettina laughed out loud. She then shook her head and composed herself. Only of a sort, but that is irrelevant. You have come with questions and that is what we will deal with. But, I must warn you. Some say I speak in riddles. Perhaps that is true, but there is much truth in the deciphering. First, let me give you this piece of advice on relationships. Read it later, after you have gone, and you will gain some perspective and even HOPE. She then passed a small folded piece of parchment across the table and told Isabella to put it in her purse without reading it.

Isabella complied obediently, grasped the parchment as if she was holding sacred text, and put it into her purse. She then looked back at Scarlettina with hopeful eyes.

Now, why don’t we start addressing your specific questions by reading your Tarot? Scarlettina grasped the faded deck of large dog-eared cards and began shuffling. She then said a small prayer for protection and enlightenment, and finally began to lay cards out on the table.

Ah, the King of Swords, she said knowingly, without looking up. This one represents the man close to you. I believe we will use the terminology you have chosen–the ‘Bastard’. It is your lover, is it not? She did not wait to hear a response, confident as she was in her own abilities.

She continued. This man has a keen mind and values discipline and good judgment. He would make a good lawyer or scientist.

She finally looked up at Isabella who at first said nothing, but then nodded in agreement. Yes, he is a lawyer, and quite well established. I met him 20 years ago, and I have been his lover ever since. 

You mean mistress, Scarlettina said without any warmth or compassion.

Why are you so cold? Isabella cried out. Her eyes filled with tears. I know you find this hard to believe, but I was once beautiful. I had many suitors. But, I loved him and he promised that one day we would be together, and, and . . . he never took those words back.

Scarlettina shook her head and in a strong tone said, It is not the passing of time that makes liars of us. No, in this case, I think it just proves what was in his heart from the beginning.

She didn’t allow Isabella to say anything further, but continued to draw cards. Scarlettina then drew the Seven of Cups. Ah, as I suspected. You are full of dreams and illusions.

fortuneteller-mask-clipping-path

Isabella remained silent and hung her head.

Scarlettina continued to pull cards, and provide explanations for each one. Finally, she drew the last card. She held it face down, close to her heart at first, and then her forehead. It was a frequently misunderstood card. But, she had been taught well, and had experienced its power herself: she understood that knowledge was power. It must be revealed. She released her grip and dropped number 13, the Death card, onto the table.

Isabella immediately recognized the imagery of death. She clutched her face, drew back in her chair in horror, and screamed, Is he going to die?

Scarlettina shook her head violently, took Isabella’s hands in her own, and motioned for her to calm down. No, it usually does not mean death in the physical sense. But, it does mean an end. And, is that such a bad thing? For with endings come new beginnings! Listen to me carefully.

She passed her a small book with a page marked and folded. This is how you feel. Now read the next page and gain understanding why you feel this way. Go on. Read this out loud!

The hardest thing a lover

must accept

in his or her

heart

Is

not

seeing

forever

in

the

eyes

of his or her

beloved.

Isabella read the passage softly out