"What's that, Doc?"
"It's my latest invention: Doc's Super Duper Fishing Rod. It detects the biggest fish in miles around, it sends out high-frequency fishy love songs to attract it, then it shoots the fish in a barrel, and finally, it cuts the fish into fish cakes and fish sticks, ready to fry. The only thing I haven't worked out yet is how the rod can prepare the chips and the vinegar that goes with it."
"And all those bells and other gadgets?"
"When I'm fishing, I like to relax, drink a cold beer, daydream about handsome mermaids who step on board to kiss me… so the fishing rod has a system of warning me when I have a really big fish on the hook."
"A really big fish? As big as the fisherman's tale about selling G.O.D. or other dope? Or do you finally accept you're just a big fish in a small pond?"
Doc doesn't answer. He looks around, at the Atlantic Ocean (not really a small pond), at the seagulls on the roof of the bridge of our rented fishing boat, at the horizon, at the bright sun, at his empty bottle…
"Get up, get on up. Get me another beer. This one has mysteriously vaporised. Right on, right on. The way I like this is the way it is: freezing cold. I'm getting a fever and a cold sweat."
"And those empty bottles? Can I take them to the fridge?"
"Yeah! Go ahead!"
I get up and walk to the little fridge next to the bridge: "How will you survive without me, Doc? You'll have to learn to drive your wheelchair by yourself and get your own beers. I can't stay on the scene forever. Today is my last day here in Brest. Tomorrow, I have another mission."
"Don't worry about me. My leg is healing quickly. In a few days, they'll change this plaster for one that allows me to walk. I'm not sure if I can also dance with it, but I'll find out soon enough."
I open the two bottles of beer and give one to my friend: "I like this day. It was a good idea of you to go fishing. The ocean is beautiful, no stress, no competition, no bets, no—"
"No bets? And I wanted to bet with you who will catch the biggest fish today. I have a hunch I will win. Well, I have Doc's Super Duper Fishing Rod, which makes losing impossible… so perhaps you're right; it wouldn't be fair."
I laugh: "If it's so important for you, I don't mind betting on who catches the biggest fish. The loser pays for tonight's dinner. Deal?"
"Deal."
I look at my simple fishing rod. I look at the 30 kilos of barbed wire, condensers and duct tape on the railing in front of Doc. Winning this bet is so easy, I almost feel ashamed about it. But it's just dinner, not his life, that's on the line.
There's something else on the line, on my line. I hardly noticed it, but I've caught a small fish: "Look, Doc. I've caught one."
Doc looks with disdain: "That's a fish? It's a red herring. If it's not bigger than a 5 euro banknote, you should throw it back into the sea."
I take my wallet and compare: "Almost as big as a 5 euro banknote, which is noted. A catch is a catch, a red herring is a fish, and I'm leading the race. As long as you don't catch anything bigger, I win."
"How did the Games end? Which country finished first in the medal race?", Doc wants to know.
"There was one last medal ceremony at the closing ceremony this afternoon: the Hide-and-Seek. Do you remember that all the spectators had to donate, and the highest donation per capita of each country would win? Monaco won the gold medal; the Prince and his wife each donated one million euros, and they threatened to raise the national income taxes to 5% if all the other millionaire inhabitants from their country wouldn't follow their example. Liechtenstein won the silver medal, same tactics: only 38.000 inhabitants and the highest average income per capita in the world. The third place was almost for Germany, but the counting closed at 24:00 on Saturday night and my colleague The Nerd hacked the bank account of the European Games and discovered that one extra donation of 12.345.678,90 euros of Luxembourg tax money at 23:50 was just enough to take over the bronze medal from our neighbours. It might be expensive, but you'll get quality back.
» So far six countries didn't win anything: Bosnia & Herzegovina, Cyprus, the Faeroe Islands, Macedonia, Ukraine and Wales. The wise men of the medal committee wanted to make a unanimous success of these First European Games. They gave these six countries each a gold medal for the Q&A Contest. No losers, no loose ends, and everyone is a winner, right? So in the end, every country won one medal, except…"
Doc smiles and answers: "Luxembourg. Your country won the gold medal for Bar Sweeping and bought the bronze medal for Hide-and-Seek."
"Exactly. We're the only country with two medals. Luxembourg won the medal race of the First European Games. My mission was a success. But, to be honest…, I don't care."
"You should care, Bugs. Believe me. I've been on Prepoleptyl. For over a week, I had no emotions. I felt no fear, no worry, no hate, no pain, no love, no joy, no happiness. Beautiful women kissed me, and I felt nothing except wet lips. They wheelchaired me around the centre of a spectacular adventure, and I felt no excitement at all. Imagine a doctor who doesn't care… You should care. Emotions are what we live for."
Jovially, I slap Doc on the shoulder: "You care about me. I like that. Don't worry, Doc. I do care, but I don't care about who ends first in winning coins for playing games. I care about real people who have real problems. These last ten days, I've seen winners and losers, I've met people I admire and I've seen people I detest, and I've learnt something important too: there are two kinds of people, the ones who need help and the ones who can help others. Which of those are you, Doc? Do you care? Or do you need help?"
Doc looks at himself in his wheelchair with his plastered legs and doesn't understand: "I? Of course, I care. I'm a doctor. Being a doctor is not just a job; it's a calling, something you do 24/7. When a policeman in his free weekend walks his dog, he will always monitor his neighbourhood. When a doctor congratulates you on your birthday, he will always look you in the eye and tell you to take vitamins, or you'll catch the flu. Of course, I care. Why do you doubt that?"
"I don't doubt. I just wanted you to say the words. Correct me if I'm wrong, I'm not a doctor, but I see several elements coming together here. First, I see a medicine called Prepoleptyl that turns off all emotions for a limited time. Second, I see a doctor who can flip the switch in the minds of his depressed patients. Third, I had an interesting nocturnal conversation with a nurse. She told me that kicking the habit of drugs, alcohol or any other addiction is 10% detox and 90% mindset. Detox can be done in days or weeks, but curing the mindset is a long and expensive therapy. This nurse likes to see results. She cares for her patients, and she is most willing to let them follow a treatment with the highest positive result possible. Unfortunately, such treatment is out of reach because it's too expensive. I'm not a doctor. I'm an economist. For me, 1 + 1 + 1 = 3, and we need 4 to reach our goal. The only missing element here is money.
» A few months ago, I met a Russian banker. I call him Rostov. He's my friend. He opened a secret bank account, and we put 50.000 euros in it. We kept the money in reserve, to do good things with it. Three days ago, I asked my friend Rostov to place a bet of 50.000 euros on the 1:100 odds that Belarus would win the gold medal for Pillow Fighting. As I told you before: for me, Pillow Fight is just a game. What motivates me to win a silly game? A genuine reward. My reward was not winning 5 million euros with Rostov's bet. It wasn't when I lowered my trousers and gave a message to the Gambino family, the former owners of those 5 million euros.
» My reward was to see people change, to see how a money-horny doctor might become a dedicated head of a private clinic, based somewhere over there… on the tax paradise of Guernsey, an island where drug addicts can not escape from, where no drugs disturb their treatment. Rostov put the 5 million euros in a bank account there, against a tax-free 5% interest, enough to pay for the costs of a private clinic. We rented a villa that can be transformed into a special clinic to treat drug addicts. The financial and logistic conditions are guaranteed. The patients don't need money to pay for their treatment. A promise is enough, a written contract if you like, to do their best and kick the habit, for once and for all.
» All we need is one good person, a doctor who cares, to become the head of that clinic. With all the patients broke, thanks to their habit, there's hardly any salary available for the medical staff, as you can imagine. They work for food and lodging. The real reward is the result, the immense joy you feel when someone comes back to you, kisses you full on the lips, and tells you: «Thank you. You've cured my depression, my addiction. You've saved my life.» We solved everything to open this clinic, except one little detail: we're still looking for someone who cares. Do you care, Doc?"
Doc needs some time to think this over. He takes a sip of his beer and a deep breath. He knows this is one of those moments, one of those few moments in your life, when you have to make a decision with impact, impact on your future, impact on the future of others. Doc has his moment of doubt and pain. Sentiments. Feelings. Emotions. That's what we live for. No pain, no gain.
Finally, Doc has an answer: "No."
"What 'no'?"
"No, I'm not that doctor. I do care, but… I can't do this alone. 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = 4, but this is teamwork. You forgot the fifth element: love, doing it together. I can't do this alone."
Now it's my turn to look surprised: "Doc? Are you serious? I thought you were my friend. After everything we've gone through together, I thought you knew me. How can you ever think so negative about me!"
I get up, walk towards the door of the cabin, open it and ask: "Is there anyone here who cares? I have a friend here who thinks he's the only one."
Tong Au is the first one to step on deck: "You think I run away? No way. We do the karaoke, Macao Gangnam style. We make the patients laugh. Laughing is good medicine. Everyone feels better when he laughs…" His grin moves into a grimace of pain; his broken rib is still not healed and hurts like hell, but only when he laughs.
Then, a dark shadow falls over Tong Au: Rosie steps on deck: "Who said that Cubans are the best kissers? I don't believe that until someone proves it to me."
In two giant steps, she's next to Doc, takes him in her big strong arms, and shows him how mouth-to-mouth publicity works.
"Well, that wasn't so bad. One of these per week, plus food and lodging, and I'm available for the job. I also heard that Cubans are the best dancers in the world. With one leg covered in plaster from Paris? Beware, Doc. I'm going to make sure that leg of yours will become as good as new, and then I'll show you what real dancing looks like. And perhaps I'll even show you what a girl like me can do with a Cuban cigar…"
Rosie whispers to me: "I don't know what it is, but this Cuban doctor turns me on. I feel like being a sex machine. Is that normal, after just one kiss?"
I whisper back: "Cubans are the best kissers in the world. You'll get used to it. All you need is a lot of practice."
I turn to Doc and ask: "Well, Doc?"
Doc is speechless, or still out of breath from Rosie's kiss. He takes a deep breath: "You, as an economist, can confirm that 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 + 1 = 5, that all elements are available, not for a happy ending, but for a happy start. You're a remarkable man, Bugs. I'm happy you're my friend, and I'm even happier you're not my enemy. I accept the job."
Bells start ringing, sirens start singing, bugs start stinging: Doc's Super Duper Fishing Rod is giving all the signals that he has a BIG one on the line. He grabs his fishing rod and shouts: "I'm in a wheelchair. Help me, or this fish will drag me into the ocean!"
Six hands grab Doc everywhere. When Rosie forms part of the team, not even the biggest tuna, not even that ugly one from Hemingway's «The Old Man and The Sea», can drag us into the ocean.
Tong Au, from Macao, knows about fish: "It's not the tuna. It's the whale. Hold on, Doc. He the whale is strong enough to take this complete ship with him."
Doc doesn't care. Doc is happy: "Don't worry, Tong Au. This whale is going in the direction of Guernsey. He's just giving us a lift…"
The last laugh is on me: I've won the bet with my red herring. Doc has to pay for dinner tonight. A whale is not a big fish. It's a mammal…
[Author's note: I'm NOT going to apologise for letting Chinese or Italian characters speak English with an accent. For everyone who criticises me about how I let my characters speak, I have one piece of advice: as long as your Chinese isn't as good as Tong Au's English, until your Italian beats Luigi's American, you better hold your tongue and study another language, until you understand how difficult it is to dominate even one language, not to mention two or three. All the linguistic errors in this book (and other stories by Ronaldo7) are intentional, to make readers feel superior, and to show how difficult some Grammar Nazis make a language. Language belongs to everyone. It's a tool for communication, to bring people together, so we can understand and help each other. But some people use their native logic-lacking language as an excuse to show off with their higher level, thanks to the luxury of having time to study, while others need to work two jobs to survive. Instead of judging others for making human mistakes in preach or prose, we should use our intelligence to make our language easier. Not even the spell checker can do it wright. (if you find an error in that last sentence: congratulations, as the professional version of ProWritingAid thought it was 100% correct, while both Language Tool and Grammarly suggested a comma before «wright») If you know any 'superior' Grammar Nazis who look down on others, order them to teach and help instead. Arrogant pride is a mortal sin.]