Free Duby's Doctor by Iris Chacon

his
easel.
    “Dinner!” came Mitchell’s voice from the
kitchen. “You guys wash your hands!”
    As Jean began to clean his brushes and wash
up for dinner, Hector rose and walked closer to the new canvas.
Hector wiped his face, hairline to chin, with both hands.
    “Why? Why do you do this to me?”
    “What?” said Jean.
    “I want this woman!” Hector growled.
    “Take her,” said Jean, gesturing to the
painting. “I have others.” He made a circle with one hand,
indicating the many portraits on the floor, all around the room,
leaning against the walls.
    Hector leered. “Dude, I would love to take
her!” he said, but Jean did not understand the double entendre.
    Mitchell stood in the doorway of Jean’s room,
absently wiping a serving spoon on her apron. “I believe you’ll
have to explain your meaning, Hector. And I, for one, can’t wait to
hear it.”
    Hector looked at Jean then shook his head and
told Mitchell, “Last year I explained to my brother-in-law how to
complete his income tax forms. The year before that I explained to
a very scary teacher how a Weimaraner ate my research paper. And,
the year before that I explained to my Jewish
abuela
how I
came to believe in Jesus. I’m pretty good at explaining
things...”
    “But?” said Mitchell.
    “But,” said Hector, “I can’t explain the
dating process to Jean. First of all, he don’t talk. I can’t teach
him how to woo the ladies with golden words if he don’t wanna
talk.”
    “I agree he’s mostly non-verbal. But someone
as accomplished with the ladies as you are must have, uh,
techniques that you use when talking is, uh, inappropriate.”
    “Nope. No, no, no,” Hector insisted. “I mean,
I do have techniques, of course. But, I’m definitely not the guy to
teach Jean about women.” He looked at Jean and back at Mitchell.
“You’re a woman, Doc!”
    “Thank you, Hector. I’d like it better if you
wouldn’t sound so surprised,” she quipped.
    “No, I mean, since you’re a woman, you should
explain to Jean about women. That’s all.”
    “Ah,” said Mitchell. “And, what should I
explain about women?”
    Jean inserted, “Stone says, ‘Women are The
Great E Nigma.’ What’s a nigma?”
    “Who?” Mitchell cried in surprise. As far as
she knew, Jean had never even seen the rumpled senior agent, Frank
Stone. Now, he was quoting the man? Now, he knew the man’s
name?
    Jean stopped cleaning his brushes, alarmed by
Mitchell’s tone. He looked up to see her advancing on him.
    “What?” he said, befuddled.
    “What did you just say about enigmas?”
    “I don’t know. I didn’t mean to say it. It
just came out. I didn’t know it was a bad word. I’m sorry.”
    Mitchell grabbed Jean by his shoulders as if
she would shake him – which, of course, she could not manage to do.
“Who is Stone?” she demanded.
    “I don’t know. I didn’t mean it. I said I was
sorry, Michel . Please...”
    “
Who is Stone?”
she shouted.
    “
I don’t know!”
he shouted back. His
eyes jerked to all corners of her face, seeking a reason for this
unexpected drama.
    Realizing that he was telling the truth,
Mitchell released her white-knuckled grip on his shoulders and drew
him into a hug. “I know you don’t, Johnny,” she said softly,
rubbing his back soothingly. “I’m sorry I shouted at you. It’s
okay.”
    “I’m sorry, Michel ,” he said
sincerely, though he didn’t really know why. He only knew she was
upset, unhappy all of a sudden. And, he had caused that, somehow.
He hugged her closer.
    Mitchell and Hector both realized the hug was
taking on a new character. Jean shifted against her, looked down
into her face, and lowered his lips toward hers.
    “It’s okay, it’s okay.” Mitchell spoke
quickly, broke contact abruptly, and hurried from the room.
    Jean looked at the doorway and then at
Hector. Hector’s face showed approval and amusement, but Jean’s
showed only confusion.
    When they heard the front door open