Free Good Medicine by Bobby Hutchinson Page B

was so damned old and sad. I just don’t have it in me to hate him anymore.”
    â€œI don’t hate him. But I don’t want anything to do with him.” And she didn’t want to talk about it anymore, either. “I really should go, Toby. I’ve got a lineup of people still waiting to see me, and there’s some sort of meeting tonight I have to attend. I’ll give you a call in a couple of days and tell you how it’s going, promise.”
    â€œSure, squirt. I’ve got to get back to work myself. Talk to you soon. Love you.”
    â€œLove you too, Toby.”
    She hung up, feeling bereft. Toby sounded tired, and she had a sizeable knot in her stomach from talking about her father. Why did her brother have to spoil every conversation by bringing up Mike? Didn’t she have enough to cope with, being married to a drug addict? She’d convinced herself long ago that she’d made peace with the past, moved beyond the powerful emotions Mike used to arouse in her. Trembling a little as she opened the door, it took effort to force a smile as she called her next patient.
    T HE NEXT FEW DAYS flew by.
    Jordan was accustomed to the orderly pattern of hospital timetables, shifts on and then scheduled time off. But here there wasn’t the same division between work and leisure. Sometimes the clinic was empty for hours, and other times there weren’t enough chairs.
    The Nuu-chah-nulth people were nothing like the patients she’d treated at St. Joe’s. Here, no one ever seemed to mind waiting for her. They talked softly with one another, drank the coffee and tea Christina made, ate the homemade cookies that appeared in a steady stream, and seemed grateful when at last their turn came.
    She soon learned that she was never really off duty. If someone had a medical problem outside of clinic office hours, they simply came and knocked at the door of her apartment. Jordan began to suspect that it wasn’t always a medical emergency that brought the visitors—their problems were often very minor, ranging from sore toes to toothache to a pain in one shoulder.
    Christina confirmed her suspicions. “They’re curious about you,” she told Jordan. “That’s why they come to your place.”
    â€œBut they don’t ask me questions or say anything.”Jordan shook her head, puzzled. “Yesterday an elderly man came over late in the afternoon. He said he had an aching in his legs and wrists, so I suggested an herbal remedy for arthritis and that he should come to the clinic for tests. Then he just sat in my kitchen for forty-five minutes without saying anything. I tried asking him questions, but finally I just sat there, pouring tea and feeling like a dweeb.”
    â€œIt’s our way,” Christina said. “Particularly with the elders. They like to listen to what people don’t say, to the silences between the words. It’s a mark of respect.”
    â€œI need to learn so much more about your culture,” Jordan admitted. “I read the books you suggested, but they focused on the history.”
    â€œHistory is what we’re trying to get back to, because life worked for us back then. But it ain’t easy. The world has changed so much. Listening to the stories our elders tell is the best way for you to learn. There’s a dinner at the community hall Saturday night, lots of food and conversation. You should come, everybody will be there.”
    â€œWhat time?” She saw the look on Christina’s face and laughed. “Just give me a ballpark figure.”
    Christina shrugged. “Come when it suits you.”
    â€œYou’re a big help.”
    â€œProbably around six-thirty or seven would be good.”
    â€œThanks, I’ll be there.”
    â€œMy brother Silas has written a lot of articles about our ways. He’d be a good person to talk to. He understands both cultures. See, his father’s white.