Free Strange Mammals by Jason Erik Lundberg Page B

said.
    “So you know all about the exotic medical treatments over there?”
    “Like?”
    “Like dried oviduct fat of a Chinese forest frog for its curative powers,” said Wade’s dad.
    He said, “Ground-up deer antlers or shark bone powder to boost vitality.”
    He said, “Desiccated tiger penis.”
    And without the slightest hesitation, she said, “Yes. I know about all of those.”
    “Have you ever used any of them?”
    “No. My grandparents will sometimes use the frog, but that’s about it. And since deciding to become a vet, it’s hard for me to use any animal products now. The closest would be tiger balm for sore muscles, but that’s not made from tigers.”
    “Tiger blam,” Wade said, and the husband and wife smiled at a shared joke.
    “It looks like you’ve picked a winner, kiddo,” said Wade’s dad. “You make sure to hang on to this one.”
    Wade smiled, lightheaded, and burst out laughing.
    “You know what story this man used to tell me when I was a kid?” he slurred.
    “Wade,” said his dad, “I don’t think this is the time—”
    “He said he was a time traveler!”
    “Wade,” said his new wife, “honey, are you feeling all right?”
    “A time traveler! Can you believe that? He didn’t want to admit to being a bad husband and a bad father and so he made up this story about trekking up and down the space-time continuum, making himself all important and not accepting any responsibility for hey let go o’ me!”
    Wade jerked his arm away, and the contents of his champagne glass splashed over the front of his father’s ill-fitting and flyblown suit. Hushes from the crowd. The band even stopped playing “Night Train” in mid-bar.
    Wade’s father looked down at the slowly spreading stain and said, “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.”
    Wade sat down, not quite sure what had just happened.
    “I’ll leave,” said Wade’s dad.
    “No, please,” Xiaxue said. “Please don’t go. We’ll get some club soda for it.”
    “No no, this was a mistake.” He turned. “Congratulations, son,” he said, and left.
    ~
    It was Wade’s dad’s last day alive. The hospital stank of industrial cleanser and urine and death. The terminal ward, where his dad was kept, was a fog of depression, the air itself bringing you down. All around were the sniffles or muffled cries of the soon-to-be survivors, those left behind when loved ones passed on.
    Every so often a doctor or nurse would come in, check the chart, inspect the beeping machines, do something with the I.V. Wade saw a detachment in their eyes, a coldness, a defense mechanism for the pervading climate of death they had to face every day. The candy stripers were the only perky visitors, though they had nothing of substance to say.
    Diagnosis: a worn-out heart. The doctors couldn’t figure it out. “It’s like his organs are twice as old as they should be,” they said. “He’s sixty-two, but his heart shows the strain of a centenarian.”
    Jet-lagged from the twenty-five hour flight from Hong Kong, Wade barely noticed when his father awoke from a deep sleep.
    “Kiddo?”
    “Yeah, it’s me.”
    “When’d you get here?”
    “About an hour ago. Right from the airport.”
    “Where’s your lovely wife?”
    “The doctors said she shouldn’t fly at eight months. It could hurt the baby.”
    “Right, right.”
    “She wanted to be here.”
    A weak smile. “I bet she did. Give her a kiss from me when you get back.”
    “I will.”
    “Sorry I won’t be around to see that new baby of yours.”
    “Dad, don’t talk like that.”
    “But it’s true. I’ll be surprised if I last the day.”
    “Dad . . .”
    “What do you think happens?” his dad said. “You know, when we go?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “I read up a lot on the afterlife, even talked to some theologians and philosophers in my travels. No one seems to agree.
    “There’s the Christian Heaven, or Hell, where either you have paradise and get to see your family