The Heart Thief

He’s been standing there, combating the winter cold chewing on his bones like a starved dog. He’s been staring at that door for the past quarter of an hour, building up the courage to go through it. He’s not really inconspicuous or particularly subtle but since he’s not from around here, he doesn’t care much. When he loses sensation in his fingertips, he knows he should go inside. The brass knob on the door is like a searing icicle in his hand. A set of three small silver bells tied on the same string chime as the oaken panel pushes them further inside. There’s a little pile of snow that’s already starting to melt around his feet on a small welcome mat. With the door closed, his body rapidly goes into defrost mode.

The air inside the room is warm, damp, heavily laden with spices, incense and musk, and reminds him of the smell of the tropical rainforests he visited years ago. Although he’s been told this is a clinic, what he sees tells him he might not be at the right place. But the fifteen minutes spent outside freezing his butt off staring at the address is plenty confirmation. The place looks more like a dingy pawnshop for the bizarre and grotesque. Against the back wall, a row of shelves resting on cement blocks is holding at least two dozen glass jars with organs floating in an amber solution. Poster-sized sketches of dissected hearts, surrounded by a halo of arcane symbols adorn every wall. Haphazard piles of medical bric-a-brac are strewn behind the two armchairs, silently suffering the last stages of leprosy. There’s a dusty cardboard stand in the corner on which a pyramid of Agripure canned Brazilian heart-of-palm is stacked. There are no windows and the diffuse light is barely sufficient to make out the features of the old lady behind the long counter. She’s talking to a customer who is apparently taking notes, back turned to him. He can hear what the old lady is saying just fine.

“Then you carefully mince the chicken hearts, either with a grinder or with a sharp knife. Separately mince the onion, olives and radish. Once that’s done, prepare a bowl with two teaspoons of lime juice, a dash of olive oil and a pinch of mint bitters. This will be the bowl you’ll mix everything in so it has to be large enough. Drop the meat and veggies in the bowl and gently stir the minced veggies into the meat adding two spoonfuls of capers. When the juice has been sucked up, you should chill it for a while, at least an hour before serving. When you take it out again, I strongly recommend adding some chili.”

As he’s moving across the room towards the armchair that’s most likely not to buckle under his weight, the old lady nods at him, acknowledging his presence. From the sitting area, facing the entrance, he can see a wooden board, golden letters carved out of its flesh, sitting above the doorsill. “When all the desires that surge in the heart are renounced, the mortal becomes immortal.” The throbbing under his fingernails prevents him from thinking about what that even means.

“I also suggest you sauté a handful of sliced garlic cloves in a generous amount of olive oil until toasted. For serving, just sprinkle the fried garlic over the tartar and you’re there! Same as my mama used to make it!”

“From the bottom of my heart, thanks! I really appreciate this! You don’t know how difficult it is these days to find recipes for this kind of dish!”

“Don’t mention it! Just remember that it’s critical to keep the heart oxygenated while cutting it out otherwise it won’t be as good. Just make sure you cut off the aorta last! Ok?”

“Will do! Thanks again!”

The bells chime again and he’s alone with the old lady. She’s still behind the counter and she’s staring at him as he slowly walks up to her. He notices next to the cash register a plate full of coins. Up close, he recognizes he made a mistake. The coins are actually old pacemakers, about fifty of them.

“What can I do for you, young man?”

“Uh, I, uh…”

This old lady must be at least two hundred years old, he silently thinks to himself. Her back is hunched, awkwardly angled by the hump between her shoulder blades, pushing her neck down. She’s literally shriveled like his testies must have been just before coming in from the cold. Her slanted almond-shaped eyes indicate that she’s descended from Oriental bloodlines.

“Yes?” He glimpses a tooth or two as she speaks, blackened from chewing tobacco and betel nuts, drinking black tea, and the absence of a dentist – or dentologist – in her life.

“Look, I don’t really know what I’m doing here.” Further down the counter, beyond the guestbook, there’s a collection of greeting cards bearing red hearts, cupids and outlandish price tags.

“That’s all right. I’m Nee. What’s your name?”

“Pleased to meet you, Nee. But if you don’t mind, I’d rather not give you my name.”

“Whatever works for you, sweetheart. But just so we’re clear, I’m the local cardionomist.”

“Yeah, I sort of gathered that but I’m not really sure what that means. You’re some kind of heart doctor, right?”

“Doctor is not really the right word. I’m a heart specialist and that includes the medical aspects of the heart. But I’ve dedicated my career not to one organ but to the concept, the idea of the heart under all its forms and guises. There used to be these medical heart specialists called cardiologists but like their colleagues studying science, they were adept at cutting their objects out of the context in which it operated and treating it in a vacuum.”

“Huh? Science?”

“Oh, never mind, that was a long time ago!”

“So does your work include romance?”

“But of course it does, sonny! The heart is a complicated engine and pumps blood like gasoline, mixed in with emotions of all sorts, like octane. So how can I help you?”

“Well, see, a friend of mine recommended I come to see you.”

“That’s good!”

“See, I’ve never done this before…”

“Given the fact that you’re here, you might as well tell me what’s weighing on your heart. Just take it slow.”

“Well, it’s like this. A friend in my town told me about you and what you did for him and his wife. You helped them, you know, romantically. So I’d be interested in hearing about your services in that department.”

“Sure, sonny, but it doesn’t work quite like that. You realize this is a very sensitive department and I can only help you if I get to the heart of the matter. You’ll have to explain by and large what’s going on between you and your partner in order for me to help out. We can sit on the sofa there to be more comfortable while you tell me your story.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’d prefer to stand.”

“Ok, sure.”

“Ok, so this is the thing. I’ve been seeing this girl and I really like her and I’m pretty sure she really likes me too but there’s something that’s preventing her from committing to our relationship. I’ve tried to be patient, to dig and ask questions to find out but it’s all been pointless. My friend told me that you had ‘prescribed’ something for his wife and that their relationship improved afterwards.”

“Hmmm, I see, I see. Can you tell me about your sex life?”

“Oh the sex is absolutely fantastic and she says the same!”

“That’s good. And are you living together?”

“Yes, we moved in together about six months ago and we’ve been seeing each other for about eighteen months now.”

“Yes, yes. And, how do you think she’d describe the relationship you share?”

“I dunno. That’s hard. I guess she’d describe something along the lines of having fun, you know, riding the wave and seeing where it crashes.”

“Where the wave crashes? Is that what she would say or is that what you’ve got on your mind?”

“Well, I guess that’s me. If we ride the wave, it has to crash at some point. And that’s what worries me.”

“So you want me to help you out with the crashing of your wave, is that correct?”

“I guess that about just sums it up, yes!”

“Ok, I might be able to help you. But before anything more, I need to have a look at your heart.”

“At my heart?”

“It’s nothing invasive. I just need to run a few tests to make sure your heart is healthy. In my profession we like to get to the heart of things, so to speak. Follow me, please.”

A dry cackle escapes from Nee as she practically rolls out of her armchair like a marble tumbling down a cliff. She’s walking off behind the counter again, under the stairs, through the staff door and into the back room, her new client in tow. The back is even more of the same with a kitschy twist that he just can’t put his finger on. It might be the plaster statue of the Virgin Mother wrapped in a garland of Christmas lights, the heart-shaped blood-red coffee table between the two canary yellow vinyl loveseats or the numerous nudes – both male and female – covering every square inch of the walls. He barely registers the actual organic, beating replica on the sill of the sole window, like a plant posted to keep an eye on the sun.

They are in a little white cubicle that smells of sterilizing acids and baby powder. Actually, the room is quite big but it’s filled to the brink with various gizmos and unidentifiable objects. He is silently indicated to sit on a wooden bench that must be close to her age.

“Now I’m going to listen to your heart first. Then, I’m going to measure its strength and capacity. I’m also going to measure its output in terms of EM waves and biochemical content. That last part might pinch a bit, but there’s no way around it, I’m afraid. Now take off your shirt, please.”

“Er, what do you need all that for? My friend told me you had concocted a potion that his wife drank and they were on their way to a life of rosy and pink happiness! Why do you need to know about my heart?” He’s taken off his shirt by the time his weak protest is registered.

“I need to gauge the strength of the potion based on what you want. You’re my client, right? I’m here to give you what you want, right? Your heart’s emissions interact with your partner’s, whether you’re sitting next to one another or half a world away. Once that connection is there, it’s just a matter of tuning the strings to get the right notes. We’re going to listen to your heart now.”

She pulls out a white rubbery suction cup attached to a couple of leads and gently squeezes the device just above his heart on his bare chest. Meanwhile, he’s looking down at all this with paralyzing amazement and fear. She flicks on a switch on the big white board dotted with multi-colored lights and he starts. The room fills with an ominous regular triple-thumping, and he’s guessing he’s hearing his heart in surround.

“Clam down, dearie. You’re obviously a bit stressed but there’s nothing to fear here. See there’s a fine organic membrane in the tube just where the suction cup meets, just like an eardrum. This is what your heart sounds like, and despite you being nervous, you’ve got a strong healthy heartbeat. That’s good. You exercise regularly? Smoke?”

“Er, yes, no. I do exercise and I don’t smoke.”

She flicks the switch off, reaches for a panel floating a few feet off the ground at the end of a mechanical arm and pulls the thing behind him. The panel is a bit taller than he is and he swivels nervously on the stool to see what she’s planning.

“Great! Now this’ll do and one more procedure to go after this one. This is a bio-scanner. It’ll tell us the size, weight, composition, input and output of your heart. Just hold perfectly still, this’ll just take a minute, honey.”

She’s back at the illuminated panel and flicks on various switches for a few seconds and flicks them off. The whole process takes, as she said, less than a minute. She then pulls open a small drawer that’s filled with padded foam and a glass and silver device that looks way too much like a handgun for his comfort. He starts to sweat as she’s pulling it out and turning to him.

“I’m going to place this on your chest now and when I press this button, it’ll pull subcutaneous tissue into this tube. This is the one test that’ll tell me if I can help with your little domestic problem. I have to warn you, this’ll pinch a bit but tough guy like you won’t mind, now will you? Alrighty then!”

As she applies the device to his chest, he turns away. This he does not need to see. There’s a loud whoosh, a sharp pain – definitely not a pinch! – and she retracts the weapon.

“Ok, we’re all done here. I’m going to look at your results here and I’ll come back and find you when I know what to do with you. You just be a good lad and wait in the salon there. Won’t be but a few heartbeats!”

Before pulling on his shirt, he notices that’s there’s no sign of the procedure on his chest, not a scratch, no discoloration. She’s still cackling to herself when she closes the door behind him. It takes a while but she eventually comes out of the cubicle. She comes and sits across from him in the other yellow loveseat. She’s smiling.

“From your results, it seems that there is something I can do to help you. I can make a potion that will provide some reinforcement for what you want. However, there are a few things you have to know before you commit to this.”

“Sure. I’m listening.”

“Although it is possible for me to prepare this potion, you have to know a few things. First of all, like any medication, these potions I prepare don’t work one hundred percent every time. There are thousands of variables that come into play in a situation like yours. Although I’ll be careful to adjust the potion as best as I can, it’ll still be a gamble. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, I get it. I’m ready to gamble.”

“At the risk of repeating myself, I have to make sure you really get this into your head: sometimes, you can’t just force the heart. If your partner really doesn’t want to commit, he or she’ll be able to fight off the effects of the potion. This is just a kind of support I’m providing that can strengthen your connection with your partner. If the connection’s not there or too badly damaged, then the potion’s effects will be negligible.”

“I get it. Really I do.”

“And even if the potion does work, it might not work for ever. It might just wear off some day and you’ll be back where you started –“

“In a heartbeat, I know. Look, I swear, ma’am, you’ve made yourself clear.”

“Don’t swear to it just yet, sweetheart! First you have to know the potential side-effects.”

“Side-effects?”

“Oh yes. You know, some people react differently to different combinations of ingredients. They used to call that allergies. There is a risk that the person taking this potion – in this case your partner – will have an adverse reaction.”

“What kind of adverse reactions are we talking about here? Heartburn?”

“That could be it. Or your partner could have a heart attack and die.”

“Whoa! How often do clients report any side effects?”

“Well, it’s hard to tell, but I can tell you I’ve only heard of one of my clients to whom this happened.”

Not a bad track record for so many years of practice, he thinks.

“But a bit more than half do report some kind of physiological changes.”

“Right, well, I guess it’s worth the risk!”

“Ok. Now you’ll have to think about how you’re going to administer the potion to your partner. Two things. First, you’re partner can’t ever know about the potion, about me, my shop, and my intervention here. If your partner finds out, it’ll undo the effects of the potion. It has to be subtle. Second, you need to think how your partner will ingest the potion. It’ll be a pretty strong drink so you’ll have to mix it in with something. Don’t forget, be subtle! Some of my clients have reported waiting until after their partners had brushed their teeth and mixed it in their favorite drink. Seems to be a good way to mask the bitter taste of the potion.”

“Subtle delivery, ok. After brushing teeth. Got it.”

“Right, we’re almost there. Now this is the most important part.”

She pulls herself forward on the loveseat, and shadows descend on the loose flaps of skin on her face as the lines on her face deepen. She’s looking deadly serious and her next words are spoken with the final authority of Death.

“This is an ethical issue that you really have to be ready for. You know, this is a kind of deception, you would be effectively stealing your partner’s heart, manipulating it without the consent of the heart’s host.”

“Any risks there?”

“Not to your partner, no but to you… If you decide to proceed, this is something you’ll have to live with for the rest of your life. If you don’t manage that well, it’ll turn into guilt and eat at you and you’ll suffer for what you’ve done. In my ancestors’ language, the word for ‘heart’ can be found in so many words. Words like kindness, generosity, impatience, mean-spiritedness, serenity, love and hate, are all aspects of the heart. And so is guilt. I’m glad you came to me but I want you to be prepared and understand what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Yeah, I can manage my guilt quite well, thanks.”

“Hey, don’t be like that dear, I’m just looking out for your best interests.”

“Thanks. Anything else?”

“One more thing. Payment.”

“Yes, sure. How much?”

“I don’t want anything now. But if the potion works, I’ll come and see you at some point to collect. You understand that, love brings prosperity and it would be unfair to me to demand payment before measuring how much you’ve benefited from my services. If, on the other hand, the potion doesn’t work, I’ll leave you be and you’ll never hear from me again. Do we have a deal?”

“Well, I dunno. It sounds like I’m carrying all the risk.”

“Not at all, you’ve nothing to lose. Your friend accepted these same terms. They all do.”

“Ok… I guess…”

“Lovely. It’ll take me a week to prepare the potion. You go on home and come back when it’s ready and you’ll start living your new life by the end of the month!”

“Great, thanks Nee! Much appreciated!”

“Just remember, sweetie. The heart is a fragile organ. Sure it’s a pump that collects de-oxygenated blood from the body via the superior and inferior vena cavae and sends it into the lungs so that carbon dioxide can be dropped off and oxygen picked up through the passive process of diffusion, and back to heart and through the aorta where it goes on to feed arteries, veins and capillaries throughout the human body. But it’s also a lot more than that. It’s the engine of the soul and you’ll be tampering with its fuel lines while it’s in high gear… I can give you some octane but expect that this can have explosive consequences…”

Making sense of the medical mumbo-jumbo is just as difficult as relating all this to engineering metaphors for him. It’s time to get the hell out of there.

“I’ll take that into consideration. Thanks for the advice! I’ll see you in a week!”

And he’s off, back into the biting cold while the old witch secretly hopes the young’n will have a change of heart before the week’s out so as to avoid the bloody mess he’s getting himself into…

***

Sure enough, a week goes by and the clinic’s door opens, on the clock, and he’s back. He didn’t hesitate this time. Despite being a pleasant sunny day out, he didn’t wait outside. He’s got that resolve in his eye. He’s here to pick up his order. She nods in his direction and lifts a finger to indicate that she’ll be there in a heartbeat. She’s dealing with what appears to be a Latino farmer. He can tell by the boots caked with an icy mix of mud and feed.

“As you know, timing of heart-of-palm harvesting is a critical issue in the business since it’ll affect your yields, the quality of your produce and your costs. Since harvesting will depend on the quality of your soil, what I suggest is that you setup a few cordoned areas on your plot and measure the differences over the next two years by varying fertilizers and bio-stimulants, pest-control agents, and so on. If you track it right, you’ll know just what inputs you’ll need to put in over your land to maximize your yields and quality while minimizing your costs.”

“Wow, thanks! This is exactly what I needed! This is great advice!”

“Just you remember, dear, when you do proceed with your harvest, make sure you standardize the procedures and tools to keep your results comparable. You want to keep as much of the low fiber-meat at the core!”

“Of course! Again, thanks! This is really helpful, Nee! I’m really glad that I came to see you for this advice! I’ll start off as soon as I’m back home!”

“Good! Well you have a safe trip back to the heartland, sonny! Give my best to your wife, eh Fernando!”

“Will do, Nee! Thanks! You’ve a heart of gold!”

She’s got this smile on her face and she seems pretty damn proud of herself he reflects as Fern walks out the door. Another satisfied customer, I guess. Encouraging.

“Sir?”

“Hello, Nee!”

“I see you are punctual. Please come to the salon where we can talk.”

“Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem. But given the personal nature of your order, I would prefer to give you the final instructions in a more discreet setting. Please…”

As motioned like a puppet on strings by the wave of her bony brittle arm, he moves behind the counter and into the salon and finds his place on the loveseat, the old Nee across from him. There’s a package wrapped in an anonymous brown paper bag on the heart-shaped table.

“Is this it?”

“Yes. But before you proceed to claim your order, I must give you one final set of instructions.”

“Go on.”

“You must time the delivery of the potion to your partner well. Your partner must ingest the full contents of the phial within the next two weeks, else the elixir will go bad. It will be best consumed in the evening, and preferably when the moon will be closest to its apex. That’s in six days.”

“Evening. In six days. Noted.”

“Again, allow me to warn you. The heart is just like any other muscle and will rapidly atrophy if it does not get TLC and wholesome exercise. The potion is only an aid and won’t replace that exercise that’s kept your heart healthy.”

“Again, noted.”

“Lastly, it will break my heart if you don’t abide by our convent when the time comes for me to collect on your debt.”

“As you said, Nee. If the potion is effective, I will do as we agreed.”

“Very well then. Do you have any questions before we conclude our affairs today?”

“Actually, I’ve been wondering. Could you tell me what the potion is made of? What are the ingredients?”

It looks to him like the old hag is convulsing from a very painful orgasm. But she’s actually laughing her heart out.

“Dear boy, why would I share a secret recipe that my ancestors have entrusted me to keep close to my heart at all costs when you won’t even tell me your name?”

“Oh, I didn’t know… I thought that since you were giving recipes to your other customers, I could know what I’m buying from you is made from… that’s all. I meant no disrespect. By the way, the name’s Charles. Charles Skavineick.” I’ve noted all my contact details and home address on this here chip. It’ll update automatically if anything changes and you should always be able to reach me with that.”

“Nice to meet you finally Charles Skavineick, dear boy. Just be careful what you ask for…”

“Ok well, thanks Nee. I guess I hope I’ll be seeing you…”

Another satisfied customer, she thinks as he’s leaving the clinic.

“Be seein’ ya, dear!” Her heart goes out to him…

***

Six years go by. Six fine years, by his own account of things. Productive too. Charles and Laura Skavineick are parents to two little healthy offspring, a boy and a girl, and have shared much happiness and many good times together. However, of late, it feels like it’s all unraveling at the seams and beyond.

For the past six months, Charles and Laura have engaged in aggressive, sometimes even violent verbal bouts. He knows the kids could hear every word and he’s not too happy about how things are turning out.

She says he takes too many trips out of town and when he’s here, it’s like he’s living in a bubble and doesn’t hear or see what’s happening in the household. She says that he’s been spending too much time in the refrigerated room in the basement, cut off from the rest of the family. She says that he’s not contributing sufficiently to the family team spirit and he’s not fulfilling his fatherly obligations… She nags and nags and nags until he can’t take it no more and he explodes.

He’s been thinking more and more often about the potion lady, that cardionomist down over the next town, and what she had said.

Did she find out about the potion?

Has the magic worn off?

Did it ever work?

It must have worked and I’ll be seeing her soon to pay off the debt… So he tells himself as he rides the taxi back home after his latest business trip.

So what?

Was the connection never there between Laura and I?

Too damaged to repair for a perfect union?

The taxi pulls up at the curb and he jumps out, eager to see her despite their recent difficulties. After all, he loves her more than anything, until he reaches the front door. It’s locked. Which is strange. Laura should be home with the kids. He rings the doorbell to the house while he balances his suitcase against the rising wind and digs into his pocket for his set of keys. Before plunging the key in the hole, he rings the bell again. The bolt snaps back and he pushes the door inside, he and the suitcase right behind.

“Hello! Laura, kids, I’m home!”

After a few seconds of attentive listening, he detects nothing but the howl of the wind from the kitchen.

“Hello! Laura! Where are you?”

The kitchen window is wide open and the wind is blowing in. There’s a note written in black ink on the table, weighted down by a set of keys. He picks up the note, closes the window. It’s addressed to him and signed by his wife but the note is too difficult to read from where he’s standing. He knows what it says, anyway. Time’s run out on Charlie. He’s stupefied, dumbstruck. He runs upstairs and confirms that his wife and the kids are gone by the emptiness filling the bedroom closets. He moans and hurts more than anything right now.

“No, no, no! This can’t be happening!”

He trips on his suitcase that he left at the foot of the stairs and lands face first on the hall’s hardwood floor with a tearful thud. And he lies there, trying to make sense of his pain. But he stops sobbing and wondering when he sees her feet, but a few feet away. He turns his head, looks up slowly.

“Why, Nee? Why did this happen?”

“I warned you, sweetheart. Now it’s time to pay your debt.”

That’s when he notices the gleam of the scalpel in her hand.

“But before I collect, I’ll give you the answer to that question you asked me on the day you picked up your order. The potion’s main ingredient is tissue from a healthy human heart. But not just any heart, oh no!. It has to be a freshly broken heart! With yours, I should have enough for a dozen more potions.”

And, as she’s collecting the debt, the last thing he hears is her whispering voice:

“When all the desires that surge in the heart are renounced, the mortal becomes immortal.”

***