"Long is the Night..." (Day 2 - Late Night)

As things wound down in the galley, Dorian excused himself. He quietly made his way down the staircase to the guest dorms. Along the way, the medic caught himself smirking over Marisol’s seeming bedazzlement with Estaban. No doubt, the man was charismatic. Even young Serena had warmed to his charm offensive. But to see the boat’s little firebrand mechanic practically bubbling over the man was more than a little amusing to her best friend.

He checked in with Yeva, and took her report on both their patients. Rebel the dog was wide awake, more than a little interested in staying on his feet, and his appetite had resurfaced. She opted to keep the catheter in place until tomorrow, From there, they’d begin his physical therapy, going for leash walks about the cargo bay to rebuild his strength and balance.

Gill had pretty much mastered his crutches. And according to his assistant, the boy’s interest in Serena had grown at a rate matching his anatomy. Serena was still planning to “come help Gill” later on that evening. Dorian didn’t bother to ask for details.

He made his quiet way out to the cargo bay, with its’ ad hoc cot city. The bay itself was dark, but Marisol had answered a few requests by installing reading lamps for those who wished them. One of the booths was thus lit,the soft glow playing upon the sheets that served as privacy filters. Sister Lyen was still awake. “Sistah?” Dorian asked through the thin fabric.
“Ah apologize fah tha late hour, but Ah was wonderin’ if yah’d care tah have a drink with me?”

“Dorian, hello,” she called through the sheet that divided her bunk from the bay. Her long hair was down in coils around her as she’d turned in for the night with a book of prayer and a reading light. Snapping her book shut, the nun tucked it beneath her pillow, and sat up. “Yes, that sounds shiny,” she replied in a harried tone. Working quickly to draw her hair together in a single tangled strand, she wove it into a bun which she battered down with her New Kasmirian cap. Sure, it was boiling hot, but this was better than being seen by a man in such disarray.

Thus girded, Ly drew back the makeshift curtain to regard Dorian, bursting cap and all. Smirking, she added, “We never did get to finish that drink in the CrossCut.” As she rose, a beaded bookmark dangled from the corner of her ear and tapped lightly against her temple. Gently extricating the trinket, Lyen turned back to her bunk and deftly slipped it into the pages of her book of prayer, before turning to face the dentist at her door.

He wasn’t one to take a person’s appearance into consideration, but as a smiling Sister Lyen rose from her bed to join him, Dorian realized that the nun was in fact a woman who could turn a potato sack into high fashion. *Marisol was right,* he smiled privately as she stepped into the makeshift corridor to join him. ‘Right yah are,” he nodded. “Let’s head fah tha medical lounge.”

Leading the way, Lyen tucked an errant tendril into her hidden bun. “What’s the occasion? Is the heat keeping you up? Personally, I love the warmth. I shivered myself to sleep a few nights while at our last port. Something about the heat is comforting, like curling up in the sun.” She was barefoot, and the heat rising from the Lunar Veil’s hull was inviting and familiar. The doctor finding her at this hour could have raised a brow, but knowing him as she did, working alongside him and at his direction, the nun knew his request was a deliberate and thoughtful one. Her hand found the wooden beads at her collar bone as she considered what might be on his mind.

Dorian followed Lyen into the medical lounge. The door was open; a pool of light splashed onto the deck. As they passed, he could see Kate, hunched over her studies. “Ah had a couple ideas Ah wanted tah seek yah opinion fah,” he said as they took chairs next to one another. “And Ah’ve been thinkin’ a bit.” He poured bourbon into two glasses taken from the galley. “First, Ah had an idea about our medical practice on this boat.”

He offered a glass to the nun, then offered a toast. “Tah our infirmary,” Adler lifted his glass. “May our newfound mission touch lives throughout tha black.”

“To... our infirmary,” she echoed his toast, holding the glass eye level. The suspense was building--from seeking counsel to *our* infirmary. But then again it had become hers, too. Dorian had made sure that she felt at home and taken into account. Her voiced opinions were considered and reviewed. Though she was of no schooling, the medic had made her feel like his equal, and that was a talent served best by the creator of the safest place on the boat.

Their glasses touched, and Dorian took a sip of the brown liquid. “We’ve been busy,” he observed, “both with our own crew an’ a heavy run of dental work from town. Ah’ve been thinkin’ about a second treatment room,” he glanced toward Lyen. “Perhaps our unused shuttle. A second suite could lengthen our time with each patient, not tah mention ease up on our workloads. Any thoughts, Sistah?”

“I think that’s a great idea, but do you think Riley will… Ah, never mind.” She slid into a knowing smirk and placed her glass against her lips. It was strong and musky, like the wet banks of a creek. With a subtle tip, she let the bourbon in. It was a new, or rather renewed experience, here with Dorian, sipping to their success. It already reminded her of shenanigans with Captains and saloons, but deeper still it reminded her of her mother. “How do you plan on splitting the patients? I’ve been meaning to ask Yeva what she’s planning to take as her specialty.”

“We get enough of tha same types of injuries,” Adler said. “Minor blunt force traumas, lacerations, simple fractures,” he said. “Plenty of work fah a general practitionah, which is what Yeva will be qualified fah. Ah’ll supahvise an’ lead tha more intricate procedures, an’ until you get yah certification, yah’ll assist us both as needed.”

“Shiny,” she said, taking another sip. “When Yeva passes her test, how long does she have before she’s… reassigned? Is that how things work? Watching her transformation from the grief she wore when she boarded the Veil to the strength her work has afforded her is infectious. I was surprised when she decided to stay, but I’m so glad she did. She’s been a Godsend. I don’t know how we would have managed with Gill. Yeva’s truly been a phoenix.” Ly batted her eyes as the day’s work tugged at her. Pursing her lips she brought the glass to her nose, curiously.

“Once she’s passed her exam, she’s qualified,” Dorian leaned toward the nun. “From there, once she finds a boat, she’ll be on her way, along with a crate of her own equipment. That’s why Ah’m hopin’ yah’ll go fah certification as well. We work well tahgethah...and Ah value yah friendship an’ advice. Ah think we could make a real difference by buildin’ up this boat’s medical services tahgethah.”

“A certification, huh?” that warranted a raised eyebrow from the nun, “I hadn’t considered making any official steps, but… I haven’t been to school, like you. Yeva seems to have picked it up like it’s her calling, but me? This,” she gestured to her robes, her beaded necklace, the silver prayer wheel Dorian had given her, “has been my calling. I don’t know how well I’d do with an exam or with the host of technology you make use of. Scans? I can do that. Typing reports? I’m definitely a hunt and peck sort of… sort of nun.” She leaned back in her chair, eyeing the glass of bourbon in her hand.

“And yet,” Dorian swirled the contents of his glass, “if it hadn’t been fah a nun who stepped outside her callin’ one day, Yeva wouldn’t be in there studyin’, this entire “bush doctah” program wouldn’t exist, and Ah’d be wearin’ a permanent eye patch.” He smiled at Lyen. “Bein’ certified as a boat medic fah tha program isn’t a full medical degree. Yah learn basic care, simple surgical techniques, and as yah’ve seen, the hospital staff are there fah advice an’ backup. Not tah mention mahself, a well known buffoon,” he joked. “What yah bring tah our practice...what yah bring intah mah life….is a rare and precious thing. Ah feel that there’s a tangible benefit tah interllacin’ our two disciplines.”

She glanced askance at the medic, “You have a certain two-eyed, Heran charm, I’ll give you that. Alright I’ll study for the exam, but as long as I get to take speech lessons from Serena because Ah think it’s importahnt owah practice be consistahnt.” She couldn’t help but shake her head from grinning. “Yah not so bad yahself,” the nun said, still nursing her single finger of bourbon.

Laughter subsiding, Lyen regarded the medic. “Have I ever told you about the Medicine Buddha? Bhaisajyaguru, we call him more formally. He represents an important healing in the path of Enlightenment. The healing of dukkha, or suffering.” Lyen set the glass down and drew the silver prayer wheel from around her neck. “When we pray, we’re equally visualizing and resonating with the Buddha, and we do it through a mantra--like the one we said together for Gill and Haddie.” She offered the silver wheel to Dorian, “Would you like to learn?”

At first, he smiled over her impersonation. It seemed that eventually he’d have the entire ship drawling his native accent. Yet, as Lyen began her introduction to the mysteries of Buddhism, Dorian’s curiosity was soundly piqued. “Yes,” the medic answered her question as the prayer wheel moved from her hand to his. “Ah want tah learn.”

She nodded decisively before beginning, “Turn the wheel after each word and repeat after me:

Tie-ya-tar, om beck-and-zay beck-and-zay
ma-ha beck-and-zay beck-and-zay
run-zuh sum-oon-gut-eh
So-ha.”

She watched as Dorian formed the syllables in his mouth. Ly was pronouncing the mantra slowly, careful of how the Sandskrit’s cadence would sound to someone wholly unfamiliar.

*”Tie-yah-tar,”* he spoke cautiously, repeating the words of Lyen’s gentle tutelage. *”Om beck an’ za...zay.” He followed her lead, turning the wheel as each word made its’ tentative exit from his lips.*”So-ha,[/i]”

“Along with this mantra, there are some steps which help us prepare for the prayer. First, begin by taking refuge in the Buddha, dharma, and sangha.” She paused, “You and I can go more in depth, but for now, consider how we are all connected to each other in the cosmic order of the Verse. By doing this we also establish our motivation in a heartfelt way for the healing of ourselves or others.”

“Do Ah begin with tha obvious ones?” he asked. “Mah bonds with you, Riley, Marisol an’ Serena? Or is it somethin’ more organic in nature?” He closed his eyes and permitted a pattern to form. In his mind’s eye, Dorian saw each of the four women. Their impacts upon him, and the emotional connection he felt, set forth as a framework, structuring his vision. The lattice expanded, taking in the rest of the crew, his acquaintances, and distant friends. Even those who’d stood against him seemed to find a place in the ethereal tapestry. “Ah think Ah’m getting it,” he offered up.

She listened as Dorian talked out what he might be picturing. When he indicated he was ready to move on, she continued, “Next, we picture the Medicine Buddha in front of us; he is everything beautiful gathered into one, with a loving gaze like that of a mother for her child. What’s most important is to feel the very real presence of the Buddha here with you.”

“Everything beautiful…” the medic whispered. The visuals returned to the four women who’d touched his life. In it, he saw Lyen’s eyes and the single braid in her hair. The taste of an exquisite meal offered up by a smiling Marisol….listening to Serena’s roundabout method of communicating...the kiss of love from Riley. The peace of riding “Horse” through the fresh New Kasmir snow...the unabashed pleasure of a good book and a glass of bourbon...his life, once shallow, suddenly growing into something he would never have guessed. “Beautiful,” Dorian said again.

“Finally, make your request to Medicine Buddha, to remove pain and disease, to rebalance or restore health. Then, visualize the Buddha willingly responding to your request. From his center shines a light which you direct to the subject of your prayer, to a specific part of the body. Imagine that this light wholly covers and transforms your patient, or yourself--it takes place instantly and completely, removing all disease, pain, and suffering. More importantly, it absolves the root cause of this suffering.”

Silence fell between them, a patient, companionable moment as Dorian pondered the nature of the question, and more important, how to ask. As frequently occurs in life, he soon discovered the simplest, most honest approach to be that which rang true.

“Tomorrah, we operate on David Roose. Ah ask that mah hand be steady, mah vision clear, and mah judgment unclouded by ego or expectation…”

Lyen nodded approvingly, “That’s perfect. Typically, we repeat this mantra in meditation for periods of maybe ten minutes or longer. I’d like to join you, if that’s alright with you.”

“Oh...thanks.” He began again, voicing his desires to include the Sister’s participation.

“Tomorrah, we operate on David Roose.
Ah ask that our hands be steady,
Our vision clear,
And our judgment unclouded.
May we shelter him from the dukkha.
May we restore tha function tah his knee.”

To that, Dorian included thoughts for the rapidly healing Gill, and final words in honor of the bluetick hound.

“Through an act of hubris Ah have claimed a life.
Ah undahstand now mah responsibility toward that life.
May Ah be conscious of mah obligation with every passing day.”

Lyen sat back a proud smile on her face. “As heartfelt a prayer I’ve ever heard. I feel like this prayer does as much for us as it does for our patients. It focuses. It aligns us with the ‘Verse’s connected struggle against the dukkha in light of the sangha, or community, around us. We lift each other up.” With a smirk, she smoothed her open palms against her thigh. “It feels good to have someone else of faith aboard the Veil. Thank you for sharing your faith with me.”

*...”Someone else of faith”...* Up until recently, he’d have scoffed at such a description. Dorian’s long held position was that anything pertaining to a religious ideology was the work of charlatans, intent upon either control or money wrested from the hands of the weak minded. What a change, inspired by the only genuine practitioner of any belief system he’d ever known. Through Lyen’s guidance, he could see a path never before offered, one of love, hope, and an actual service to those who most needed it in the ‘verse. Through her, he glimpsed an end to the violence, or the need to carry a gun. That grim destiny he’d espoused, of meeting his bullet and dying face down on a dusty street, need not be his inexorable fate. Through Lyen, he had a choice. “It truly does,” he agreed with a sense of wonder. “Thank yah fah lightin’ tha way.”

“And for sharing a drink, too,” the nun gathered her glass and finished its contents. It burned, and Lyen exhaled through pursed lips, blinking. “So Rebel is staying with the ship?” she couldn’t stifle the excitement in her tone. “I’m sorry to the family, the two boys especially, but it sounds like he’ll have his best chance at recovery with you.”

“Well, Ah haven’t broached tha topic with tha Lieutenant yet,” he admitted. “At tha very least, Ah’ll keep him with me until Ah can locate an adoptive family. But Ah’ve discovahed a very kindly nature in Riley. Fingahs crossed she permits ‘im tah stay on.”

“I’m glad things are going so well for the two of you. I can say I’ve noticed a warm wind of change from Riley.” She set the glass on the chair-side table and rose. “I fear I won’t be much use to anyone tomorrow if I don’t turn in. Thank you for this. And, I’ve found that those who search for light in the darkness come to it all on their own.”

He rose from his chair as she bade her goodnight. “Thank yah, Sistah. Sleep well. Ah’ll be along presently.” Dorian watched the nun as she faded into the semi darkness of the cargo bay. Lyen had given him a great deal to think about. The medic paused in his solitude, thoughts of the newfound sense of completeness in his life playing upon his mind.

A deep weariness rode upon his shoulders; the past two days had been nothing, if not hectic and busy. Following Lyen’s example, the medic returned to the cargo bay, and his waiting bunk.