Taxi

Ben knew everybody. He had worked for Doctors without Borders in the Sudan, then signed on as an emergency room doctor in his hometown, then burned out and gone to law school and established a non-profit legal aid office. Journalists loved him. He turned around indigent people’s lives, some of which had been spectacularly shattered before they met Ben. His medical skills came in handy, too. He once saved the life of a poor anorexic woman who had a heart attack in his office while complaining about a utilities company that had double-charged her for six months. Not only did he visit her in the hospital afterwards, he persuaded her to eat.

You’re a miracle worker, Doctor. She was a very old woman with a cloud of witch-like hair and she gripped Ben’s hand so hard it hurt. Odd how hard a bony hand could clutch. After Ben left, she dialed up a radio call-in show. Newspaper and TV reporters converged on Ben.

Rose first saw Ben on the TV news. He’s kind of cute, she thought.

He met Rose at an open house. Both were viewing houses in the urban neighborhood where they worked. The neighborhood was supposedly “coming back,.” which meant that a few rich people and artists now lived among the poor. Ben’s anorexic old woman client lived in a dilapidated house with a porch and often served Ben iced tea and stale sandwich cookies during his visits. Ben had seen the FOR SALE sign on the neat white house on his drive home from her house. The house was perfect: no more than ten years old, a no-nonsense plain facade, two big rooms downstairs (kitchen and living room), and three medium-sized bedrooms upstairs.

Rose had learned about the house more conventionally, from a realtor. She wanted the house even more badly than Ben did. She was tired of her apartment. She was tired of commuting. They happened to arrive at the same time. They chatted as they toured the house.

Both of them put bids on the house. Ben said, Look, I don’t want to get into a bidding war. Why don’t we buy the house together?

Rose laughed. That’s so crazy I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.

I’m serious. I work long hours. My practice is basically pro bono work. And then there’s the pro bono I do after work. You’d have the house to yourself most of the time.

Well, she said, you’re certainly a persuasive talker.

They went out for coffee. He insisted on buying her a fancy coffee drink, something with syrup and lots of steamed milk. You need your calcium, he said.

She laughed again.

They saw each other every night for a week. They bought the house together. They got married the next year. Much to Rose’s chagrin, the wedding was covered by a feature writer.

The price of Ben’s fame.

Ben’s anorexic old lady lived a few blocks away. One day a taxi driver showed up to tell Ben the old woman was sick. He said that he had picked up the old woman once a week to drive her to a convenience store so she could buy wine and food.

Oh no, Ben said. I could have done her shopping for her.

He and Rose got into the taxi and went to the house. The door was open. The old woman didn’t recognize them. She lay in bed, feverish, emaciated, and drunk.

She’s dehydrated, said Ben. And thin. Thinner than I’ve ever seen her. We’ll have to take her to the hospital.

Ben carried her out to the taxi. The old woman had no insurance. Ben was used to dealing with these problems. At the hospital he signed some papers--Rose suspected he was agreeing to pay out of his own pocket. But he told Rose, The social workers will straighten it out.

The taxi driver drove them home. They offered him a beer, but he had to pick up a fare. They went into the kitchen gloomily.

This is my fault, Ben said. I was too busy to visit her.

You can’t do everything, Rose said. She burst into tears. Honestly, I don’t know how you do it. That poor woman. Her house is falling down around her.

She doesn’t mind that so much. But she keeps drinking and forgetting to eat. That’ll kill her.

Maybe we could try to fix up the house. At least fix the hole in the ceiling.

I knew the neighborhood would get to you eventually, said Ben. Yes, we can fix the ceiling. Pretty soon you’ll quit your job and be working with me. Or want to move.

No, I don’t want to move, she said.