Page 411 - WhyAsInY

no sMoKe, But fire
The carton having been turned over to my resolute and clearly endangered child, I took the one remaining pack that I had pocketed in yet another demonstration of confidence, and, dressed in suit and tie and equipped with the standard briefcase, I got into Nadel’s car for what I believed would be a quick and fruitless detour on the way to my desk. I was feeling good about myself because I was going to help a friend on what was to him an important quest, no matter how idiotic I thought the idea.
In the car, Nadel was tense and uncharacteristically quiet. As he was not speaking, I thought that my best supportive action was to do like- wise, also uncharacteristically. Perhaps for that reason, I got lost in fantasy. The plan probably wouldn’t work, but at least, I hallucinated, the experience would be positive. I would be ministered to in a cozy private room where I would lie dreamily on an examining room table covered with a cool white sheet. Soft music would be piped in, and I would gradually drift off, as the beautiful nurse would painlessly admin- ister the treatment. So maybe this was not such a stupid idea after all.
Yeah, right. Nadel parked, he gritted his teeth, and I followed along as he led me down an alley and through a door that was marked “South Bronx Drug and Alcohol Rehabilitation Center” or something to that effect. Once through the door, we entered a large, institutionally green space with interior columns and what appeared to be linoleum flooring, unwashed. All I could think of was the cafeteria at P.S. 193. One column had a poster of the innards of a male body with the nervous system dis- played in red. It was marked with numerous arrows and legends in both in Spanish and English. The windows seemed barred, but that was prob- ably my imagination at work.
And we were hardly alone. Along the walls were slouched what seemed like twenty to thirty mostly unshaven men, sleeves and pant legs rolled up, with needles protruding at random angles from their wrists, foreheads, ankles, and ears. As I soon learned, this was in fact a drug and alcohol rehab facility that specialized in acupuncture to accomplish that purpose. Smoking, or the elimination of it, was, it tran- spires, a new sideline. Still, being the good friend, I did not bolt.
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