Bloodletting and Miraculous Cures by Vincent Lam Page B

means to an end. He had previously enjoyed the ideas and concepts but now, even as he became more obsessive about the details and patterns of facts, he hated knowing that his marks were soaring as a result of Karl’s study methods. He tape-recorded lectures, applied a meditative attention to details and trivial facts. His weekly time sheet was crammed with reading, eating, listening to tapes, memorizing, and working on medical school application packages. He worked with a desperate and fastidious zeal, imagining that each A+ brought him a step closer to Ming. One night, Fitzgerald told her that he wished they could stop studying, and instead could lie in the grass at the ski hill. Ming reminded him that achieving the last twenty marks required twice as much effort as getting the first eighty.
    Fitzgerald said, “Another saying from Karl.” Ming’s cousin Karl’s systematically mind-numbing method of achieving near-perfect scores was Ming’s lesson for Fitzgerald.
    Ming was silent.
    It was the first time Fitzgerald had mentioned Karl. Until now, only Ming had ever brought Karl into their conversations. Fitzgerald had often thought of Karl while being coached in study techniques by Ming, and he knew that Ming had to push Karl out of her mind when they were in bed. He did the same, but had nottold Ming of this. He said, “Sorry, that just came out. I’ve been studying too much.”
    â€œI’m showing you how to get into medical school. Isn’t that enough? Is it my fault that Karl taught me how to do it?”
    Fitzgerald felt his heart beating. He said, “It’s as if his shadow is on me when I’m studying.”
    â€œWell, you’ve never met him so you can dismiss your excess of imagination. I’ve got his shadow on me, and one of us is enough.”
    â€œI guess learning is learning. Sorry.”
    After his midterms in October, Fitzgerald asked Ming when he should visit.
    She said, “There’s no good time. Only less bad times.”
    â€œWhen will you tell your parents?”
    â€œNow that I miss them, it’s hard to hurt them.”
    â€œThen you’re glad to be away from me.”
    â€œNo. But it is a relief to be further from our secret.”
    â€œAnd easier to study your anatomy and your dissection than to face our relationship, our problem.”
    â€œYou have this amazing belief that things have something to do with you,” she said. “Don’t you see? I have to be as committed to renal anatomy as I am to us.”
    In the first week of November, Ming told Fitzgerald that she and Chen had gone out for dinner in October. He lived in the same building. Occasionally, she said, they grabbed a quick bite after class.
    â€œWe’re nothing more than colleagues, but I wanted to mention it. I wasn’t going to tell you, because it’snothing. Chen and I hung out once, maybe twice. Then I thought to tell you, because otherwise if you found out you might misunderstand and think that it was something.”
    â€œHe’s Chinese?” said Fitzgerald.
    â€œWho cares,” she said.
    â€œYou kissed him.”
    â€œDon’t be ridiculous,” she said. “This is why I wasn’t going to mention it.”
    A week later, Ming said that perhaps she and Fitzgerald should “slow down.” Also, there was something that she regretted, she said. A tiny misunderstanding, which she and Chen had already clarified. Chen hadn’t exactly known about her commitment to Fitzgerald, and so there had been a kiss, although entirely one-sided, and she had stopped him as soon as it started, so it wasn’t really that she had kissed him at all.
    Fitzgerald called three times a night. He called at random times and asked Ming where she had been when she hadn’t picked up the phone. He fell behind in listening to lecture tapes, until she reminded him that he had to study if he wanted to get into medical school