Mr. Monk Goes to Germany Lee Goldberg (my reading book .txt) 📖

“I have to move out,” Monk said. “Help me pack.”

“He’s a hero,” I said.

“He’s a cannibal and you invited him here for a snack,” Monk said. “What were you thinking?”

“He’s not going to do it again,” I said. “It was an extreme situation.”

“So is this,” Monk said. “I’m very tasty to cannibals.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It’s the one thing I’ve been absolutely certain of my entire life.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” I said.

“Look at me. I’m clean, healthy, trim, and I stay away from all germs and chemicals. I’m lean, delicious, prime-cut, organic meat. That’s why I’ve never gone to Africa.”

“That’s why? I thought it was because you’re afraid of travel, foreign countries, zebras, airplanes, Tarzan, monkeys, khaki, giraffes, salted peanuts, lions, quicksand, thatched roofs, scorpions, jungles, loincloths, deserts, meerkats, spears, and—”

“—cannibals,” Monk interrupted. “Most of all, cannibals. If I stay here, I’ll be my neighbor’s next meal. I have to find a new apartment in a building that doesn’t allow children, pets, or cannibals.”

“Mr. Monk, Nick is a great man. Someone to be respected, not feared. Do you realize the unbelievable courage it took for him to cut off his own leg? Can you imagine the pain and suffering he endured? But he survived. He’s an example of the endurance of the human spirit in the face of unimaginable adversity,” I said. “You’d see things differently if you’d just put yourself in his shoes.”

“Shoe,” Monk said.

“You’re impossible,” I said.

“I’m whole,” Monk said. “At least until his stomach starts growling. Once you’ve tasted human flesh, that’s all you can eat.”

“How would you know?”

“It’s what they say,” Monk said.

“Them again?” I had to meet these people and give them muzzles. I looked at my watch. “You know what your problem is?”

“Yes. I have a cannibal living in my building.”

“You can’t accept anyone who isn’t just like you. You have no tolerance for diversity. It’s the differences between people that make us special.”

“Diversity is great,” Monk said. “As long as it’s clean, even, and symmetrical.”

I don’t know why I bothered to argue with him. He was never going to change, which reminded me of something. I glanced at my watch.

“You’re going to be late for your appointment with Dr. Kroger if we don’t get moving.”

Monk had never missed his thrice-weekly appointments with his shrink, nor had he ever been late to one. They were the highlights of his week. To be honest, I cherished them, too. It was the only time off that I got on weekdays.

“Let’s go out the back,” Monk said, making a beeline for his kitchen door, one hand over his right eye.

“But I’m parked in front,” I said.

“I don’t want to go past the cannibal,” Monk said. “What if I trip? I’d be injured prey, easy pickings.”

“Then you might want to watch where you’re going with both eyes.”

“If I do that, I might see something,” Monk said. “Or not see something, which would be much worse.”

Dr. Kroger’s office was on Jackson Street in Pacific Heights and within walking distance of Monk’s apartment building on Pine. It was a beautiful day for a walk, but we drove there as usual. By taking the car, we could get to a crime scene in a hurry if Monk got a call from the captain after an appointment. But that wasn’t the real reason we almost always took the car. We were both too lazy to make the hike up the steep hill and Monk didn’t want to arrive in Dr. Kroger’s office with a single bead of sweat on his skin.

We got there a few minutes early, which gave Monk the opportunity to organize the magazines in Dr. Kroger’s waitingroom by title, subject, and date. It was a ritual that I think helped him to relax and gather his thoughts for the session.

Dr. Kroger emerged from his office a few moments later and escorted out his previous patient, a meek woman I’d seen once a week for years. She never once met our eyes or acknowledged us. All I knew was that her name was Marcia, so I’d created a dozen imaginary scenarios about her to entertain myself. Since Dr. Kroger was the shrink of choice for the SFPD, my latest story was that she was a detective booted from the force for her raging nymphomania.

“Good afternoon, Natalie,” Dr. Kroger said, flashing a smile that showed all his perfectly straight, whitened teeth. If his teeth hadn’t been so straight, Monk never would have become his patient. Monk couldn’t look at someone with crooked teeth for five minutes, much less years on end. “How is your day today?”

“The usual,” I said.

“By that she means a living hell,” Monk said.

He was right.

“Are you speaking for her or for yourself?” Dr. Kroger asked.

“I’m speaking for all of humanity,” Monk said.

“That’s quite a burden you’re taking on, Adrian. Perhaps you’d find your day slightly less hellish if you concentrated more on your needs and less on those of humanity.”

Dr. Kroger had a very relaxing way of speaking, regardless of what he was saying. His voice gently stroked and comforted you. It was like listening to the tide, if the tide charged a couple hundred dollars an hour.

“That’s easy for you to say,” Monk said. “You don’t know what I’ve had to face today.”

“I’m eager to hear all about it,” Dr. Kroger said, motioning Monk into his office and dismissing me with a friendly nod. I was free to go for an hour of Monkless bliss.