August 31, 2017--Sonic Attack: An Audiological Tale (Part 1 of 2)

"Can you talk?"

It was my audiologist, Dr. Gary Schwartzberg, barely audible on the phone. He had never called and in my usual anxious state I was surprised and worried.

"Is everything all right?"

"I'm not sure." It sounded as if he was calling from a telephone booth.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing like this has ever happened before." I waited for him to say more. I could hear the sound of the wind ripping. "Have you gotten any strange telephone calls?"

"Just occasional robos."

"This would be anything but a robocall. It has nothing whatsoever to do with that." It felt as if he was lecturing me, which was not at all his style.

I said, "I'm concerned about what's going on with you. You always seem so secure and unflappable. But now . . ." 

He snorted. "If only that were true. But, look, I have to call you back. I'm out on the street and can barely hear you. There's another phone booth not far from here. I'll call again in a few minutes."

He did after five minutes which felt like an eternity. He really had me perturbed. I said, "I have an appointment to see you later this afternoon for an adjustment. But I can drive over right now if . . ."

"If it isn't too much of an inconvenience that would be great. I need to talk. Really."

"Not a problem. I'll be there in less than half an hour."

When I arrived he was waiting in the parking lot behind his office, pacing back and forth, gesturing and seemingly talking to himself.

He rushed up to me as I was parking. "I really appreciate this. I mean, you're going to think this is all so foolish. That I'm overreacting. I cancelled my next two appointments so we have time to talk. Let's get some coffee. There's a Dunkin Donut just up the road. Walking distance. It'll be quiet there now so we'll be able to talk privately with no one eavesdropping. You've got to promise you won't talk to anyone about this." He waited for me to nod, indicating I would keep this between us.

When we were seated in a corner booth he looked around to see who else was there--just a very old man squinting at the local newspaper. Elbows on the table, Dr. Schwartzberg leaned closer to me. 

"We know each other for less than a year," he said, "But I feel close to you and . . ."

"I feel the same way," I said, interrupting him.

"And to tell you the truth almost everyone I know would think I'm crazy."

I said, "You can be a little eccentric, that's for sure, but that's part of your charm. You're not even close to being crazy." I smiled, trying to calm him.

"Let me begin at the beginning," I noticed he was trembling, "You know I have a very diverse clientele. Mostly older people, of course, that's in the nature of the audiology business. Almost all of them totally compos mentis. Wonderful people. I'm so blessed to be working with them. And of course you." 

I sensed he might be tearing up, so I lowered my eyes.

"I'm telling you this so you'll understand why this is so strange."

"What's the 'this'?"

"I'm getting to that. Are you sure you have the time for this? It's OK to say no but . . ."

"I'm here for you," I said, "I won't interrupt you again. So, please, tell me the whole story any way you want to." I leaned back in the chair to signal I was not I any hurry and sipped my decaf.

He took a deep breath. "There is this Mr. Anderson. James Anderson.  A client. He's about your age. In his seventies. Early retired for more than a decade. Used to work for the government. High level. Very senior." He paused and looked directly at me.

"And . . . ?"

"You've spent enough time in the area to have heard that there are a lot of retired federal employees living in the Midcoast."

"I heard something about that," I said, "We've even run into a few of them in Pemaquid. Retired . . . ," I paused, trying to figure out where he was leading me.

"Finish your thought," he said.

"Mainly military folks and federal government types. I have in fact gotten to be acquainted with a few. One was a military attache to the White House during the Eisenhower administration. He was an expert on nuclear weapons. A really interesting person. Right out of the history books.

"Anyone else?"

"Well, there's someone who was chief of station in various countries in Eastern Europe. You know what that means? Chief of station?"

"A spy. Intelligence. Espionage. Anything else? I mean about some of your neighbors?"

"Well, among other things, people say there are actually quiet a few ex-CIA types nearby. That they feel comfortable being close to each other. As former colleagues I assume that means they can talk openly with each other."

"Bingo!" Gary said, loud enough for the girls at the counter to look over toward us. The other customer didn't lift his head from the paper. I thought he might be napping or hard of hearing.

"This is about the CIA?" I couldn't believe that it might be but . . .

Gary leaned even closer and I moved toward him so I could hear his whispering, "It looks that way." 

He continued to stare at me as if checking me out. Not saying anything. I managed not to respond, wanting him to share only what he was comfortable with. I took another slow sip of coffee.

"Did you hear about what's going on in Cuba?"

"Cuba? This has something to do with Cuba?" I tried to hide my astonishment but considering what he was saying, this was impossible.

The so-called 'sonic attack'?"

"The what?"

"Sonic attack. It's been in the news and a few days ago there was a piece about it in the Times."

"This somehow involves your patient, James . . .?"

"Anderson, James Anderson. I should confess that's not his real name. It's unethical to talk about patients by name. Are you OK with my need to protect his identity?"

"Sure. Whatever you need to do or say. I'm here for you."

"It does involve him."

"And somehow you?"

"Before I get to that, since it doesn't seem as if you know the specifics of what's been happening in Cuba, let me fill you in."

"I'm all ears."

"I love all your audiological idioms and puns."

"I'm just trying to deintensify this."

As he proceeded to fill in the details I realized I did remember something about this. It had all seemed very weird.

"You know of course that we have an embassy in Cuba, in Havana. Toward the end of his term Obama reestablished diplomatic relations with them. And it seems that despite what Trump said during the campaign he is not breaking off relations with them or going back to the past." I nodded. "But it seems that for at least six months the Cubans for some unknown reason have been using a sonic wave device to disturb, and it seems, physically harm American diplomats. At least 16 of them.

"Our diplomats began to complain about symptoms, including nausea, headaches, balance disorders, and even hearing loss. They were brought back to America and checked out. It was discovered that most had experienced mild traumatic brain injuries and damage to their central nervous systems."


He paused and again twisted in his chair to make sure we were still not being overheard. I thought I heard soft snoring from the man with the newspaper. He was tipped back in his chair and with his mouth open was drooling on the sports section.

"That's it?" I said.

"That's just the background. The context for what happened next. The part that involves me."

"Involves you?"

"Let me bring this even closer to home. So close that you'll see it even concerns you." He shrugged, "That's why it was urgent for us to talk as soon as possible. I didn't want to leave you in the dark." He pointed at me to underscore that I was somehow implicated and then again lowered his eyes.

I couldn't believe this. "Me? With this crazy Cuba business?" He nodded and I detected the hint of an embarrassed smile.

End of Part 1 To be concluded tomorrow--