So.  You must be intrigued.  Did David say that John was a sucker for love?  What medicine would a hard-talking Don Johnson prescribe for a nerdy Jerry Lewis?

In the course of the next few weeks, David set himself the mission of fulfilling his prescription for his ailing friend – lots of exercise and lots of girls!  Whether it was the swimming pool, the tennis courts or the jogging track on weekdays, the discotheque on Friday nights or a music lounge on Saturdays, he dragged John along.  The ladies were always full of fun and laughter.  They were delighted with jolly old David and curious about the jaded look in John’s eyes.

But the prescription was not working.  Every girl that smiled at John reminded him of Beatrice.  That twinkle in her eye, that twirl of shoulder-length hair and the music in her laughter kept leaping into his mind.  And each time he thought of Beatrice, his heart felt crushed with the pain of rejection, burdened by love unrequited.  He stared dejectedly at his feet and wished that the ground would open up and swallow him body and soul – perhaps then he would be released from his torment.  When he looked up and found one of the girls, Jane, gazing at him, he could not bear the scrutiny and averted his eyes.  He was relieved when the group parted at the entrance to Tornado in the wee hours of Sunday morning.

A lesser mortal would have given up.  But not the Don Johnson of Kent Ridge Rise.

Tuesday was jogging time.  David chose the route along the Kent Ridge Road which wormed its way along the ridge flanked by nature in all its unkempt glory, untouched by landscaping enthusiasm.  The intermittent breaks in the wall of trees afforded them a breathtaking view of the sprawling complex below, ranging from the hostels with all their hyper-activities to the faculties with their cerebral torture chambers.  They sat on the gravel and twigs to savour the peace and quiet, far from the maddening crowds.  A philosopher might be inspired by such tranquility to open up his mind and contemplate about the ways of the world.  David was content to open up his heart to expound on the ways of love.

‘So, have you met anyone interesting yet?’ David began nonchalantly.

John watched a bus rumble through the housing estate beyond the university complex and shook his head.

‘You haven’t?’ David pressed on disapprovingly.  ‘What about Jane?  I caught her eyeing you at the Tornado disco.’

‘Really?’ John shrugged.  ‘But I guess I’m not ready for anything yet.’

‘Not ready?’ David was surprised.  ‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know,’ John frowned.  How could he explain that he was still feeling raw around the edges, and that Jane was treading on those exposed nerves?  ‘I guess I’ve been too preoccupied.’

‘Hmm…’ David nodded his head emphatically, ‘you must learn to transfer your love, transfer your feelings from one person to another.’

‘What?’ John was flabbergasted.

‘Yeah,’ David was emboldened by John’s apparent confusion.  ‘Girls can afford to wallow in their depression over a break-up.  Like Sleeping Beauty, they simply wallow until a knight in shining armour comes to rescue them from the pit of their depression.  But you can’t.’  David wagged his finger at John meaningfully.  ‘There is no knight to come to your rescue.  You are the knight.  And to be a knight you must be impregnable in your armour.  You must be tough, hard as steel and untouchable.’

John looked at his friend and said irritably:

‘I’m suffering enough, I don’t need all these fairy tale nonsense.’

‘All right, all right,’  David held up his hands to placate his audience.  ‘Look at me.  You think I do not know how it feels to be rejected by a loved one?  I’ve been dumped too, you know’

John’s eyes widened in surprise.  The Don Johnson of Kent Ridge Rise spurned?  That was unbelievable! Was David pulling his leg? John stole a sidelong glance at David. The latter was gazing contemplatively at the up's and down's of Kent Ridge Rise -- the undulation of young hearts and minds. John waited for the tender heart to reveal itself.

‘It took me a long time to get over it.  I never thought it could happen to me,’ David shrugged his shoulders and squinted at the evening sun.  ‘But I learned my lessons.  Never give all your heart to any one person.  Keep part of it to yourself.  That’s the only way to retain your sanity in this game.’

John shook his head incredulously. The tender heart was not so tender, afterall. It had been roughened by callous hands. He did not know what to make of the advice.  Was it born of weakness or of strength?

‘Look at it another way.  A girl sits back and waits for her suitors to dance around her.  She has maybe four, maybe five suitors, and by the time she makes up her mind to be serious with one of them, she already knows that that guy is serious about her.  So she can afford to put her heart and soul into the relationship once she has made her choice.  True, even then her choice may not work.  There could be a break-up.  She starts all over again.  On the average, a girl may have four or five relationships before settling down into marriage.’

He paused to see whether John was following his long discourse and continued: ‘But the guy… the guy will be one of those four or five suitors dancing around the girl.  If the girl makes up her mind and he is not chosen, he has to move on to the next girl and the next until he finds one who responds, and they begin a relationship.  Now think… if the average guy goes through the same four or five relationships before settling down to marriage, it means that he as to take a fancy to and dance around twenty to twenty-five girls in his lifetime.’

‘So there,’ David concluded smugly, ‘a guy can’t afford to invest his emotions too heavily in the girls who catch his fancy.  He must hold some part of it back and learn to transfer his fancy from one girl to the next.’

He watched the tiny figures on the football field below while he waited for John to mull over his theory.  He felt pleased with himself.  His was a theory based on gut instinct.  The logic behind the theory was formulated only to buttress the instinct.  And he was pleased that the mathematical analysis appeared so infallible.

‘Well?’ David demanded after what seemed an eternity, ‘what do you say to my theory?’

John leaned back onto the gravel and placed his hands behind his head for support.  His thoughts were like the clouds in the sky – they tumbled over each other in shapeless forms, floating this way and that.  And depending on where the setting sun was shining at, that portion glowed with a golden lining, that portion seemed most beautiful and most logical in shape and form.  And David’s theory was like the sunlight, forceful, direct and beautiful in its simple logic.  It might appear too simple.  Too mathematical.  But how could his clouded thoughts refute them!

‘Well?’ David demanded again.

‘I don’t know.  Let’s suppose you are right.  What, then?  Perhaps some guys… like you, can transfer your feelings.  But what about other guys like me… who can’t?’

‘Why do you say you can’t?  You simply stop thinking about the one and start thinking about the other.’

‘It’s not like that!’ John was exasperated.  ‘Sometimes, you look at every girl and you are reminded of the past, the hurt.’

‘Really?’ David mocked.  ‘All right, let’s try and see.’

‘Try what?’

‘Just sit back.  Relax.  And when I count from one to ten, I want you to think of Jane.’

John stared at David for a moment to see what he was getting at.  When he saw that David was earnest in his prescription, he lay back and thought about Jane with her hair cropped at her neck and her lips half opened as if she was about to say something.

‘Close your eyes,’ David directed.

John closed his eyes.

‘One. Two. Three…’ David counted to ten.

This was not hypnosis, John tried to reassure himself.  This was merely a mental exercise, John reminded himself as he tried to reconstruct the image of his previous Sunday night.  But the Jane that he saw was motionless, lifeless, like a photograph; and after a while, the twirl of shoulder length hair and the smile that broke into his consciousness was Beatrice’s.  The months he spent brooding about Beatrice were too vivid to erase with a still portrait.  He opened his eyes wide.

‘What happened?’ David asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘Well what did you see?’

‘We were at Tornado – Jane and I.  But Jane was there for only a while.  Then Beatrice came.  And everything disappeared.  It’s a stupid game anyway.’

‘No, no, tell me,’ David was persistent.  ‘What was Jane doing just before she disappeared?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Okay,’ David proceeded slyly.  ‘And you, what were you doing?’

‘Nothing.  I was just looking.’

‘Looking?  That’s all?’

‘Yeah.  Looking.’

‘You infantile moron!’ David exploded in his heap of gravel and twigs, ‘you stunted jackass!  Of course she disappears if the two of you simply look at each other motionless.’

John propped up his head in surprise at the sudden tirade of insults.  What had he done to deserve this?

‘You were supposed to move closer to her, touch her cheeks, hold her hands.  Okay, now try again.’

‘Good grief!’

‘Now close your eyes,’ David commanded.

John threw his head back with a sigh and closed his eyes.  The countdown began.

‘Now do you see Jane?’

‘Yep,’ John replied after a pause.

‘Are you close to her?’

‘Yes,’ John muttered.

‘Get closer,’ David nudged his friend.

Another pause.

‘Now place your hands on her shoulders.  How does it feel?’

‘This is hard work,’ John protested weakly.

‘Do her shoulders feel soft and smooth?’

John grunted.

A pause.

David watched his motionless friend thoughtfully.

‘Now slide your hands slowly down her back.  Can you feel her bundle of flesh in your arms?’

John’s lips twitched a little.

‘Now you’re at the small of her back.  Embrace her tightly.  Squeeze the breath out of her.’

David was smiling at the frown on his student’s face.

‘Now slide your hands over her bums and massage them gently.  What is Jane doing now?’

‘I don’t know,’ John murmured shyly.

‘She’s enjoying it, of course.  She’s wound her arms tightly around your neck.  She’s kissing your chin.  Now kiss her.  Kiss her on her lips.’

David grinned as his friend shifted deeper into the pile of gravel and twigs as one would on a bed of cotton and linen.  ‘Now what are your hands doing?’

‘My hands?’ John’s smiled.  ‘My hands are moving up the sides of her belly.’

‘Yeah, man,’ David chuckled happily, ‘that’s the way to do it, man.  It’s softer and warmer, it's responding to your touch.  It’s hot, man.  Where’re you at now?’

‘I’m at her breasts.’  The thought of Richard Gere in An Officer And a Gentleman flashed through his mind.

‘Yeah, man, it’s hotter now, really hot.’

‘It’s round and soft,’ John continued, ‘and I’m going to kiss her there.’

‘Good grief!’ David exclaimed in mock surprise.  ‘You’re naughtier than I thought.  What have I done?  What have I done?’ he squealed in jest; ‘I’ve unleashed a sex maniac!’

‘What?’ John’s eyes sprang open.  His friend was thrashing about on the gravel and twigs, trying to contain his laughter.  John saw that he was the object of ridicule.  Had he been tricked into this silly game?  Was it all a joke?  But as he watched his friend rolling in fits of uncontrolled merriment, he could not suppress his own laughter, even though the joke was on him.  So he rolled over to his friend, heaved, shoved, sent his friend tumbling down the lalang slope and capped it all by raining showers of gravel and twigs onto his friend five feet below.

‘Enough… enough…’ David chuckled amidst another shower of gravel and twigs, ‘okay, okay, no more sex maniac.  I won’t even mention the word.  Okay, okay, let’s try again.’  David had to rub the tears from his eyes.

And they did.  David had to coax his friend and assure him it was not a joke.  But they did try again.  It was a game.  It was a journey.  It was the opening of a heart and mind.  It was an exercise in pure lust.  And pure lust could be a steel armour that saps your heart of love.

As they jogged back the way back the way they came, John wondered how many of his friends were like David.  Strong.  Lusty.  Hiding behind their steel armour.  And how many were like him.  Romantic.  Vulnerable.  And heartbroken.

And Jane? Jane was no loner a pretty face in the crowd.  She was flesh and blood.  John could feel her arms and smell her perfume in his mind.  Perhaps he might invite Jane for a movie the next time they met.  But was he ready to give up the mud of depression that he was wallowing in?  It seemed as if the greater his suffering, the truer and nobler was his love.  If he pulled himself out of the mud and donned a steel armour, what would his heart be filled with?  Love?  Lust?  Or both?

But then again, John wondered, if he refused the armour and continued to wallow in his mud, would a damsel in shining armour come to rescue him?  That was food for thought – enough to occupy John’s mind that entire evening.

Indeed.

You may be wondering too.

I wish I could give you the answer in the usual simplistic “and they lived happily ever after” variety.  But life is too complex for such endings.  Ask Jane.  She will tell you how complicated life is.  Jane, whose smile had lingered over those sad puppy eyes hiding behind thick spectacle frames.  But I haven’t introduced you to Jane, have I?  Is Jane the modern damsel in shining armour?  Or is Jane busy lining up her suitors one by one on her calendar?

Jane is… well Jane is… too complicated to introduce to you in a sentence or two.  I’ll tell you more about Jane some other time.  Who knows?  She might be quite different from the paperback heroines you have read about so far…

****          THE    END      ****