Given the gravity of my request the Gang of Four didn’t seem to catch the subtleties of my humor. They agreed to give me No. 5 but made me sign a consent form, in triplicate, absolving them of all responsibility. Had it notarized by the bookkeeper. Turns out they had never seen a common occidental eat authentic five-power Szechuan. Either I was completely insane or some kind of rough customer who was nonetheless charming, polite, charismatic, good-looking, et cetera—the list is long. Judith said, “If they don’t want people eating number five, then why is it on the menu?”

It felt good to get out of the rain, but an aura of tense expectation surrounded our small table. We had scarcely placed our order before the waiter appeared with our food. Judith got the spinach island with prawns at No. 1. She took two mouthfuls and had to put down her fork. Tears squirted from her big blue eyes. I asked her what she thought and she said it was like eating a volcano from hell. But then she has to be thinking, If this is a one and Louie orders a five, what other superpowers must he possess?

I dug into my Szechuan Chicken and was instantly transformed into a fire-breathing dragon. My throat slammed shut but I didn’t let on. I watched Judith Smith swallow a full glass of water and attempt another go at her spinach island. It was too much for her. Her neck spun in concentric circles and she goes, “Louie, I’m on fire!”

“Drinking water makes it worse, luv. Clear your palate with plain rice.” The words were barely out of my mouth when the second volley of delayed-action Szechuan chicken heat struck home. The sensation of a flaming napalm conflagration I felt at the back of my throat and oral cavity rose ten thousand degrees into a white phosphorus combustion; from a superficial burn to deep-tissue ignition. Like Judith, I was assailed by a fierce thirst. I gulped green tea, which only made it worse. By the time they got me to the ER, I was almost comatose. Instead of an evening of connubial bliss with the fair lady, I got an ice bath in the hospital hydrotherapy room. Then the ER doctor says, “Mr. Marzuki, your blood pressure is 260 over 195. And your blood work is not good. Your cholesterol is 409 and the triglycerides beyond measure. I’m putting you on Lipitor.” With Judith standing there wringing her hands, I forced myself to laugh. “Doc, I’m under a lot of pressure at work but, hey, I’m Louis Edmund Marzuki and I didn’t get to where I am in the world by sweating the small stuff. Don’t be such an alarmist.”