Daddy Lenin and Other Stories Read Online Free PDF Page A

a frenzy of blows. Janacek was hollering something, but the rapid-fire thud of Brewster’s fists obscured whatever Melvyn was saying. He slammed his knuckles into the wall until he could slam them no longer. The Marlborough was an older building and the lathe-and-plaster construction of the wall stood up to his assault admirably. Nothing more than a chip or dent here and there.
    Chest heaving, he looked down at his hands, running slickly pink with mingled water and blood. There weresmears of it all over the wall. Melvyn was yelling at the top of his lungs; Brewster could hear him now, threatening to report him to the superintendent.
    He wasn’t interested in anything Janacek had to say. A miracle had occurred. The torment in his hands had vanished. It appeared he had beaten it clean out of them.
    Next morning the pain and the spasms were back with a vengeance. The rest of the week Brewster spent counting down the days until he could see the doctor again and make the case for a stronger painkiller. He was aware that the recent damage that he had done to his hands would put him in an awkward position if he didn’t manage to keep them tucked away out of sight during his visit to the doctor’s office. They were badly swollen and the skin over several of his knuckles was split. Charley Brewster, Munchausen case.
    The only upside to his completely losing control of himself was that Melvyn appeared to have received the message loud and clear. For the last two days it had been all quiet on the Janacek front.
    Friday afternoon, the doctor held up Brewster’s X-rays to the light and pointed to five old fractures, three in the right hand and two in the left. “You didn’t mention you had had injuries to your hands,” he said, a hint of chiding disappointment in his voice.
    Brewster had prepared himself for a cross-examination. “Frankly, I’d sort of forgotten about it. It was such a long time ago. And they’ve never given me a moment’s trouble until now. Then out of nowhere, just like that my hands started to hurt like hell.”
    “What was it? Some sort of an industrial accident? Did you get them crushed in machinery or something?”
    He had his answer ready. “No, a car wreck. Back in the days before compulsory seat belt use,” he said with a wry smile. “I was a teenager, went into the windshield hands first. Trying to protect myself.”
    “Any other injuries?”
    Now Brewster had to improvise, mentally skip from one clumsy foot to the other. “Not really. I may have sprained my shoulder. Got a few cuts. That was about it.”
    “You were lucky then,” observed the doctor. “Very lucky.” Fingering the X-ray film, he pursed his lips. “There’s a bit of a mystery here. I can’t see any evidence of osteoarthritis, any inflammation around the old injury sites. Did your former physician ever treat you for pain?”
    “I’ve never really had a family doctor,” said Brewster, trying his best to look sheepish about his irresponsibility. “I’ve gone to walk-in clinics on a few occasions. Anyway, speaking of pain,” he added quickly, maybe a bit too quickly, “that Tylenol 3 doesn’t seem to be doing the job. I was wondering what else you might prescribe.”
    “I couldn’t justify prescribing anything stronger at the moment,” said the doctor. “Not until I know what was causing your pain. I could send you to a rheumatologist, I suppose,” he said. It was clear he was thinking out loud. “It’spossible I missed something, but I don’t think so,” he added, casting his eyes upward to the ceiling as if expecting confirmation of his infallibility from on high.
    “I just want something to get me over the hump. Something temporary. The pain is interfering with my ability to work. I can’t concentrate.”
    “As I say, I’m reluctant to change your prescription. The Tylenol 3 should be adequate.”
    “Well, it isn’t,” said Brewster. “I can testify to that.”
    “You know,” the doctor replied,