The Quack

“I have gum boil,” I told the quack who had a chamber in the neighbourhood.

“You should never boil gums, it causes the enamel to evaporate,” he said disapprovingly.

“I did not use boiling water, but boiled water,” I said wincing in agony.

“That’s what I said in the first place,” he said, eyeing me up and down, “And you have trimmed your nails I see, that causes night blindness.”

I nodded glumly. “It won’t happen the next time.”

The fraud rummaged among his instruments that he kept in a pail in the corner of his dispensary and pulled out a pair of fearsome looking tongs. “Stick out your tongue.”

I did as directed and he pulled it out with the tongs and inspected it minutely. “It looks like you have a hernia.”

“Is it bad?” I asked anxiously.

“It’s certainly bad since you trim your nails, you should only bite them after dinner it helps digestion,” he said.

I gurgled a bit.

“How many fingers do you see?” he asked as he let go of my tongue and showed me his thumb.

“I don’t have my reading glasses,” I mumbled contritely.

He put down his tongs carefully and pinched my nose.

“Ow!” I yelped.

“How many fingers,” he persisted.

“That’s one nose,” I replied.

“Since you can distinguish your nose from gum boil, it may not be that serious,” the quack said picking up a darning needle.

“What’s that for?” I quavered.

“That’s to mend the holes in your socks so that the hydrochloric acid in your system does not drain out,” he said shaking his head.

“Shall I take off my boots, then?” I asked uncertainly.

“No need, this needle will go through leather easily, it’s called acupuncture,” he said benignly.

“Do I need that?” I asked shaken.

“Absolutely, then I will test to see if you have a hernia too,” he replied.

“But I only have a gum boil,” I pleaded.

“That is the inner manifestation and the hernia the outer, just like the earth’s inner and outer mantles,” he explained, “the earth is shaped like a hernia too.”

“I never thought of that,” I gulped.

“I told you, you have night blindness, that’s why you can’t see certain things clearly,” the fraud said.

“Will you put down that darning needle?” I asked.

“But it would have helped,” he said reluctantly putting it down.

I heaved a sigh of relief.

“Let me feel your pulse,” the charlatan said closing his eyes and clutching my arm tightly. “Just as I thought, you are having a cardiac arrest.”

“Should I lie down?” I asked in alarm.

“No,  just hold your breath and count till two hundred,” he commanded.

“But I will be out cold by then.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had a cold too, I will prescribe some sulphuric acid. You can get it at the grocer's shop,” the quack said.

“Are you sure?”

“You should get the large bottle, it’s economical and will last a couple of years,” the rogue said, pulling my nose and having a look at my teeth.

“The gum boil is up there,” I moaned.

“It hasn’t reached boiling point as yet,” he said, giving my nose a critical examination, “A cardiac arrest will follow shortly.”

“Will I be arrested because I have a gum boil?” I asked sorrowfully.

 “You should not bring the police into this,” he said nervously, “I will pull out your front teeth in a minute, have patience please.”

“Must you?” I quaked.

“Then it must be the darning needle, I charge the same for both,” he said, “Acupuncture is the in thing these days just like tattoos,” he said.

“Do you have a sewing machine too?” I asked in dread.

“That is very expensive, I only use it for plastic surgery,” he replied.

“But where is the operation theatre?” I questioned, looking around in fright.

“I keep it under the table in the corner to fool the cops,” he said lowering his voice.

“Do the cops raid you often?”

“Whenever they arrest someone with inflammation of the lungs or a gas leak they send word that they will be raiding my chamber,” the fraudster said.

“Doesn’t that frighten you?” I asked incredulously.

“Never, doctors are never afraid of the police, ghosts and lumbago,” he said.

“But they could get you by the short hairs?”

“They couldn’t, I’m bald under the wig,” he said confidentially.

“How did you get bald?”

“Too much carbon monoxide, my hair turned mauve before it fell off,” the quack replied, “Do you want a mouth to mouth resuscitation?”

“No, thank you,” I replied stiffly.

“I usually reserve mouth to mouth resuscitation for my female patients when they faint,” the charlatan said earnestly, “They are left with no option when I tell them my fees.”

“Do you also prescribe sulphuric acid to them?” I questioned.

“Not always, only when they go into a catatonic trance,” the charlatan replied.

“Do you hypnotise them also?” I questioned.

“They always fall under my hypnotic spell,” he smirked, “and I know a spell or two to determine if they have gum boil or gout.”

“You know spells for acupuncture too?”

“Just a few, actually, I learn embroidery during my sessions with my female patients, it helps to soothe the nerves,” he said.

“So you swiped the darning needle from your embroidery class?”

“I don’t swipe the darning needle, only my credit card,” he said indignantly, “What do you take me for?”

“Someone willing to sell his patients and grandmother down the river for filthy lucre,” I replied.

“I can’t go up the river with people waiting in line with gum boil. I don’t misuse the darning needle,” the fraud retorted heatedly.

“You could look for the needle in the haystack,” I said.

“I ask my patients to do that and if they can’t find it, I double my fees,” the fraudster said.

“That means you doctor your accounts and pretend to be a spin doctor to your patients,” I said repelled.

“You can’t be a good doctor without spinning a yarn or two about how cough mixture dissolves gallstones,” he said airily.

“But you are a shyster who must be exposed,” I said indignantly.

“I don’t need to be exposed, I’m not a flasher,” he replied with dignity, “I only expose myself in the summer when the air-conditioning is off.”

“But what about treating my gum boil?” I asked, coming to the point.

“Let’s try some boiling oil first,” the quack replied, “Open your mouth wide.”

“I will not have you looking at my naked tonsils,” I protested.

“I always go to the root of the problem,” he said soothingly, “So that I can figure out the square root.”

“Why don’t you use a calculator, then?”

“That’s something I don’t need, I have an abacus that makes me very calculating,” he chuckled.

“Then you must be cold too,” I hazarded, “Possibly cold-blooded.”

“I do yoga and deep breathing exercises in the fridge,” the quack said, “It helps me keep calm and motivated to fleece as many patients as possible.”

“If you have cold blood how do you warm up?”

“I use a thermometer,” the quack said, “And a hot water bottle.”

“I hope you keep the hot water bottle away from the darning needle or your bed would be a mess,” I said opening my mouth as wide as possible.

“You are green to the gills!” The quack exclaimed.

“The grass is always greener near the tonsils,” I commented.

“You need some fertiliser for the grass so that it grows naturally through your nostrils,” the fellow said.

“I’m not going to employ a gardener,” I said firmly, “Even if he is an expert on trimming moustaches and hedges.”

“You could try one of those things that they shear sheep with, I can give you a discount too,” he said.

“But what about the gum boil?” I asked exasperatedly.

“It will go away when it reaches boiling point,” he said, “If it doesn’t you can consult a veterinarian or insult a valetudinarian.”

“I don’t know any such person,” I replied.

“Just look up the phone directory or street directory and you are bound to find them listed under the letter ‘v’.

“I can’t very well go insulting strangers just because they dodder and dawdle,” I said, “What if they decide to bite?”

“Invite them to lunch dear fellow,” the quack said, “And make sure that the Devil takes the hindmost. Now open your mouth wider.”

“My jaws are getting unhinged,” I complained.

“That’s no problem, I will just tighten the screws at the back of the jaws,” he said taking out a screwdriver.

“Don’t you use a stethoscope?” I asked fearfully.

“I do, but I only use it tie up unruly patients or when they say that I am overcharging them,” the fraud said.

He tapped my teeth with the screwdriver. “Do you feel a screw is loose somewhere?”

I shook my head.

He seized my head and shook it violently from side to side.

“No loose screws, then your jaws must have been welded into place,” he said muttering to himself.

“I don’t know and neither did my mother tell me after weaning,” I replied.

“You remember being weaned?” he asked rubbing his palms gleefully, “Then a spot of psychoanalysis will be in order.”

I groaned.

“You made a weird noise just now, it must be that you are remembering your mother,” he remarked, 

“What do you remember?”

“I remember standing in a corner and having a pie,” I said reluctantly, “Like Little Jack Horner.”

“So you have a split personality too? Don’t think about it, I have some good adhesive tape that should be able to take care of it.”

“I think I’m seeing double,” I said in a panic.

“You want a double? What will it be, a whisky and soda or vodka?” He questioned.

“No, no, I’m seeing double,” I said earnestly.

“That explains your split personality,” he said taking up the darning needle again,”I’ll just sew it up from top to bottom and you wouldn’t be able to tell your top from your bottom.”

“Are you going to use acetic acid too?” I asked in trepidation.

“You mean you want to become an ascetic? He asked smiling, “It happens with split personalities.”

“But I only have a gum boil,” I said quivering in alarm.

“They all say that when they are suffering from delusions,” the quack nodded.

“Boil,” I shrieked, “Gum boil?”

“You want some boiling water? I’ll boil some in a test tube in a jiffy and your troubles will be over,” he said soothingly.

“Go boil your head,” I shouted.

“That’s delusion of grandeur,” he remarked holding a test tube over a bunsen burner.

“Will you give me something for gumboil?” I demanded.

“I’m boiling it can’t you see,” he remarked pleasantly.

“I neither need a cure for dyspepsia and tonsillitis nor need a vasectomy,” I howled.

“But without curing them how can I cure gumboil?” He asked as the test tube exploded in his hands.

“”Darn I must have put in hydrochloric acid by mistake.”

“Do you have a first aid kit?” I asked concerned as he danced about the room in agony.

“No, I don’t have AIDS!”

“Did you take dancing lessons?” I asked watching him with interest as he sprinted from one corner of the room to another.

“I will soon be entering the Olympics,” he said gasping.

“Will you only take part in 4 x 400-metre event or also in judo and boxing?” I asked conversationally as the quack began banging his head against the wall.

“The 400-metre event in the hurdles,” he gasped.

“Do you keep smelling salts handy?” I enquired.

“Why?”

“Because you will need it when you pass out,” I said kindly.

“I passed out long ago,”” he whimpered.

“I didn’t notice that,” I said interestedly, “How does it feel now?”

“Just fine,” he said taking up the darning needle with a vengeance and advancing on me slowly, 

“Now where is that gum boil?”

“Has it has reached boiling point,” I panted.

 “I will soon find out,” he said menacingly.

“But I’m not insured!” I exclaimed.

“Not insured?” He asked drawing himself up, “Are you an insurance salesman?”

“I hate insurance salesman,” I replied hastily.

“There you see, you have a split personality,” he said shaking his head.

“What about gumboil?”

“Just an imaginary ailment,” the quack said, “You need to be psychoanalysed.”

“Do you need to do that?” I asked warily.

“Very necessary, I have Alfred Hitchcock's ‘Psycho’, I’m afraid you will have to see it.”

“Is it pornographic?” I asked interestedly.

“Are you homogenous?” he questioned.

“I am straight,” I replied.

“Just as I thought, you need a straitjacket,” he said nodding his head.

“You have a straitjacket?” I quavered.

“Just the one they took me to a mental asylum in,” he replied, “But they let me out after I cured all the doctors and got my medical degrees and a licence to practice.”

“Do you think I need it?” I asked in horror.

“You will have to put it on while I screen ‘Psycho’ for you,” he replied, “And you must lie down and close your eyes.”

“Do I have to say my prayers too?”

“No harm, just keep it short and to the point,” the quack said.

“Shall I count sheep as well?” I questioned.

“I don’t have any sheep,” he replied, “I prefer lamb and pork.”

“How do I count lamb and pork?” I asked.

“Just start at the beginning by saying ‘Aah’,” he replied.

“But I don’t want to be hypnotised,” I protested.

“You have to be hypnotised before I give you this,” he said taking out a large hypodermic syringe from the pail in the corner.

“But that’s for horses and cows,” I said in dread.

“What’s sauce for the gander is sauce for the goose,” he said.

“No goose,” I said, “I can have some sausages.”

“Sausages? I charge by the minute,” he said taking out a stopwatch from his pail, “I will time you to see if you can beat the Guinness World record in eating sausages.”

“I don’t need sausages for my gum boil,” I replied shaking my head vigorously.

“You mustn't shake your head like that you or can make the screws in you brain spill all over the carpet and I don’t see very well after dark.”

I looked at him with trepidation. “Are you going to spill my brains all over your carpet?”

“Do you have a small brain like a praying mantis or a large one like a gorilla?” He questioned.

“I’m a vertebrate, that’s all you need to know and I’m not spilling the beans either,” I said fearfully.

“I am just asking for information, if you have a small brain I can keep it in a matchbox for minute inspection, if it’s larger I will have to find a trunk, but I don’t have one here.”

“Where’s the door?” I asked apprehensively.

“Are you looking for the washroom? I don’t have one I do everything in the washing machine,” the quack replied.

“You use the washing machine for brainwashing?” I asked quailing.

“It’s no good for washing dirty linen in public nowadays,” the quack sighed.

“Is that the exit?” I asked pointing to the door.

“Shakespeare said ‘exeunt’ instead of exit when he was being psychoanalysed for thinking he wrote all those plays and sonnets,” the fraud said conversationally.

“I must leave,” I said drawing up my courage.

“By your leave, but wasn’t there a matter of a gum boil?” he questioned.

“How much do you charge?” I asked timidly.

“I also charge batteries,” he said brightly, “It’s an addiction that the shrink I went to last time couldn't cure.”

“I will charge you with assault and battery, if you keep me confined here,” I warned.

“Let me recite to you ‘Will you walk into my parlour? said the Spider to the Fly,” He said in a composed voice.

“Will you walk a little faster said a Whiting to a Snail,” I retorted.

“I will, I will,” he said graciously and gave me a little bow.

I kicked him swiftly in the butt sending him sprawling as I ran for the door and sprinted away to safety.