Reinhart in Love (10 page)

“Have you,” asked Splendor, who had taken his seat again under Cardinal Tomasso's eyes looking in two directions—his own bulged beneath narrow-slit lids, rather crocodilian—“have you ever longed to Break Through?”

Now Reinhart began to suspect, my God, that the man was a fairy; he knew that queers habitually believed themselves prisoners in a Dachau of heterosexuality operated by the Amazon SS.

“I mean,” Splendor went on, “to soar.”

That did it. Reinhart rose and moved toward the hallway exit.

“Notice,” said Splendor, “in your demonstration, how gravity impedes locomotion. Do you realize how many pounds of air we carry on our shoulders? No wonder arthritis, rheumatics, and assorted diseases of the bone.”

Not only did Reinhart realize he had been wrong, but also Mr. Mainwaring suddenly crept in from the hall, apparently in search of his tobacco. He looked up at Reinhart with the most touching sympathy.

“Rheumatic in a man you size! Ah, misery! Pity ain't in Jawgia. Some blue clay like they done got in Jawgia and rep you in it like a feesh, lay you bake in the sun, poison come outn the bones, that clay come hard as stone, got to chip you out with a sledge, you be just fine except you was hit by that sledge in the taking out, but I tell you this, you ain't got the rheumatic no more. That be all you could do this side of the witch woman, say my old granddaddy.” Mr. Mainwaring stooped to a little bookcase alongside the sofa and from between Papini's
Life of Christ
and a bright copy of
Mein Kampf
, by Adolf Hitler, got a tobacco can, filled his old pouch, and from the pouch loaded his pipe.

“Vox
populace
,” sneered Splendor when he had gone.
“Populace wult dessippi
. ‘The people yearn to be deceived.' In this district there are, at quick count, ten evangelists, five voodoo centers, and more palmists and phrenologists than groceries.”

Mr. Mainwaring poked his sleek little head back into the room. “You boys done miss a good show on the
Gingbuster
. Man done drive up and down a street shooting a masheegun inside ever house. Dint know none of them people inside, just wanted to do bad. Just a bad man is all he was, couldn't hep it, just shot that masheegun laughin' like a fien'.”

Ignoring him, Splendor said: “Some explain this by the cheap pseudo philosophy of the malcontent, namely the writer Karl Marx, who you should always remember suffered from carbuncles and rectal hemorrhoids and because of these discomforts was led to sell his birthright for a mess of potash. But there occasionally emerges an individual who is peculiarly gifted, call it science or sacred as you will-Father, you can stand there all night, but you won't get a drop of brandy from me.”

“Just believed I'd take a try, Son,” said the elder Mainwaring and withdrew for good.

Splendor went on: “Who breaks through. Who strikes through the mask of appearances to the underlying reality. Such a man is Lorenz T. Goodykuntz of Pocatello, Idaho, and had further written about it in a series of books published by himself at a dollar seventy-five per copy, as well as a monthly journal entitled
Enlight
, as well as operating a noted college.”

“Such a man,” said Reinhart, reseating himself, “is, I suppose, not known to anybody but a handful of devoted followers.”

“To the contrary, he has world-wide renown, with honorary degrees from Harvard, Princeton, and has been decorated, among others, by the sovereign of Andorra. And I can explain your not having heard of him only by a brief mention of his powerful enemies—the American Medical Association, the Methodist Episcopal Church, General Motors Company, and the State Health Commissioner of Delaware—who have sworn to run him off the face of the earth, for such a man cannot swing a sword without leaving scars. I mean to lend you his literature.”

“I look forward to it,” said Reinhart, who was dying of thirst and had hoped Mr. Mainwaring would get some brandy so that he might be offered another drink of it himself.

“Well,” said Splendor, looking sheepishly pleased, “since I see you're sympathetic, I can reveal that my story of this morning was at a salient point false. I did not just come by this art of healing—that's the kind of thing an ignorant Negro like Father would believe. I took a correspondence course from Dr. Goodykuntz which cost 225 dollars and consumed the major part of a year, a lesson arriving every Saturday, and having completed my final examinations last week, am expecting any day a certificate for the degree of D.N.M., which is to say, Doctor of Nonchemical Medicine.”

“Splen—” Reinhart began, meaning gently to remonstrate with him, something like ‘Splendor, how could you, who were devoted to reason in high school, be so taken in?' But what was the point, now that he had paid the 225 dollars, done the work, and got his degree? Anyway, he
had
cured numerous headaches, if one believed him; and one must, since it was a principle of life that dupes were never liars. So instead of saying “Splendor,” Reinhart muttered “Splendid” as his host fetched from the bookcase, from the shelf below
Mein Kampf
, a black, looseleaf notebook and presented it to him.

Inside were clamped, to three rings, the fifty-two weekly lessons, mimeographed on a crude paper the early leaves of which had already turned purplish-brown. On the first page were certain vital facts:
“UNIVERSAL
COLLEGE
OF
METAPHYSICAL
KNOWLEDGE
, PO Box 1000, Pocatello, Idaho. Lorenz T. Goodykuntz, President. Beatrice Spain Goodykuntz, Registrar. L. Goodykuntz, Dean of Men. B. S. Goodykuntz, Dean of Humanities. G. Lorenz, Dean of Science. G. Beatrice, Chancellor.”

“Turn overleaf,” advised Splendor, hanging over Reinhart's shoulder though careful not to touch him; he smelled of the toothpaste which contained Irium.

On the following page, no doubt to save paper, the title was crowded toward the top—
“Comprehensive Nonchemical Medicine
, Degree Course, by Dr. Lorenz T. Goodykuntz, M.D. (Harvard School of Naturepathy), Sc.D. (Princeton Institute of Creative Dynamism), Ph.D. (Akademie der Naturwissenschaft, Stuttgart, Germany), Former Medical Advisor to the Sovereign of Andorra.” The course started hard after.

When the Prime Mover (whom some call God, others Allah, Jehovah, Yaweh, Manitou, etc.) created Man, It (which some call He) constructed the human body to make it a intergal yet diffuse structure embodying the three principal life energies, Reason, Sympathy, and Passion. Reason=Head, Sympathy=Heart, Passions=the Reins. Reason governs the body structure to the point of the ingathering of veins, muscles, and ducts in the little hollow below the neck. (You can see a pulse beating there if you look in the minor.) Sympathy rules from that point downwards, including chest, shoulders, the lac-tatory glands if the subject is female, lungs, belly, and all the internal organs therein: heart, stomach, duodenum, jejunum, spleen, pancreas, Alimentary Canal, appendicts, viz., viz., & i.e. At the crucial junction of the limbs to trunk, including the generational organs, we enter the domain of the passions, thighs, hams, calves, falling to the pedal appendages.

Meaning bone structure. The Humerous (vulgarly called the funny-bone) is in the arm; the navicular, in both hand and foot. (Wait for next lesson.)

“Well,” said Splendor, moving away, “I don't want you to ruin your eyes reading in this bad light. Take the lessons home with you. Oh no”—he fought off Reinhart's negative gestures and tapped himself on what Reinhart knew, without Dr. Goodykuntz's help, was the frontal bone. “I've got them all up here.”

The ex-corporal was glad to seize that opportunity for leaving. Splendor's gullibility was about to break his heart. He had sworn never to feel sorry again for another person, having become convinced of the fundamental immorality of sympathy. But this poor devil!

“Now I think you begin to get the idea,” said Splendor. “When I saw by your lapel insignia you were an Army doctor, and by your manner, which was forlorn, that what you needed most was another fellow with something in common, well, it is self-evident.”

“What is? I was only a corporal in the medics. I had a first-aid course and then worked in an office until the end of the war.”

Splendor shook his smiling face. “Now don't tell me the United States Army would put a caduceus insignia—the historical symbol of the healer, dating to the time of Hippocrates—on a fellow unless they believed he was equipped for the job. See here.” He brought forth his wallet, from which he withdrew an identification card showing his name and role:
Interne, Nonchemical Medicine, Universal College of Metaphysical Knowledge
—an institutional title which since he had first heard it reminded Reinhart of something else, an old radio quiz show operated by an orchestra leader noted for a kind of cretin enthusiasm, the name escaped him.

“What's your idea?” he asked sarcastically. “To go into practice?”

“Yes, let's!” Splendor replied, putting away his little card. “You for the chemical therapy, I for nonchemical.”

“I don't understand this stuff about chemistry,” said Reinhart, beginning to stride around the room, hoping Loretta would come out again.

“My persuasion employs no drugs or fluids, introduces no alien substances into the life stream, but that doesn't mean we aren't tolerant of other schools, despite the great evidence that the orthodox practitioners are every day poisoning thousands of our countrymen. You see we believe that if the Prime Mover approved of aspirin, say, He would have built into the human body a gland secreting same. Which he did not. Therefore in treatment of a headache we employ instead the laying on of hands, the introduction of rather the life force from the physician's body into that of the afflicted, to liberate the congested channels of the latter.”

Seeing Splendor approach him, Reinhart threw up a guardian hand, saying: “Yes, I remember your other demonstration.”

“But live and let die, is our motto—a little joke Dr. Goodykuntz is fond of making,” said Splendor with a professional smirk.

Man, is this crazy, is what Reinhart was aching to say, but such a statement is not advisable, we all know, to someone of whom it is literally true.

“Anyway,” Splendor said, with gloomy glee, “what have you got to lose? What else are you going to do? Has it ever suddenly come over you that all at once you are tired of everything: one piece of self-indulgence is like the last; gorge three times a day without relish; one dental cavity after another, hair ineluctably turns gray, clothes wear through, make more money to pay more taxes, politics with its ritual resentments, routine religions with their rivalries, and we all know what education is in this country: tasteless. And one's own face! Why can't we wake up one morning with green eyes, lantern chin, and red hair, instead of the old predictable us we have seen every day since children.”

Reinhart waited for an opportunity, found it, and said: “That's true.”

“It figures in what I say about Breaking Through the Barrier. Through what barrier? Why, through the Is!” Splendor shook his fist at the old hassock, which was an excellent focus for his threat, being even more conspicuously sick of the Is than Reinhart. “We could use a little triumph!” Splendor shouted, his ears vibrating like hummingbirds buzzing each side of his head.

Reinhart felt a suggestion of invigoration but found, through his contempt for fake science, that he could handle it.

“Now, be cautious,” he said, patting his friend's shoulder. “There are laws against qua—irregular medical practices. I'm afraid the state of Ohio, perhaps unjustly, doesn't recognize your college, eminent though it may be. Why don't you take a course in something else that the law considers harmless, like philosophy or Latin, or Spanish, which will qualify you for a job among our neighbors to the South in the vigorous young republics of Latin America?” He had just that noontime read such an ad and rejected it for himself on the ground that he didn't like food fried in oil.

“You know why they won't let me practice,” Splendor answered sullenly. “You know why, and the only reason.” He made himself look so Negroid, so much the projection of other men's vileness that Reinhart, insulted to the core, was almost moved to strike him.

Instead he replied: “Use your head.” Which Splendor did, to illustrate his refusal to conform; he pulled his eyebrows towards his mouth, and his lips in the direction of his eyebrows; between, his nostrils rose to the perpendicular.

Reinhart soon surrendered, paternalism being his Achilles' heel. “Oh for Christ's sake all right. Open your dispensary and if I get syphilis you can cure me by a knock on the scalp.”

Splendor relaxed from his scowl. “I'm not so naive as you seem to think. I know you can't practice in the regular way without A.M.A. authorization, who are poisonously hostile to natural therapy. But that is just the point. We are talking here of the union of science and religion. Anybody, can open a church. Anybody can rent an empty store and make devotional addresses, and if the Prime Mover sees fit to heal the afflicted in the audience, who paid no admission charge, all contributions voluntary, no ordinance is defied.”

“I think you've got your project nicely worked out,” wryly said Reinhart, with a wistful glance at the brandy bottle so richly transmuting the light that fell on the table doily. “But I'm not going to be your co-sky pilot.”

“My dear friend, I ask nothing more of you than that you attend the first meeting and sit conspicuously in the front row of seats. You might, if it's not too corny, interject certain phrases from time to time in my remarks, such as ‘Ah, Lord!' or ‘Bless Him,' or even just ‘Amen.' Okay, okay! It was just an idea.” He had followed his guest to the hallway, where Reinhart got into the Army overcoat unassisted and at this point was wincing.