The Unwelcome Guest Plus Nin and Nan (10 page)

"Of or pertaining to the uterus" is the definition of "hysteria." Thus, to cure women [note:
only
women exhibit hysteria, by definition] of their hysteria, doctors rip out their uteruses.

Whenever a typical doctor treats a woman and cannot figure out what is truly wrong with her, that doctor dismisses it as "hysteria" and cuts out her uterus.

Of course, the doctors caught on to the fact that the jig was up about the word "hysteria" and changed their prognosis to "premenstrual syndrome" and came up with expensive placebos to cure the imaginary ailment, or rather the single ailment that included thousands of unrelated symptoms.

Take these pills, Alice. They'll cure you. How dare you stand there and bleed all over the place?
I remember my insurance paperwork once stating, "Pregnancy will be treated like any other illness," i.e. as a disease only doctors know how to cure. Before doctors, women could not be cured of their pregnancies.
A man was arguing with a nurse at a nurse's station. His gestures were violent, his pointing finger a dagger in the air.
"My wife loved me before she came in here for this completely unnecessary operation, and now she won't have anything to do with me," he was saying. "And it's
your
fault."
"Sir, I wasn't even on duty that day."
"Not
you
. All of you. You greedy slimebags who'd rip out a woman's innards in exchange for memberships at the exclusive 'no-women, no-Blacks, no-Jews' country clubs. You hate women so much you can't even stand to have their innard-less bodies on your links. That's it, isn't it?"
"Sir, I wasn't there. And I don't golf."
"Of course not. They don't allow you to."
"Who?"
"The doctors. The greedy scum who cut out my wife's love for me."
"Sir, I'll get you a supervisor. Just a minute."
Nin watched her mouth the word "security" into the phone. Nin walked up to the man.
"Hey, man. I agree with you, but you'd better get the hell out of here. She just called security, and the rentacops will be here to rough you up in just a minute."
"They cut up my wife—"
"I know. And they'll cut you up, too. I think they're still conducting Mengele's phosphorous experiments on the behavior ward patients."
"What?"
"No joke, man. Go!"
"Thanks," and he ran. Nin saw him wave from his car in the parking lot just as the rentacops showed up.
"A friend of yours?" asked one of the steroidal rentacops.
"No—not at all. I was only telling him what the time was. I'm here to see a friend. A shepherd friend of mine who until recently had a beard checked in, and I want to visit him. Where's his room?"
"How should I know?" asked the rentacop.
True, thought Nin. Steroids have rotted your brain. You are way too stupid to be qualified for anything other than being a rentacop or a politician. At least two regions had, within, recent memory, "elected" (such a term could only be used lightly inside the Empire) steroid-befuddled former pseudo-athletes as their governors. Several others had hired empty-shelled actors to play the parts of their representatives. The worst, though, were incapable of discerning between ministers and "ministers of state," so they gave over their governance to whatever religious organizations had their boys by the balls.
Sam derailed this train of thought. "Excuse me, my good man," he said to the friggin' rentacop. It was embarrassing, conciliatory, submissive. A sort of Stepin' Fetchit routine. "I also am a friend of the shepherd. Whom may I make my inquiry of regarding his room location?"
The rentacop's head spun around three times and then exploded.
Another rentacop came over. "Model J42 just exploded. We need a replacement." Presumably he was communicating with someone.
The nurse said, "I just looked up our admissions. He's not here. Of course, this is mostly a women's ward. Have you tried Circumcisions?"
"Why?" asked Nan. "Aren't there women admitted there?"
"No! Female circumcision? How barbaric!" said the nurse, seeming shocked.
"But male circumcision?"
"That's for good hygiene."
"Oh. You know, toes have more infections and hygiene problems than penises do. Why don't you just lop off everyone's toes?"
"They might over in cosmetic surgery. I'm not sure. You'd have to check over there."
"Okay. Come on, Nan. Sam, come on. We've got to go to the circumcision ward."
"Why would our shepherd want a circumcision?" asked Nan.
"Who knows? Maybe he heard the voice of God," said Nin.
"And so he wants to cut off the head of God?" asked Nan.
"I have an idea," said Sam. "But we're going to need to find the hub of this place."
"Hub?"
"Yeah, you know. The physical plant. The communications center. The hub of the nexus."
"Here's the next ward. Ask the nurse."
"Excuse me. Where's your physical plant?"
"Mnnnbrngrnrbrngr..."
"What?" Nin and Nan exchanged confused glances.
"Oh," said Nin. "This is the tonsillectomy ward. They're pulling
everyone
's tonsils out, apparently. Even the nurses'."
"We'd better keep going. I need my tonsils. They protect me against infection," said Sam.
"Look—a poster for a bargain. Today only—they're doing free appendectomies with every tonsillectomy sold," said Nan, feigning excitement.
"As I said, we'd better keep going. I'm led to believe that stepping onto the hospital grounds is implied consent for experimental treatment."
"Here's a sign that says, 'no admittance.' This must be it," said Nin. "Here we go." Nin and Nan followed Sam into the communications center. He whispered something to the operator, who scurried away like a cockroach. Sam picked up the hospital's P.A. system microphone and switched the "all on" button.
"Attention, all hospital patrons. This is God. And I'm looking for the shepherd whose beard was recently shaven."
Sam covered the microphone with his hands. "You go out to the entrances and catch him if he tries to leave," said Sam. Nin and Nan hurried out. "I am your God, and I want you to prepare a sacrifice. Bring your son to the altar and sacrifice him to me." Sam was betting the shepherd had a son whom he had left in charge of the flock. "Should you so much as question my demand, and I shall smite all your descendents throughout all of eternity."
The shepherd, looking up at the loudspeaker, understood. However, he had no son. That he remembered. He sped out of the hospital, sheath intact, and hurried into the arms of Nin and Nan.
"Wait a minute, shepherd," said Nin. "Where are you hurrying off to?"
"I have to find my son."
"Oh, and where is your son?"
"I don't know." Just then Sam joined them.
"Hey, you, singer—I know you."
"Hello, old shepherd. Where are you off to?" "To find my son, but I don't know where to find him."
Nan began to say, "Leave him alone and he'll come home," but Nin elbowed Nan's ribs hard.
"Ow!"
Sam winked at Nan and Nin. "Hey, we were just talking about how we needed an adventure. How about my friends and I help you find him?"
"Really? I'd be grateful."
"Of course." Sam whispered into Nan's ear,
"We'll be able to keep a close eye on him now, at least."
Nin was thinking they'd take a long walk down a short beer.

"I had a wallet made of foreskins. Whenever I rubbed it, it turned into a briefcase," said Sam.
"That joke is as old as the heels," said Nin.
"So's that metaphor," said Nin.
"Do not mock the Lord," said the shepherd.
"Man, you sound like Nan," said Nin.
"What's your name?" asked Nan.
"Said," said Said, the shepherd.
"Said?" asked Sam.
"Said," said Said.
"Said?"
"Said said, 'Said.'"
"Said said, 'Said'?"
"Said said, 'Said said, "Said,"'" said Sam chuckling.
Said said, "Said" again, for emphasis.
"That's your name?" asked Sam.
"Man, you sound like Nan," said Nin.
"Do not mock the Lord," said Said.
"And
that
saying predates the meteor that killed the dinosaurs," said Sam. "Want me to turn on the radio?"
"No," said Said, so Nan did. A woman was singing a song about society. Nan immediately was captivated by the timbre of her voice and the sloppy arhythmic drumming behind her.
"That drummer's as sloppy as Keith Moon," said Nan.
"So turn it off, then," said Nin.
"No. I love Keef Spoon."
"Nin, you should appreciate all kinds of music," said Sam.
"Sheesh," said Nin and Said simultaneously.
"
Parescum paribus facillime congregantur
," said Sam.
"What?" asked Nan.
"Birds of a feather flake their feathers," said Sam.
"Oh," and the jingle announcing a speech by the Emperor came on.
"Not again."
Nin turned the radio off.
"No, leave it on," said Nan.
"Oh, god, it's awful."
"You gotta know what he's saying." Nan turned it on.
"The trade imbalance is impaired by terriers and bailiffs," said the Emperor.
Nin turned the radio off. "Be real. He doesn't make any sense anyway."
"Leave it on," said Nan, switching it on again.
"For the most part, the peoples stink the way I do," said the Emperor.
Then a well-timed ad for deodorant soap came on. Even Nin couldn't take it, as when even strengthening accord.
As when even strengthening accord, evening was more than we could afford. Through the telephone was broadcast the voice of irate Beth: ripped me off, Dom Perignon? You didn't even leave me a glassful. My Big Brother knows you're there.
"Sam, you idiot. You gave her your number?"
"It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Famous last words. You've got to ditch that phone. They have global positioning systems in them. Now that you called in for messages, they can find us."
"Do not fear her big brother," said the shepherd, flinging the phone out the window. "Only the Lord can see where we are and where we are going."
"I guess in the larger, philosophical sense, that's true," said Nan.
As when even strengthening accord, Nin kicked Ninself in the butt. They needed some of the rest of the saints. That'd recover their divanity. And even a cute angel has angles. A dowager turned to a dowitcher and said, "Fly me away over the firewater and set my keester on the kieselguhr." Nin turned awee.
"Stop that!" said Nan. "Your spinning's making me dizzy."
"Don't tell me. Tell Jenny."
"Beth," said Sam.
"Oh, play us a song on the spinneret," said Nin. "I'll see you all later." And Nin left.
"What's gotten into Nin?" asked Sam.
"Nin's not big on the radio," answered Nan.
"Bad ratings?" asked the shepherd.
"No. Not like that. Even God has bad ratings. Nin just doesn't like much popular music or talk radio."
"What does Nin like?"
"Old radio shows.
The Green Hornet
.
The Shadow
.
Inner Sanctum
. That kind of stuff."
"Politics today are the greatest radio play of all," said Sam.
"I don't think Nin thinks so," said Nan.
"Sure does. This is part of Nin's act in it."
"I do not think that Nan does not think that Nin thinks so," said Said. "For if Nan did, the Lord would think, So what? But he has not revealed that to me."
"The Lord would think? So what? What are you saying, man?" challenged Sam.
"We must be in a moon void-of-course."
"'We must be in a moon void, of course'?"
"Never mind."
"Nevermind? What? In Bloom?"
"Is that Joyce?"
"You mean Beth?"
Will you all just shut up? My house has just been invaded by ladybugs and box elder bugs—there go those elders chasing the young ladies again—and I can barely walk without crunching something. Even the harmless can be annoying. Unless annoyance is their harm.
They attack the paper I am writing on. They distract me from the table. Now I have nothing to Chase Manhattans down with the fascist regime! What am I hunting for, again? Meaning? Or just the next word? Or do I want the last word? Omega. Which ends in an alpha, which begins the whole stinkin' process all over again.
Similarly, the consonant alphabet ends on a vowel. What? Only one vowel ends on a consonant. I tell you, English ain't fair. Ignore that linguist behind the curtain. He's not really the Great Linguini!
"Poseur!" I want to hear you yell.
Help that shy manicotti come out of his shell, would ya?
Recording the events as they occurred is difficult when all the voices come at once.
"Nan? Wake up!" The writer crashed the cymbals like Mick Fleetwood in the
Blues Jam in Chicago
.
"He's no fun—he fell right over," said Sam, quoting Firesign Theatre.
And pop goes the weasel.
Ping! The arrow was loosed, and the weasel was killed, teeth locked on the eagle's jugular. And eagle-weasel stew fed them at the campsite that night.
Eager-Weasel Stu came upon them from the freight yard and asked if they would share their libation.
"If you mean this god-awful stew," said Sam, "be our guest."
"Do not blaspheme!" said Said.
"No, I mean what he's drinking when you're not looking," said Stu, pointing to Said's jacket pocket.
Sam reached in and pulled out a pint of rotgut. "Aha! Don't talk to me of blasphemy, old man. For all you know, this could be your son."
Said squinted at Stu, sized up his features, and said, "Are you of the covenant?"
"Huh?"
"Are you of the covenant?"
"What do you mean?"
"He means," explained Nan, "have you had a chunk of your penis lopped off by illiterate believers who don't understand what Paul meant in Galatians when he said the ritual had been 'abrogated.'"
"What Nan means," explained Sam, "is are you circumcised?"
"What a rude question," answered Stu. "I only wanted a snort."
"My son was circumcised."
"Well, not that it's any of your business, but so was I."
"Aha!" said Said. "Tie Isaac to that rock. I must prepare the sacrifice."
"No, Said. Don't you have to take him to the top of the mountain first?" pointed out Sam, gesturing towards the top of the hill.
"Oh, yes. Well, Son. Well met. You will accompany us. You will be well fed and made ready for the Lord."
"Can I have a snort of that bottle?"
"Sure. Have it all. We'll get you more tomorrow."
"Thanks, Father."
Sam said as an aside to Nan, "I think we can assume Said believes in the God of the Old Testament, not the New."
"And you think they are different?" asked Nan.
"Well, at the very least, the Old Testament God was far more immature than the New Testament one."
"Ah, you've read Alfred North Whitehead."
"Who?"
"Forget it."
"Alfred Lord Penishead?"
"I said forget it. You're as bad as Nin."
"Speaking of whom," said Sam, raising his voice to include Said and Stu, "I wonder where the hell—"
Said raised his eyebrows.
"—where the heck Nin is. Then Sam reboarded his previous train:
"Alfred White Skinhead?"
"Hush."
"Alfred Popped Blackheads?"
"Be quiet."
"Didn't he write
The Idiots of the King
?"
"
Idylls
, and that was Alfred Lord Tennisball, as Python said. Now please be quiet. You're giving me a migraine."
"I pain, you pain, we all pain for migraine."
"What a reet. No wonder your music career is shit."
"Hey!"
"Wait, young Nan," said Said. "You are unfair. Sam here has a brilliant ballad he once shared with me. I don't remember the words, but it was called 'Busy Buzzy' or something."
Nan rolled the eyes at Sam. "He doesn't remember the song?"
At the top of the hill, Said said again, "Now tie Isaac to the rock!"
Nan looked around. "What rock, Said?"
"Do not call me Said. My name of the covenant is Abraham."
Nan laughed. "I can't believe I'm up here with you three stooges."
Said tied up Stu with twine, pushed him down onto the ground, and then pulled out a long, serrated chef's knife. He lifted the knife and was about to bring it down. Then an 8000-watt amplified voice boomed across the hillside: "Abraham!" The voice was so loud, Nan's ears rang.
It repeated: "Abraham!"
"Yes, Lord!" said Said, trembling.
"Put down that knife!"
"Stupid knife! Ugly knife! Knife of the guttersnipe!" said Nan, laughing.
Sam slapped Nan's arm.
"What? The Lord said to put it down."
"Ha ha."
Said backed away from Stu and dropped the knife. "Lord?"
"I want you to leave here and get a job at a 7-11 and never say anything about this to anyone ever again!"
"Yes, Lord."
"And I want you to forget Sam's song."
"I don't remember it anyway."
"Oh, shit," said the Lord.
"The Lord just cussed," said Nan, elbowing Sam in the ribs. "Come on. Let's get out of here."
"What about Said and Stu?"
"Forget about them. It's over."
Down the hill, Sam and Nan got in the car, and Nin ran up and joined them.
"They really fell for that, didn't they?" said Nin, tossing a microphone and a small Pignose amp into the back of the van.
"Hey, you took my Pignose?"
"Borrowed. Not took."
"That was good. That was really good," said Nan.
"That should do it," agreed Sam.
"For Said and Stu. We still have Pinocchibush to worry about, though," said Nin. "But now, let's get a few drinks."