'Sort of,' said Wilt, conscious that his conversation was being monitored by a dozen other patients with more obvious but less distressing injuries.
'What do you mean, sort of?'
Wilt eyed the woman and tried to convey wordlessly that his was a condition that required discretion. The woman was clearly extraordinarily obtuse.
'If it's not a break, cut or wound requiring immediate attention, or a case of poisoning you should consult your own doctor.' Wilt considered these options and decided that 'wound requiring immediate attention' fitted the bill.
'Wound,' he said.
'Where?' asked the woman picking up a ballpen and a pad of forms.
'Well...' said Wilt even more hoarsely than before. Half the other patients seemed to have brought their wives or mothers.
'I said where?' said the woman impatiently.
'I know you did,' whispered Wilt. 'The thing is...'
'I haven't got all day, you know.'
'I realize that,' said Wilt, 'it's just that... well I... Look, would you mind if I explained the situation to a doctor? You see...' But the woman didn't. In Wilt's opinion she was either a sadist or mentally deficient.
'I have to fill in this form and if you won't tell me where the wound is...' She hesitated and looked at Wilt suspiciously, 'I thought you said it was a break. Now you say it's a wound. You'd better make up your mind. I haven't got all day, you know.'
'Nor, at this rate, have I,' said Wilt irritated by the repetition. 'In fact if something isn't done almost immediately I may well pass out in front of you.'
The woman shrugged. People passing out in front of her were evidently part of her daily routine. 'I still have to state whether it is a wound or a break and its location and if you won't tell me what it is and where it is I can't admit you.'
Wilt glanced over his shoulder and was about to say that he had had his penis practically scalped by his bloody wife when he caught the eyes of several middle-aged women who were paying close attention to the exchange. He changed his tactic hastily.
'Poison,' he muttered.
'Are you quite sure?'
'Of course I'm sure,' said Wilt. 'I took the stuff, didn't I?'
'You also claimed you had a break and then a wound. Now you say you've taken all three... I mean you've taken poison. And it's no good looking at me like that. I'm only doing my job, you know.'
'At the speed you're doing it I wonder anyone gets in here at all before they're actually dead,' snapped Wilt, and instantly regretted it. The woman was staring at him with open hostility. The look on her face suggested that as far as Wilt was concerned he had just expressed her most ardent hope.
'Look,' said Wilt trying to pacify the bitch, 'I'm sorry if I seem agitated...'
'Rude, more like.'
'Have it your own way. Rude then. I apologize but if you had just swallowed poison, fallen on your arm and broken it and suffered a wound in your posterior you'd be a bit agitated.'
To lend some sort of credibility to this list of catastrophes he raised his left arm limply and supported it with his right hand. The woman regarded it doubtfully and took up the ballpen again.
'Did you bring the bottle with you?' she asked.
'Bottle?'
'The bottle containing the poison you claim to have taken.'
