The house of God

a janitor, to Ober-'

'Ezactly, man, ezactly. And get this: today I was in my Clinic, and this chick got mad at me and threw this textbook across the table and hit me in the ear, and instead of smackin' her up side of her haid, I go: Hmmm, gurl, you mus' be angry, huh?' So right then I knew I was gonna think about shrinkin'. I'm talkin' to Dr. Frank again tomorra about goin' under analysis myself.'

'But you can't start this July, I need boys like you.'

' 'Boys'? Did you say 'boy'?'

'Well I . . . What I meant was?'

'Want me to send in Roy now?' '

'Basch? Hmmm. You wouldn't know his future plans, would you?'

'Yup.'

'Psychiatry?'

'Really.'

'Yes, well, no, you don't have to bother to send Roy in.'

And so he didn't call me then. Despite Berry's formulation that the Leggo couldn't help it, that he had been damaged by the system, I was too angry not to see him as Nixonesque, getting squeezed by us as Nixon was getting squeezed by Sirica and the Supreme Court for the tapes. Couldn't it have been the Leggo himself, standing with St. Clair on the bow of the yacht Sequoia at Mount Vernon, listening to the ceremony of ship's bells and the National Anthem, who, when it was over, drunkenly spilled out: 'They pay you nickels and dimes, but this is what makes it worth it.' Berry was right?it was pathetic. But these pathetic men were powerful men, and soon the Leggo began to pressure us to stay. Through the Fish, at first by insinuation and then by clear threat, the Leggo made it known that to leave in July 'would seriously-very seriously?jeopardize one's future plans and career.' We didn't budge. The Leggo got more vicious. Vulnerable and powerless, we got madder. As July closer, all his retaliations having failed, the Leggo began to panic.

None of us knew what he would do.

25

Why, he would call an emergency B?M Deli lunch.

On the morning of the emergency lunch, I walked into the House to find Howie, calm 'Social Medicine' Howie, the last tern to have gone to Gomer City, standing in front of the elevator door, IBM cards scattered at his feet, hair disheveled, biting on his pipe stem and kicking and pounding on the closed steel door, screaming, 'GODDAMNIT, COME DOWN, COME DOWN!' So, I thought, the last happy tern has been broken.

The only patients I went to see were Nate Zock and Olive O. My relationship with Nate had rocketed along on a remarkable trajectory. All the Zocks-Nate, Trixie, the kids?suffered under the illusion that my 'taking charge' in the E.W. by kicking them all out of the room was what had saved Nate's life. I did not relieve them of their suffering under this. For the first few days Trixie, thinking that Nate was at death's door and that I had the key, had shadowed me all over the House. I'd shaken her only by mentioning that in fact Nate still did not have the best room in the House. Trixie had gone one?on?one with the daughter of the rich gomere who did have the best room and was never to give it up. Trixie had done a thumbnail calculation and ascertained that this gomere was not in the League of Zock, especially while the interior of the Wing of Zock was not quite finished. The major medical complication in Nate's case had been how to implement what Nate needed, the Fat Mannish LAW: DO NOTHING. I'd encountered much resistance, and had had to use all my hard?earned House skills?lying, false?BUFFING the chart, keeping the Low Profiles?to be sure of doing nothing on this important personage. I liked Nate, which made my holding on to doing nothing a little easier. And so the potentially lethal bleeding polyp of Zock had healed over, and he got better. That day, he was to go home, and wanted to talk to me.

'You're a good guy,' Nate said. 'I'm a real judge' of talent. I look at a guy and I know if he's got it's or not. Know what I mean?'

'Sure.' I said.

'You got it. The Pearl warned me about you. The way you kicked my wife out of that room I'll never forget. You and me are similar: started with nothin and now . . .' And Nate made a wavy motion with his hands, as if playing a huge accordian stuffed with money, expanding to fill the world. 'Now, listen: I like you, Basch, and the people I like, I reward. I know you don't make shit for money here, but now, with your internship almost over, you can start in private practice. I can help. You know the Pearl? With the ritzy office and the Muzak playing Fiddler? You know how he got started? My old man. So listen: your sneakers tell me you play tennis. Come to the house, play on my court, use my pool. Here's the card: NATE ZOCK: NOT THE BEST BUT THE MOST. You call this weekend, OK?'

I thanked him and started to leave.

'Oh, and one more thing: I'm writing a letter to the Chief of Medicine, Dr. Leggo, with copies to Chief Resident and the BMS and House Board of Trustees. I been a patient here eight times and I never been treated so good. Usually my intern is some whiny kid from the Bronx who's so scared of a Zock pegging out that he's in the room every ten minutes doing tests, taking blood, and I get worse before I get better. By the time I'm out of here I'm so exhausted I've got to fly 'straight to the condo in Palm Springs for a rest. Bad for business. But you?you had enough savvy to let me heal. And I knew you were there in case anything went wrong. Basch, you were with me man to man. You handled my wife, my fat kids, and you handled me. So I'm going to tell your bosses, eh? Give a call Saturday. I'll send my man around.'

A letter to the Leggo? Fight power with power! Not even the Leggo would be dumb enough to stand up to Zock, a family dealing in monstrous steel beams and knockwurst?sized nuts and bagel?sized bolts holding together the brand?new Wing of the House of God. Excited, I checked out humpy Olive O. She seemed to be doing just great.

Yet LP Leon still refused to let me present the humps to the Leggo, and so I climbed into the top bunk, pried open my can of Freud, and soon found yet another Viennese bombshell recalling leaping into the sack with her pop. Chuck came in, took his bottle out of his bag, and began to sing. Hooper wandered in and opened a book called How to Pierce an Ear, which turned out to be not another quest for a post, but a requirement for a moonlighting job in a department store downtown. Eddie stopped by and started reading out loud from my old 'internship novel' How I Saved the World, but after a few passages that had us laughing at the idealized deception, the book sailed into the trashcan for good. The Runt ambled in and greeted 789 cheerfully: '749, how are you? Did you ever find out what was in those humps?'

'Excuse me, but you misspelled my middle name,' said Sev. 'No, I have not yet found what is in 'those humps.' '

'Man, maybe they're breasts,' said Chuck. 'Extra breasts.'

'Doesn't help,' ,said 789, 'no one knows what's in breasts either.'

'They're spiritual humps,' I said, 'filled with the milk of human kindness.'

'The leading theory,' said Sev, 'is that they're filled with oxygen. It's said that the oxygen in her humps, is what's keeping her alive.'

'That's it,' I said, 'she's not human, she's a plant. Her humps are cotyledons. In her altruism, she makes oxygen for us all.'

'Nah, you're all wrong,' said the Runt, 'I know what's in the humps, and it's not altruism or oxygen, either.'

'Well, man, what's in 'em?'

'Pimento. Olive's humps are big pimentoes.'

After the laughter had died down, Chuck drifted into a song by Mississippi John Hurt:

When my earthly trials are over, cast my body, down in the sea;

Save all the undertaker's bills, let the mermaids flirt with me. .