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aside loose connective tissue. Jules kept his eyes on the vaginal wall for the
appearance of the veins, the telltale danger signal of injuring the rectum. But old Kellner
knew his stuff. He was building a new snatch as easily as a carpenter nails together
two-by-four studs (stud – гвоздь с большой шляпокй; штифт).
Kellner was trimming away the excess vaginal wall using the fastening-down stitch to
close the "bite" taken out of the tissue of the redundant (излишний, чрезмерный
[rı'dΛnd∂nt]) angle, insuring that no troublesome projections would form. Kellner was
trying to insert three fingers into the narrowed opening of the lumen (канал, проход
/анат./ ['lu:m∂n]), then two. He just managed to get two fingers in, probing deeply and
for a moment he looked up at Jules and his china-blue eyes over the gauze mask
twinkled as though asking if that was narrow enough. Then he was busy again with his
sutures.
It was all over. They wheeled Lucy out to the recovery room and Jules talked to
Kellner. Kellner was cheerful, the best sign that everything had gone well. "No
complications at all, my boy," he told Jules. "Nothing growing in there, very simple case.
She has wonderful body tone, unusual in these cases and now she's in first-class shape
for fun and games. I envy you, my boy. Of course you'll have to wait a little while but
then I guarantee you'll like my work."
Jules laughed. "You're a true Pygmalion, Doctor. Really, you were marvelous."
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Dr. Kellner grunted. "That's all child's play, like your abortions. If society would only be
realistic, people like you and I, really talented people, could do important work and leave
this stuff for the hacks (наемная лошадь; поденщик). By the way, I'll be sending you a
girl next week, a very nice girl, they seem to be the ones who always get in trouble. That
will make us all square (так мы сочтемся) for this job today."
Jules shook his hand. "Thanks, Doctor. Come out yourself sometime and I'll see that
you get all the courtesies of the house."
Kellner gave him a wry smile. "I gamble every day, I don't need your roulette wheels
and crap tables. I knock heads with fate too often as it is. You're going to waste out
there, Jules. Another couple of years and you can forget about serious surgery. You
won't be up to it." He turned away.
Jules knew it was not meant as a reproach but as a warning. Yet it took the heart out
of him anyway. Since Lucy wouldn't be out of the recovery room for at least twelve
hours, he went out on the town and got drunk. Part of getting drunk was his feeling of
relief that everything had worked out so well with Lucy.
The next morning when he went to the hospital to visit her he was surprised to find
two men at her bedside and flowers all over the room. Lucy was propped up on pillows,
her face radiant. Jules was surprised because Lucy had broken with her family and had
told him not to notify them unless something went wrong. Of course Freddie Corleone
knew she was in the hospital for a minor operation; that had been necessary so that
they both could get time off, and Freddie had told Jules that the hotel would pick up all
the bills for Lucy.
Lucy was introducing them and one of the men Jules recognized instantly. The
famous Johnny Fontane. The other was a big, muscular, snotty-looking Italian guy
whose name was Nino Valenti. They both shook hands with Jules and then paid no
further attention to him. They were kidding Lucy, talking about the old neighborhood in
New York, about people and events Jules had no way of sharing. So he said to Lucy,
"I'll drop by later, I have to see Dr. Kellner anyway."
But Johnny Fontane was turning the charm on him. "Hey, buddy, we have to leave
ourselves, you keep Lucy company. Take good care of her, Doc." Jules noticed a
peculiar hoarseness in Johnny Fontane's voice and remembered suddenly that the man
hadn't sung in public for over a year now, that he had won the Academy Award for his
acting. Could the man's voice have changed so late in life and the papers keeping it a
secret, everybody keeping it a secret? Jules loved inside gossip and kept listening to
Fontane's voice in an attempt to diagnose the trouble. It could be simple strain
143
(растяжение), or too much booze and cigarettes or even too much women. The voice
had an ugly timbre to it, he could never be called the sweet crooner (эстрадный певец;
croon – тихое проникновенное пение; to croon – напевать вполголоса) anymore.
"You sound like you have a cold," Jules said to Johnny Fontane.
Fontane said politely, "Just strain, I tried to sing last night. I guess I just can't accept the
fact that my voice changed, getting old you know." He gave Jules a what-the-hell grin
(усмешка, как бы говорящая: «Какого черта?»).
Jules said casually, "Didn't you get a doctor to look at it? Maybe it's something that
can be fixed."
Fontane was not so charming now. He gave Jules a long cool look. "That's the first
thing I did nearly two years ago. Best specialists. My own doctor who's supposed to be
the top guy out here in California. They told me to get a lot of rest. Nothing wrong, just
getting older. A man's voice changes when he gets older."
Fontane ignored him after that, paying attention to Lucy, charming her as he charmed
all women. Jules kept listening to the voice. There had to be a growth on those vocal
cords. But then why the hell hadn't the specialists spotted it? Was it malignant and
inoperable? Then there was other stuff.
He interrupted Fontane to ask, "When was the last time you got examined by a
specialist?"
Fontane was obviously irritated but trying to be polite for Lucy's sake. "About eighteen
months ago," he said.
"Does your own doctor take a look once in a while?" Jules asked.
"Sure he does," Johnny Fontane said irritably. "He gives me a codeine spray and
checks me out. He told me it's just my voice aging, that all the drinking and smoking and
other stuff. Maybe you know more than he does?"
Jules asked, "What's his name?"
Fontane said with just a faint flicker of pride, "Tucker, Dr. James Tucker. What do you
think of him?"
The name was familiar, linked to famous movie stars, female, and to an expensive
health farm.
"He's a sharp dresser," Jules said with a grin.
Fontane was angry now. "You think you're a better doctor than he is?"
144
Jules laughed. "Are you a better singer than Carmen Lombardo?" He was surprised to
see Nino Valenti break up in laughter, banging his head on his chair. The job hadn't
been that good. Then on the wings of those guffaws (guffaw [gΛ'fo:] – грубый хохот,
гогот) he caught the smell of bourbon (сорт виски ['bu∂b∂n]) and knew that even this
early in the morning Mr. Valenti, whoever the hell he was, was at least half drunk.
Fontane was grinning at his friend. "Hey, you're supposed to be laughing at my jokes,
not his." Meanwhile Lucy stretched out her hand to Jules and drew him to her bedside.
"He looks like a bum (задница /груб./; бездельник, лодырь; плохой, низкого
качества) but he's a brilliant (блестящий) surgeon," Lucy told them. "If he says he's
better than Dr. Tucker then he's better than Dr. Tucker. You listen to him, Johnny."
The nurse came in and told them they would have to leave. The resident was going to
do some work on Lucy and needed privacy. Jules was amused to see Lucy turn her
head away so when Johnny Fontane and Nino Valenti kissed her they would hit her
cheek instead of her mouth, but they seemed to expect it. She let Jules kiss her on the
mouth and whispered, "Come back this afternoon, please?" He nodded.
Out in the corridor, Valenti asked him, "What was the operation for? Anything
serious?"
Jules shook his head. "Just a little female plumbing. Absolutely routine, please believe
me. I'm more concerned than you are, I hope to marry the girl."
They were looking at him appraisingly so he asked, "How did you find out she was in
the hospital?"
"Freddie called us and asked us to look in," Fontane said. "We all grew up in the same
neighborhood. Lucy was maid of honor when Freddie's sister got married."
"Oh," Jules said. He didn't let on that he knew the whole story, perhaps because they
were so cagey (уклончивый) about protecting Lucy and her affair with Sonny.
As they walked down the corridor, Jules said to Fontane, "I have visiting doctor's
privileges here, why don't you let me have a look at your throat?"
Fontane shook his head. "I'm in a hurry."
Nino Valenti said, "That's a million-dollar throat, he can't have cheap doctors looking
down it." Jules saw Valenti was grinning at him, obviously on his side.
Jules said cheerfully, "I'm no cheap doctor. I was the brightest young surgeon and
diagnostician on the East Coast until they got me on an abortion rap (легкий удар;
ответственность /за проступок/, обвинение, наказание /сленг/)."
145
As he had known it would, that made them take him seriously. By admitting his crime
he inspired belief in his claim of high competence. Valenti recovered first. "If Johnny
can't use you, I got a girl friend I want you to look at, not at her throat though."
Fontane said to him nervously, "How long will you take?"
"Ten minutes," Jules said. It was a lie but he believed in telling lies to people. Truth
telling and medicine just didn't go together except in dire (ужасный, страшный;
крайний) emergencies (emergency [ı‘m∂:dG∂ns] – непредвиденный случай, крайняя
необходимость), if then.
"OK," Fontane said. His voice was darker, hoarser, with fright.
Jules recruited a nurse and a consulting room. It didn't have everything he needed but
there was enough. In less than ten minutes he knew there was a growth on the vocal
chords, that was easy. Tucker, that incompetent sartorial (портняжный, портновский)
son of a bitch of a Hollywood phony, should have been able to spot it. Christ, maybe the
guy didn't even have a license and if he did it should be taken away from him. Jules
didn't pay any attention to the two men now. He picked up the phone and asked for the
throat man at the hospital to come down. Then he swung around and said to Nino
Valenti, "I think it might be a long wait for you, you'd better leave."
Fontane stared at him in utter disbelief. "You son of a bitch, you think you're going to
keep me here? You think you're going to fuck around with my throat?"
Jules, with more pleasure than he would have thought possible, gave it to him straight
between the eyes. "You can do whatever you like," he said. "You've got a growth of
some sort on your vocal chords, in your larynx. If you stay here the next few hours, we
can nail it down, whether it's malignant or nonmalignant. We can make a decision for
surgery or treatment. I can give you the whole story. I can give you the name of a top
specialist in America and we can have him out here on the plane tonight, with your
money that is, and if I think it necessary. But you can walk out of here and see your
quack (знахарь; шарлатан) buddy or sweat while you decide to see another doctor, or
get referred to somebody incompetent. Then if it's malignant and gets big enough they'll
cut out your whole larynx or you'll die. Or you can just sweat. Stick here with me and we
can get it all squared away in a few hours. You got anything more important to do?"
Valenti said, "Let's stick around, Johnny, what the hell. I'll go down the hall and call
the studio. I won't tell them anything, just that we're held up. Then I'll come back here
and keep you company."
It proved to be a very long afternoon but a rewarding one. The diagnosis of the staff
throat man was perfectly sound as far as Jules could see after the X rays and swab
(мазок /мед./) analysis. Halfway through, Johnny Fontane, his mouth soaked with
146
iodine, retching (to retch – рыгать, тужиться /при рвоте/) over the roll of gauze stuck in
his mouth, tried to quit. Nino Valenti grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him
back into a chair. When it was all over Jules grinned at Fontane and said, "Warts."
Fontane didn't grasp it. Jules said again. "Just some warts. We'll slice them right off
like skin off baloney (= Bologna-sausage – болонская /копченая/ колбаса). In a few
months you'll be OK."
Valenti let out a yell but Fontane was still frowning. "How about singing afterward, how
will it affect my singing?"
Jules shrugged. "On that there's no guarantee. But since you can't sing now what's
the difference?"
Fontane looked at him with distaste. "Kid, you don't know what the hell you're talking
about. You act like you're giving me good news when what you're telling me is maybe I
won't sing anymore. Is that right, maybe I won't sing anymore?"
Finally Jules was disgusted. He'd operated as a real doctor and it had been a
pleasure. He had done this bastard a real favor and he was acting as if he'd been done
dirt. Jules said coldly, "Listen, Mr. Fontane, I'm a doctor of medicine and you can call
me Doctor, not kid. And I did give you very good news. When I brought you down here I
was certain that you had a malignant growth in your larynx which would entail
(повлечет за собой) cutting out your whole voice box. Or which could kill you. I was
worried that I might have to tell you that you were a dead man. And I was so delighted
when I could say the word 'warts.' Because your singing gave me so much pleasure,
helped me seduce girls when I was younger and you're a real artist. But also you're a
very spoiled guy. Do you think because you're Johnny Fontane you can't get cancer? Or
a brain tumor that's inoperable. Or a failure of the heart? Do you think you're never
going to die? Well, it's not all sweet music and if you want to see real trouble take a
walk through this hospital and you'll sing a love song about warts. So just stop the crap
and get on with what you have to do. Your Adolphe Menjou (американский актер
(1890 – 1963), изысканно-аристократический) medical man can get you the proper
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