[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
The soft voice had no need to go any further. Orville sat home a lot and had
fallen into the evil habit of watching TV talk shows from Nancy Jessica
Rapunzel to Copra Innisfree.
"If it is my wish to join a circus," Orville had said with measured dignity,
Page 97
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
"I shall contact the Ringling Brothers myself. Good day."
"The pay is phenomenal," the soft voice said quickly.
Orville hesitated. "How do you define phenomenal?"
The soft voice had quoted a figure as substantial in its own way as Orville
was in his.
"That is a different matter," said Orville, who had inherited a mortgage to go
with the family homestead. "What exactly would I have to do?"
"Practice Thrush Limburger's voice to start."
"I confess I have no such aptitude."
"We'll take care of that for you."
And so the man had. A voice trainer had arrived within two days, bearing a
cashier's check that constituted a year's retainer.
It was the work of six weeks before Orville Rollo Fletcher had mastered Thrush
Limburger's walk, talk and rich vocabulary.
The soft voice called often. "We should have your first gig soon."
"I prefer a more dignified term, sir. I am a professional."
"But before we send you out, you'll have to submit to a complete medical
examination."
"For what purpose?"
"To satisfy our insurers."
"Very well," said Orville, who dreaded the very thought of exposing his excess
poundage to a doctor's scrutiny. They were forever trying to get him to cut
down on his comfort foods.
A local doctor had performed the examination. It was astonishingly thorough,
and included a PET scan.
The results came by Federal Express from the offices of the Ixchel Talent
Agency in Hollywood, California.
Despite the fact that he was not anywhere near a chair, Orville Rollo Fletcher
sat down very hard when he read the evaluation and saw the dreaded words
"Brain tumor."
He was sobbing when the soft voice called him.
"I am going to die," he said in a strangled voice.
"Not if we can help it."
"Wh-what do you mean?"
"We have access to the finest medical facilities. Put yourself in our hands
and kiss that tumor goodbye."
"Why would you do that for me?"
"Because," said the soft voice, "Thrush Limburger is the hottest thing going,
and you're the next best thing. This is an investment in the future."
"I will be only too happy to take you up on your kind offer," Orville had
choked out tearfully, taking a hit of Vanceril from his asthma inhaler.
It had involved a plane flight to Jalisco, Mexico, where a waiting car whisked
Orville through dusty streets to what looked like an old abortion mill. Inside
there was a doctor with a thick accent and an operating room with some of the
finest surgical equipment Orville could imagine.
The PET scan results were already in the doctor's hand.
"We can shrink this tumor with radiation, senor," the doctor assured him. "It
will be no problem whatsoever."
"I cannot believe my good fortune," Orville said, weeping openly with relief.
They prepped him by shaving his head bald and wheeled him perfectly conscious
into the operating room that very afternoon. As he lay there, he saw the jars
of specimens on racks, and a dusky nurse reached for one labeled in Latin,
Loxodonta Africana.
The doctor stopped her with a sharp order in Spanish, and she took up the one
labeled Elephas Maximus instead. She walked it carefully over to the shelf
where the surgeon's tools had been laid out.
Orville had taken Latin in high school. A long time ago, but his dimming
memory dredged up something.
He wondered what elephants had to do with his brain tumor when the anesthetic
mask was clapped over his mouth and all questions were smothered by the
Page 98
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
rolling fog overtaking his mind.
When he awoke, Orville felt fine. But there was a bandage atop his shaven
head.
"What's this?"
"Your brain did not take well to the operation," the Mexican doctor had
informed him. "It swelled up, and so it was necessary to open a hole in the
skull to release the pressure."
Horror clouded Orville's eyes. "I have a hole in my skull."
"A small one. It is called a burr hole. It will heal. As for your tumor, it is
dying. By the time the bandages come off, it will be no more than a bad
memory."
Every ounce of him shook with the relief of his weeping.
"I hear you pulled through with flying colors," the soft voice said over the
long-distance line the next day.
"I owe it all to you and I don't even know your name."
"J. D. Tippet."
"Thank you, Mr. Tippit, from the bottom of my exceedingly grateful heart."
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]