Dear diary,
So I say, “Let us warm up our samurai swords and melt Antarctica, for I’d like to establish a fresh, new medical clinic there. I’m tired of this space station — too many aliens.”
“But Antarctica is already melted,” sez Doctor Toshiro.
“No, I mean the Antarctica of the past. For I’m tired of living in the faroff future — it’s too romantic.”
“Ah, agreed. You have a point,” sez Doctor Toshiro. “OK, I’m in.”
So we walk over and retrieve our swords from the wall-mounted gun rack; then we hold our blades over the bonfire until they’re red-hot.
“They look good,” I say, sticking my tongue out and performing a quick taste-test; “now let’s get a move on.”
I mount my good-tempered, medium-sized bay stallion named Mukhorty; and Doctor Toshiro mounts his fine horse named Sancho’s Donkey. We hold our reins loosely and allow the animals to trot in whichever direction, at whatever pace they desire. For our beasts understand our plan without our having to tell them. (Horses are smart.) — They know that we’re heading for 20th-century Antarctica.
§
When we arrive, we dismount and then drape huge warm cloaks over our horses, to keep them warm while we ameliorate the environment. Our glittering swords are still aglow with heat — we’ve been holding them overhead during the trip, because it was not safe to sheathe them, as they might melt their scabbards; therefore our arms are tired; nevertheless we begin to hack away at all the snow and ice that covers this continent. Soon the place is a nice green expanse of rolling hills.
I flatten a portion of the ground for our clinic’s foundation and pour an oblong base of concrete whose total area is seventy-seven square stadia. Then I use cinder blocks and mortar to build up four walls. I use bamboo for the roof, and Doctor Toshiro uses his mobile phone to call the international newspapers:
“Am I currently speaking to all the chief editors? Good. I just wanted to inform you that Doctor Bryan and I are starting a medical practice in Antarctica,” my business partner explains. “Yes, it is a profit-driven enterprise; we’re looking to make a lot of cash, even tho neither of us really cares about finance — we just like the idea of greeting patients with the motto: ‘Your money or your life!’ — Don’t you agree that existence becomes more interesting when there’s an element of danger lurking around every single molecule of spacetime?”
(It goes without saying that Doctor Toshiro’s speech here, as well as all of his lines and dialogue in the preceding chapters, are presented in easy-to-read, bright gold English subtitles at the bottom of the screen; while, in reality, he’s only grunting, snarling, and growling things like “Hy-y-yuh,” and “Ech!” — that’s what his lips can be seen to be saying, and it’s also what is clearly heard on the soundtrack — for he’s reprising and caricaturing those stereotypical film-roles that he’s most famous for playing, such as rugged samurai or wild nomadic poor angry street bludgers. In other words, he’s not really speaking a proper language.)
“Who are you talking to?” I ask while holding a houseplant.
“International news rags,” Toshiro spits in disgust; “I’m trying to give them the scoop about our new Luxury Hospital, but all they seem to want to ask about are all the scandals associated with our past medical experimentations. — Also, I plan on speaking to whoever’s in charge of all the classified ads, cuz we need to get the word out about our emergency room’s Grand Opening.”
So my business partner and top nurse Doctor Toshiro manages to stir up some good press for our medical enterprise, and within less than a fortnight we receive our first customer.
Our First Customer
“Come in,” I say, waving my hand in a friendly and eager fashion. “You’re guinea pig number one! Welcome! Have a seat in this leather recliner that’s equipped with a bubble helmet (just like an astro suit!)... Can we get you anything to drink? We have absinthe, vodka, cognac...”
“I’ll have gin, thanks,” sez the patient, a curvaceous brunette bombshell. “The reason I’m here is that I just read an article about your fancy new medical clinic in a French periodical, and I grew intrigued because they reported that all your previous clients apparently remain deeply in love with you, due to the way that you physicians fulfilled their every need. I just had to come and see if the rumors were true.”
“Well,” I say, stepping out from behind the counter and handing the woman her drink, while Doctor Toshiro remains at his desk grunting in annoyance as he keeps scribbling out and rewriting numbers on a sudoku puzzle that he’s trying to complete; “I must warn you: my colleague and I are not accustomed to treating attractive women who have nothing medically wrong with them. So, if you’re simply desperate for a session of heavy flirting, then, I’m sorry: you’re out of luck. But, if you’re ill, we can cure you.”
“Oh, I’m ill,” sez the damsel a little too quickly, after taking a sip of her gin. “I fear that I might pop off at any second now.”
“Indeed?” I squint my eyes, trying to remain skeptical of her claim: “You have a sickness unto death? What exactly are your symptoms?”
She begins to unbutton her blouse: “Um… my nail polish is the wrong color today.”
I hold up my hand, making the gesture that means “stop your current action”, and I say: “Keep your shirt on, ma’am — a change in nail color does not require undressing.” Then I turn to my colleague and shout: “Tee, will you put your puzzle down for a moment and come assist me in performing a medical procedure?”
“Of course,” grunts Doctor Toshiro politely.
So with help from my nurse Toshiro, I spruce up our brunette bombshell’s fingernails, replacing their old boring color with glossy orange and turquoise.
“Wow,” she sez, holding her hands before her and wiggling her fingers, “this really looks great.”
“It goes well with your skin tone,” I say.
“You will find your future wife today,” grunts Toshiro.
The woman, who has begun to unzip her purse, now looks up sharply: “Is that my fortune?”
I make the same gesture that I made above, only this time regarding her purse: “No, no charge — keep your money. And, yes, Doctor Toshiro’s predictions always come true.”
“You don’t want your payment?” our patient seems disappointed.
“You can pay us by refraining from telling anyone how good we are at this type of thing,” I say. “We’d rather be known for tougher jobs, like rewiring the brains of those who were born scientifically minded, so now they are able to think with their guts. That’s called intuition.” (I pat my head while rubbing my stomach.)
“Really!” sez the woman. “OK then,” she zips her purse closed. “My name’s Moll, by the way.”
“Mall?” Toshiro lights up. “As in ‘The Mega Mall of the Americas’?”
“No: Moll with an ‘O’; my surname is Flanders,” the woman explains: “I’m the heroine of that infamous autobiography.”
“Is that so!” I smile brightly; “well then let us exchange our personal contact info… Alright, that’s swell. And your nails look great now — remember to use that seal-coat on them, just like I showed you,” I say, while politely nudging our first patient out the front door.
I lock the door behind me and remark to my colleague: “Whew! That was rough. I thought she’d never stop singing our praises.”
“Be prepared for more nuisances, because another knock is about to occur,” Doctor Toshiro points at the door, and we wait for several moments in anticipation…
[To be continued.]
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