Mysteries - Knut Hamsun [51]
“Quite firmly.” Or rather, he had good reasons not to be altogether skeptical of it. Anyway, what difference did it make what one believed in, as long as, in one’s heart, one considered one thing to be just as good as the next? The ring had cured him of nervousness and made him steady and strong.
Mrs. Stenersen had a good long laugh, but then began to protest vehemently. She just couldn’t stand that kind of cynical talk—sorry, but she called it cynical talk—and she felt certain that Mr. Nagel didn’t really mean what he said. When you heard educated people say such things, what could be expected of the ordinary joes? Where would we end up? Then even doctors might as well shut up shop.
Nagel defended himself. Sure, one thing was just about as good as any other. It was the patient’s will, his faith and disposition, everything depended on. Still, doctors didn’t have to shut up shop, they had their congregation after all, their faithful; they had the educated people, and the educated people were cured with medicines, while the heretics, the ordinary joes, were cured with iron rings, burned human bones and graveyard dirt. Weren’t there instances where patients got better by drinking ordinary water, as long as they were made to believe that it was a sophisticated remedy? And look at the experience gained from cases of morphine addiction! It was when he met with such strange happenings that the non-doctrinaire individual could say, “I’ll be damned!” and proclaim his independence as regards belief in medical science. However, he didn’t mean to leave the impression that he claimed to understand these matters, he was no expert and lacked the knowledge. Besides, when all was said and done, he was in such high spirits at the moment that he didn’t want to spoil anyone else’s. Mrs. Stenersen must really forgive him, they all must.
He kept looking at his watch and was already buttoning up his jacket.
In the midst of this conversation the doctor turned up. Nervous and gloomy, he said good evening with forced gaiety and thanked his guests for having stayed. Oh well, there was nothing to be done about the teacher, peace be with him, but otherwise the party was complete. Alas, life in this world was a perpetual struggle!
Then he began talking about the visit, as he was in the habit of doing. His sour mien was due to the fact that his patients had let him down; they had behaved like idiots and jackasses, and he could wish they were thrown in jail. Try to imagine the sort of place he had just come from! The wife ill, the wife’s father ill, the wife’s son ill—and the whole house was stinking! And yet, the rest of the family were healthy and rosy-cheeked, the small fry as fit as could be. It was incomprehensible, fabulous; he just couldn’t understand it: There lay the old man, the wife’s father, with a cut this big! They had sent for a woman who used household remedies, and she had stopped the bleeding, to be sure; but what had she stopped it with? Revolting, criminal; it was unspeakable, it smelled, you could choke on it, ugh! Besides, gangrene would set in at the first opportunity! God only knows what would have happened if he hadn’t turned up this evening! Why, they should strengthen the law against quacks, you bet they should, and put it into the hands of those people.... Well, the bleeding had been stopped. But then there was the son, a grown-up fellow, a tall s. o. b. who had caught a rash in his face. “I had given him the ointments before and expressly said: this yellow ointment for one—one—hour, and this white ointment, the zinc ointment, the rest of the time. What does he do? Takes the wrong ointment, naturally, applies the white one for an hour and the yellow one, which burns and draws like hell, he uses round the clock. He keeps this up for two weeks. But—and this is the most remarkable thing of all—the fellow recovered, recovered despite his stupidity; he became well! A bull, an ox, who gets well regardless, using anything he damn well pleases! He presented himself to me tonight with cheeks