The Choiring of the Trees - Donald Harington [54]
“Wee-wawed?”
Doc Gode did a pantomime of vomiting. “Puked.”
Nail shook his head and pointed at his mouth. “Not at this end.”
The man was staring at the top of his shaved head. “You been in the death hole? Your head’s peeled.”
Nail nodded. “I cheated the old hot squat,” he said, and smiled.
Doc Gode didn’t smile back. He reached inside his pocket and took out a key. On the wall of the flyspeck room was a wooden cabinet, its two doors latched and padlocked. The man unlocked and opened the cabinet. The two shelves inside contained a blue bottle, a brown bottle, and two bottles in shades of green, as well as a roll of gauze and a few other items. From where he lay Nail could only read the label on the brown bottle: carbolic acid. The ex-doctor took down one of the green bottles, uncorked it, and handed it to Nail. “Take just two swallows of this,” he commanded.
The label read: paregoric. The name sounded sinister. “What does it do?” Nail asked.
“It will ease your guts,” the man said. “Come on. Take two swigs and hand it back.”
The stuff didn’t taste too bad. After a second swallow Nail handed the green bottle back, and Doc Gode returned it to the cabinet. Before he could close the cabinet, Nail requested, “Could you take a look at my behind? I reckon I may need a bandage back there.”
The man motioned for him to turn over, then pulled down the back of his pants, took a look, and said to the black trusties, “Hold ’im, boys.” The two Negroes grabbed Nail’s arms and gripped tightly, and soon Nail felt a burning on his butt worse than the licking he’d received, and he screamed.
When he got his voice back and could see through the tears in his eyes, he saw Doc Gode holding the unstoppered brown bottle, carbolic acid, and he said, “Ye gods! What was that for?”
“A little disinfectant,” Doc Gode said. “It’ll keep the germs out. But I can’t waste any wrappings on that. Just don’t sit on it for a week.”
There was a commotion on the stairs, the door flew open with a crash, and two more of the black trusties came into the room, carrying the limp form of a middle-aged white convict, naked, his entire body flayed: flaps of his flesh were dangling loose, two-inch strips of skin hung from wounds that looked as if they had been scorched with a hot iron, and he was covered with blood.
The blacks dumped the body onto the other cot. One of them said, “Marse Gabe done really laid it on ’im.” There was almost admiration in his voice, as well as awe. “Ole Marse Gabe done whupped de daylights out ob dis po buckra.”
Doc Gode lifted the man’s dangling arms and folded them over his chest. He opened one of the man’s eyelids and looked closely at the unseeing eye. He felt the man’s pulse. He turned his head and looked at Nail and asked disdainfully, “Now you see why I couldn’t waste any bandages on you?” Doc Gode took down the roll of gauze from the cabinet and the bottle of carbolic acid. He gave Nail one more look. “You don’t want to watch this.”
Nail turned his head away. He listened but heard no sounds coming from the victim, and a good while later, when he stole a glance in that direction, he saw that the victim’s worse wounds had been wrapped and taped, but many areas of his body were still raw and bloody.
Mr. Burdell came into the room. “What’s goin on up here?” he demanded. “Y’all havin a party?” He saw Nail and said, “What’re you doin here, Chism? Playin off?”
“Doc Gode’s been treatin me for what ails me,” Nail said.
The warden looked at the ex-doctor. “What’s wrong with Chism?”
“Dysentery,” said Doc Gode.
“No shit?” the warden said.
“Too much shit,” Doc Gode said.
Nail couldn’t help laughing, even though it was a serious matter if Doc Gode was truthful: Nail recalled reading about it in Dr. Hood’s Plain Talks and Common Sense Medical Advisor. But Doc Gode too was chuckling a bit, and maybe he wasn’t serious.
“What’s so funny?” the warden demanded, but then he seemed to become smart enough to catch the joke, and he smirked and said, “Well, if you got any shit left in you, Chism, we will beat it out.” The warden lost interest