"Wilson-Retired" - читать интересную книгу автора (Wilson Robin)

his day in the bass boat, appeared with Marianne and the black doc, a skinny guy
with a grizzled beard who was thirty years younger than anyone else in the
place. Pop was a little shaky, but with Marianne's help, he stood by the bar,
carefully avoiding leaning against it, and held up his hand. "Lot of you know
Doctor Waitson from over at the Elderclinic. . . ."

"For you that don't know me," said Waitson, grinning "I'm the one they call the
black doc. I'll let you guess why. Anyway, last couple of months I've seen
enough clear X-rays I didn't understand that now I'm ready to go along with what
Mr. Elson here was telling me earlier this evening. So I'm with you for a while
on this thing."

"What we gotta do," said Pop, "is we gotta kind of reorganize things around here
on account I'm not getting any younger."

Cries of "Come on, you're still a kid!" and "I got underwear older'n you!"

Pop held up a hand. "What we gotta do is have what they used to call in P-G 'n E
a division of labor. Doc Waitson here, he'll take on what he calls the triage,
sortin' out the people who need what they can get from one of our boat trips
from those that don't."

Cheers and whistles from the volunteers Pop had coerced into back room
paperwork.

Waitson said, "Whoever I send you for a boat trip's got nothing to do with
medicine. You understand what I'm saying? I got a license to worry about. And
the folks come here at my recommendation? They aren't necessarily going to be
much like you. They'll be from around here, in the county all right, but some
will be poor and some will be rich and some will talk with funny accents and the
odds are more will be some different color than won't be."

No cheers. Thoughtful silence. Throats clearing. Chairs squeaking. The black doc
thought, this'll maybe kill it, this is a whole other thing. This is too big a
change.

On the Wurlitzer Randy Travis said we ain't out of love yet.

"And the other thing is this here gizmo . . ." Pop pulled from his shin pocket a
baggie with a plump golden needle gleaming in it. ". . . which Doc pulled outta
my, well, outta me about an hour ago."

Somebody unplugged the Wurlitzer. The room was as still as a buggy whip auction.
Pop looked around, a little worried. One way or another, they had to stick
together on this thing. "It didn't hurt goin' in," he said. "It didn't hurt
comin' out. I didn't even know it was in there. And for as long as those
funny-lookin' geeks come around, as long as it's harvest time over on Lake
Oroville, someone's gotta have this thing slipped into him . . ."

Marianne poked him, gently.