A/N: So, I'm running a little late again! I went to a Reds game last night, and that buggered up everything! Anyway, my thanks goes out to my wonderful readers/reviewers! You are making me keep something resembling a schedule. I appreciate and i'm certain the guys in this story appreciate it! Pintel gives a hearty belch for you! That's his way of thank you. It is a multi-talented noise!
Thank you, Miran Anders, my newest reviewer, and I will continue to read your Bootstraps story later on in the week.
To PeiPei, I will be reading your latest installment also this week. I really appreciate your reviews and greatly respect your writings.
To everyone else, if you have reviewed, tahnk you, and I will return the favor. If not, please do, and i will return the favor, still! I've got to know who you are before I can read your goodies! :)
Warning, this chapter has some angst in it. There were parts that I found impossible to write funny, and there are parts that just turned out that way! And I hope my german is correct for the title. I am not sure of the article. The title was chosen for multiple reasons, and the movie "Nosferatu" is on the mind of late. It's April, go figure!
Anyway, I got home in time to do the edit, and I am re-posting this now.
Chapter 8: Die Pest
Pintel and Ragetti managed to do their chores with little to no mishaps. Ragetti smiled merrily and hummed a cheerful, if not just downright filthy, barroom tune, that surprisingly enough Pintel didn't teach him. Although being a fellow always opened to learn more on such a subject matter, he was a bit busy trying to do his share of the work for a change. He would have been inclined to complain about the whole situation, but for some reason, he didn't feel like it, and he felt it was difficult to breath. He shrugged it off and attributed it to eating his meal a tad bit too fast and having such a stressful day.
When it came to getting the sugar and the flour from the cellar, neither of them knew the difference between the two substances. It was the women's job to deal with all aspects of cooking at home, and none of the captains they had served under in the past were foolhardy enough to allow them to do any kind of cooking, muchless near any of the food supplies. So, the two pirates decided that a taste test was in order. The sugar went down well, and Pintel had to hit Ragetti to keep him from consuming too much of it. The flour was a different and kind of a messy situation. Suffice it to say, it didn't taste as good, but it was sure fun to play with. So, after throwing a couple handfuls of the soft cool powdery substance at each other, the taller man tied up the bag again. After Ragetti ended up tugging the two loads up the steps into the kitchen, because although Pintel tried, he couldn't manage it, the two crawled off to their beds, in their powdery pallor.
Since they had the luxury of separate beds and a real room for the first time since neither one of them could remember, Ragetti chose to pop that wooden eye of his into a cup on the nightstand before turning in for the night. The way he figured it, what the hey, they got private beds, and the inanimate object deserved one, too. Each man discarded his work clothes on the floor in messy piles and wiggled into the proper night clothes. Then each pirate collapsed into his separate bed in proper pirate fashion, i.e. face down and sprawled out with at least one arm and/or/ both leg(s) hanging over the edge. The immediate sonorous snores were enough to scare off any vermin in the near vicinity.
Marita may have expected them up early the next morning, but she wasn't so stupid as to believe they would actually get up at any reasonable hour on their own. She was up and about well before dawn, and she did the early morning chores and baking for the morning clientele. She was impressed with their work of the previous night in as far as the two ninnies had actually done a reasonable job of the chores she had given them. Most of the sugar and the flour were still in their bags. She followed up and shook her head at the floury footsteps on the clean floor and going to the bed room. She shrugged and swept up the mess. Deep inside of her, she laughed at the thought of the two dummies in the flour. Neither one of them was a child, but that didn't say that they acted like adults. Maybe they were worth saving after all.
Fortunately, she had enough wood for the baking and the morning cooking. She didn't have to worry about waking the sleeping guests until well after three hours after dawn. By that time, her morning customers had been ushered out and were happily fed for breakfast. Having not heard any loud crashes or any other destructive noises, she came to the conclusion that the two rogues still slept. She not so quietly or gently entered the room and slammed the door. This registered very little conscious response from either of them. Ragetti continued to sleep half sprawled off of the bed in the way his long limbs were stretched out. It was the first time he had ever gotten a bed to himself. At home, he was eleventh of fourteen, and he got to share the floor with most of his other siblings. On board the ships that he served, he sprawled out on the floor with the other lesser crew members. Then there were other activities in the many visits to Tortuga, that he spent not so much time sleeping and the bed wasn't his alone either. So, although the Tortuga trips were fun, he was in seventh heaven, and he muttered endearing comments about Marita as he gleefully flitted about in dreamland. The mistress of the bakery was not exactly pleased, but there other problems to deal with, that save the younger pirate from a good slapping. Pintel, on the other hand, was curled up in a tight ball by this time. Somehow, he didn't seem right to her (Well, right as the older man's standards qualified them). Then she noticed the signs of flour all over the floor, the discarded clothes in the middle of the floor between the two beds, on the beds, on the two men, on the nearby furniture, and she figured that there could not be much wrong with these mischievous creatures. She grabbed hold of the broom that Ragetti had absently brought with him and dropped on the floor without any regard as to its proper place. She slapped each pirate with the straw end of it each in his turn. Pintel moaned and tightened into his ball. Ragetti sat up and sneezed. Lucky for him and the sake of the story, the wooden eye was still happily sleeping in its cup. The taller younger man fell back to the pillows, asleep even before he hit them again.
"Get your lazy asses up and out of bed NOW!!" she demanded.
Neither man moved. They had been commanded to do so in more forceful voices long before they ever heard of Marita Schmidt and slept through it. Besides, they had ten years worth of sleep to catch up with. Ragetti made interesting mutterings and movements in his sleep, that made Marita's face flush. Pintel had said worse while conscious. She was caught for a moment of indecision, but soon her mind was made up. The older pirate had had the bigger mouth and had said more to insult her. She grabbed him forcefully up by the collar. It did not take long for her to realize that not all was right with the ex-fisherman. Other than the welts and blisters, that covered his body, he was covered in perspiration. He shivered and his breathing was harsh and forced. She cursed as she dropped him back to the sheets. Just what she needed! She went to the other man and skillfully avoided the groping hands. Ragetti snored with steady regular breathing. He had the welts and the blisters, as well, but he did not show the same signs of fever. Oh well, if she was going to be contaminated by this disease, she would have already contracted it from the other loser. Ragetti continued to sleep contently as she held him up by his collar. She shook him to no effect. She dropped him heavily back to the bed in disgust. It would have tasted too much like betrayal to have the Commodore cart them off. She blew out an exasperated breath and espied the cup with Ragetti's favorite wooden appendage. She picked up the cup and shook it. The wooden eye, not exactly being thrilled with the A.M. side of morning either, made angry rattling noises. The man, heeding the call, blindly felt around the night stand. Marita slammed the cup on his searching hand. With a yelp of pain (and a satisfied rattle from the wooden eye), Ragetti sat up and cuddled his injured hand. He looked at Marita, and his face turned bright red with the memory of his dreams.
"Your friend is sick," (in more than one way) she informed him, "And you don't look so good yourself."
Looking down at the welts on his hands, he swallowed down a lump in a swollen sore throat. Nervously, he touched the blisters on his throat. His one eye opened wide as did his empty eye socket in fear. Fortunately, the wooden eye was otherwise displaced and would not be falling out at the opportune moment. He gasped and cried out none too brightly, "I've got the plague!"
Marita smirked and shook her head in disgust. "You don't have the plague, stupid," She replied with measured words. She placed her hand to his forehead. He had a bit of a fever, but it was nothing like the other's. "For one thing, there has been no word of the plague for over 30 years, and that happened in England. You're in the Caribbean. You are more likely to get Malaria here."
"Me sister Emily, she died of the plague then. She 'ad sores all o'er 'er throat and a terrible fe'er. I was gone fer a week, then. I 'ad a little run in with the law. When I came 'ome, she 'ad al'eady died," he explained, then his shoulders dropped, "I cried fer a week, and mum smacked me up side the 'ead and said I was bein' a big baby."
"You couldn't have been much more than a baby then. You don't look much older than thirty yourself," she commented.
"Uh . . . well, uh . . ." he answered in his normal confused manner.
"Besides, your sister had black patches on her throat, now didn't she."
"Uh . . . I think so," he replied with a blank look.
She approached him and he pulled back. She won out and inspected his sores. "You were messing about in the overgrowth yesterday, weren't you?"
"Uh . . ." he continued intelligently, as he scratched his head.
She smacked his hand away from his digging. "Don't scratch the blisters. It will only make it worse." She looked at Pintel and shook her head again. "Whatever is wrong with your friend isn't the same thing that you've got."
"Pintel's sick!" he exclaimed, as he tumbled out of the bed and went to him.
"I think he might have pneumonia," she remarked now that she had had time to think about it. She watched the younger man grasped the older man's hand. They looked more of father and son than ship mates. She frowned. She could never think of a man acting this way, but her husband was not the same as these two. "The brigs of the ships tend to be rather damp and cold. Your friend is a bit older than you, and he is more susceptible to sickness. It doesn't help matters that he's got the weed poisoning like you do."
"'Enry!" he called out, "Ye can't die on me yet! We just got free! Ye and me, we've got too much to do, remembe'! There's a whole world yet fer us to pilfer and pillage, and ye promised to take me to Tortuga again and get me drunk and get me a real woman!"
Marita rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Men!" she grumbled. She sighed and asked, "How famous of pirates are you?"
"Uh . . ." Ragetti answered in his normal brightness.
"How wanted are you?"
"Well, mum said I was an oopsy, and da said that if it were legal to sell another Christian, 'e wouldn't get two farthin's fer me on the auction block."
"That's not what I mean, you moron! How much of a reward would the Royal Navy put on your head, and would you be recognized by the public?"
The one eyed pirate bit the knuckles of his right hand and scratched the back of his neck. The woman knocked his left hand away from doing any more damage to himself. "I don't think we were well know. We weren't an'thing special 'board the Pearl."
She nodded to him and left them for a few moments. She returned with two jars. She handed him one. "Here. Put this salve on your sores. It will keep them from itching so much, and it will heal them."
Ragetti nodded and obeyed. Once he was done with his own application, he carefully did the same for Pintel. The older pirate continued to moan and struggle with breath, but he did not wake. Ragetti bit his lower lip and forced himself not to cry. The baker heard the jingle of the store door's bell, and she left to take care of her customer. She made a conscious effort to hurry back before the conscious nitwit destroyed something.
Ragetti sat on Pintel's bedside and tears streamed down his cheeks. He may have lost the right eye, but it was a clean cut, and he still had the tear ducts there. He was capable of streaming tears from that empty eye socket as well. He held the older man's hand in his own. Marita was silent as she returned to the room, and she went to and pulled Pintel up into a sitting position. "It is best for him," she told the puzzled Ragetti. The younger pirate wiped the tears from his face. "Are either one of you marked for your crimes?" she asked.
The pirate looked down and blushed deeply. "Pintel's not, but I am," he answered. He pulled up the right sleeve of his sleeping gown to show her the "P" on his forearm. "Pintel don't look it, but 'e's really good at runnin' 'way. I've been caught a couple o' times, but 'e's always got me out of it."
"Uh-hun," she answered, as she opened the other jar, that contained makeup.
Ragetti pulled away from her. "'Ey! Now, wait a minute! Just 'cause Pintel and me've been caught in dresses don't mean anythin'! We be real men!"
"Oh, do shut up!" she ordered, as she pulled his branded arm towards her. She smeared the makeup over the scar to hide it. The young man watched her curiously at first, then he smiled at her unexpected gentleness. She put some of the makeup on the welts on his face and his neck. Strange thoughts entered his head and singed the tips of his hair He felt those argumentive butterflies in his stomach, and they tickled his bladder. He drew in his legs tight to avoid further embarrassment.
"Get dressed and watch the bakery for me," she told him, as she put the lid back on the jar of makeup. I'll fetch a doctor, and I'll be back as quickly as possible. Try not to tear the place down while I'm gone!"
Ragetti nodded dumbly . . . not a difficult feat for him at all. Within a quarter of an hour, the tall scruffy man, with wooden eye included, stood stiffly behind the counter. He would have hurled his breakfast, if he had gotten any, but blessedly his stomach was now empty, and his other bladder problems were taken care of before he came out front. Marita hurried out the door. Luck was even more with them all. It was the slow time of the day, and Ragetti had gotten no customers during Marita's absence. Not only did he not know one pastry from the other, but he had a real hard time counting change.
With a very few questions asked about Marita's late husband's "very distant cousin and his nephew", the doctor treated the patient. He left her a list of instructions for the care of the sick man. Well, it would cure his physical illness, but he was not the type of doctor to take care of his mental problems. Fortunately, Pintel didn't feel much like opening his big mouth, proving beyond a doubt that the man was seriously ill. Therefore, the doctor did not question the ruse. The doctor gave Ragetti a suspicious look on the way out. The taller man only put on a forced cheery smile and waved him "bye".
It took no time for Ragetti to rush into the room and let out a vast sigh of relief. Pintel was sitting up on his own accord and eating . . . well, slurping the chicken soup, that Marita was coaxed into making for him. He grumbled something about being indebted to a bloody woman. Ragetti only smiled. The doctor was right. The old fellow would be back to normal in no time at all.
"Quit gawking and get back to work, you lazy pile of cretinous rags!" Marita called back through the doorway. "You've got the work of two to do now, plus take care of this accursed dolt!"
"Yes, Mrs. Marita," Ragetti called back. He shrugged and gave Pintel a tired smile.
"Bloody woman!" growled Pintel again. As his younger companion left, he added, "Stupid bonehead!"
Thank you, Miran Anders, my newest reviewer, and I will continue to read your Bootstraps story later on in the week.
To PeiPei, I will be reading your latest installment also this week. I really appreciate your reviews and greatly respect your writings.
To everyone else, if you have reviewed, tahnk you, and I will return the favor. If not, please do, and i will return the favor, still! I've got to know who you are before I can read your goodies! :)
Warning, this chapter has some angst in it. There were parts that I found impossible to write funny, and there are parts that just turned out that way! And I hope my german is correct for the title. I am not sure of the article. The title was chosen for multiple reasons, and the movie "Nosferatu" is on the mind of late. It's April, go figure!
Anyway, I got home in time to do the edit, and I am re-posting this now.
Chapter 8: Die Pest
Pintel and Ragetti managed to do their chores with little to no mishaps. Ragetti smiled merrily and hummed a cheerful, if not just downright filthy, barroom tune, that surprisingly enough Pintel didn't teach him. Although being a fellow always opened to learn more on such a subject matter, he was a bit busy trying to do his share of the work for a change. He would have been inclined to complain about the whole situation, but for some reason, he didn't feel like it, and he felt it was difficult to breath. He shrugged it off and attributed it to eating his meal a tad bit too fast and having such a stressful day.
When it came to getting the sugar and the flour from the cellar, neither of them knew the difference between the two substances. It was the women's job to deal with all aspects of cooking at home, and none of the captains they had served under in the past were foolhardy enough to allow them to do any kind of cooking, muchless near any of the food supplies. So, the two pirates decided that a taste test was in order. The sugar went down well, and Pintel had to hit Ragetti to keep him from consuming too much of it. The flour was a different and kind of a messy situation. Suffice it to say, it didn't taste as good, but it was sure fun to play with. So, after throwing a couple handfuls of the soft cool powdery substance at each other, the taller man tied up the bag again. After Ragetti ended up tugging the two loads up the steps into the kitchen, because although Pintel tried, he couldn't manage it, the two crawled off to their beds, in their powdery pallor.
Since they had the luxury of separate beds and a real room for the first time since neither one of them could remember, Ragetti chose to pop that wooden eye of his into a cup on the nightstand before turning in for the night. The way he figured it, what the hey, they got private beds, and the inanimate object deserved one, too. Each man discarded his work clothes on the floor in messy piles and wiggled into the proper night clothes. Then each pirate collapsed into his separate bed in proper pirate fashion, i.e. face down and sprawled out with at least one arm and/or/ both leg(s) hanging over the edge. The immediate sonorous snores were enough to scare off any vermin in the near vicinity.
Marita may have expected them up early the next morning, but she wasn't so stupid as to believe they would actually get up at any reasonable hour on their own. She was up and about well before dawn, and she did the early morning chores and baking for the morning clientele. She was impressed with their work of the previous night in as far as the two ninnies had actually done a reasonable job of the chores she had given them. Most of the sugar and the flour were still in their bags. She followed up and shook her head at the floury footsteps on the clean floor and going to the bed room. She shrugged and swept up the mess. Deep inside of her, she laughed at the thought of the two dummies in the flour. Neither one of them was a child, but that didn't say that they acted like adults. Maybe they were worth saving after all.
Fortunately, she had enough wood for the baking and the morning cooking. She didn't have to worry about waking the sleeping guests until well after three hours after dawn. By that time, her morning customers had been ushered out and were happily fed for breakfast. Having not heard any loud crashes or any other destructive noises, she came to the conclusion that the two rogues still slept. She not so quietly or gently entered the room and slammed the door. This registered very little conscious response from either of them. Ragetti continued to sleep half sprawled off of the bed in the way his long limbs were stretched out. It was the first time he had ever gotten a bed to himself. At home, he was eleventh of fourteen, and he got to share the floor with most of his other siblings. On board the ships that he served, he sprawled out on the floor with the other lesser crew members. Then there were other activities in the many visits to Tortuga, that he spent not so much time sleeping and the bed wasn't his alone either. So, although the Tortuga trips were fun, he was in seventh heaven, and he muttered endearing comments about Marita as he gleefully flitted about in dreamland. The mistress of the bakery was not exactly pleased, but there other problems to deal with, that save the younger pirate from a good slapping. Pintel, on the other hand, was curled up in a tight ball by this time. Somehow, he didn't seem right to her (Well, right as the older man's standards qualified them). Then she noticed the signs of flour all over the floor, the discarded clothes in the middle of the floor between the two beds, on the beds, on the two men, on the nearby furniture, and she figured that there could not be much wrong with these mischievous creatures. She grabbed hold of the broom that Ragetti had absently brought with him and dropped on the floor without any regard as to its proper place. She slapped each pirate with the straw end of it each in his turn. Pintel moaned and tightened into his ball. Ragetti sat up and sneezed. Lucky for him and the sake of the story, the wooden eye was still happily sleeping in its cup. The taller younger man fell back to the pillows, asleep even before he hit them again.
"Get your lazy asses up and out of bed NOW!!" she demanded.
Neither man moved. They had been commanded to do so in more forceful voices long before they ever heard of Marita Schmidt and slept through it. Besides, they had ten years worth of sleep to catch up with. Ragetti made interesting mutterings and movements in his sleep, that made Marita's face flush. Pintel had said worse while conscious. She was caught for a moment of indecision, but soon her mind was made up. The older pirate had had the bigger mouth and had said more to insult her. She grabbed him forcefully up by the collar. It did not take long for her to realize that not all was right with the ex-fisherman. Other than the welts and blisters, that covered his body, he was covered in perspiration. He shivered and his breathing was harsh and forced. She cursed as she dropped him back to the sheets. Just what she needed! She went to the other man and skillfully avoided the groping hands. Ragetti snored with steady regular breathing. He had the welts and the blisters, as well, but he did not show the same signs of fever. Oh well, if she was going to be contaminated by this disease, she would have already contracted it from the other loser. Ragetti continued to sleep contently as she held him up by his collar. She shook him to no effect. She dropped him heavily back to the bed in disgust. It would have tasted too much like betrayal to have the Commodore cart them off. She blew out an exasperated breath and espied the cup with Ragetti's favorite wooden appendage. She picked up the cup and shook it. The wooden eye, not exactly being thrilled with the A.M. side of morning either, made angry rattling noises. The man, heeding the call, blindly felt around the night stand. Marita slammed the cup on his searching hand. With a yelp of pain (and a satisfied rattle from the wooden eye), Ragetti sat up and cuddled his injured hand. He looked at Marita, and his face turned bright red with the memory of his dreams.
"Your friend is sick," (in more than one way) she informed him, "And you don't look so good yourself."
Looking down at the welts on his hands, he swallowed down a lump in a swollen sore throat. Nervously, he touched the blisters on his throat. His one eye opened wide as did his empty eye socket in fear. Fortunately, the wooden eye was otherwise displaced and would not be falling out at the opportune moment. He gasped and cried out none too brightly, "I've got the plague!"
Marita smirked and shook her head in disgust. "You don't have the plague, stupid," She replied with measured words. She placed her hand to his forehead. He had a bit of a fever, but it was nothing like the other's. "For one thing, there has been no word of the plague for over 30 years, and that happened in England. You're in the Caribbean. You are more likely to get Malaria here."
"Me sister Emily, she died of the plague then. She 'ad sores all o'er 'er throat and a terrible fe'er. I was gone fer a week, then. I 'ad a little run in with the law. When I came 'ome, she 'ad al'eady died," he explained, then his shoulders dropped, "I cried fer a week, and mum smacked me up side the 'ead and said I was bein' a big baby."
"You couldn't have been much more than a baby then. You don't look much older than thirty yourself," she commented.
"Uh . . . well, uh . . ." he answered in his normal confused manner.
"Besides, your sister had black patches on her throat, now didn't she."
"Uh . . . I think so," he replied with a blank look.
She approached him and he pulled back. She won out and inspected his sores. "You were messing about in the overgrowth yesterday, weren't you?"
"Uh . . ." he continued intelligently, as he scratched his head.
She smacked his hand away from his digging. "Don't scratch the blisters. It will only make it worse." She looked at Pintel and shook her head again. "Whatever is wrong with your friend isn't the same thing that you've got."
"Pintel's sick!" he exclaimed, as he tumbled out of the bed and went to him.
"I think he might have pneumonia," she remarked now that she had had time to think about it. She watched the younger man grasped the older man's hand. They looked more of father and son than ship mates. She frowned. She could never think of a man acting this way, but her husband was not the same as these two. "The brigs of the ships tend to be rather damp and cold. Your friend is a bit older than you, and he is more susceptible to sickness. It doesn't help matters that he's got the weed poisoning like you do."
"'Enry!" he called out, "Ye can't die on me yet! We just got free! Ye and me, we've got too much to do, remembe'! There's a whole world yet fer us to pilfer and pillage, and ye promised to take me to Tortuga again and get me drunk and get me a real woman!"
Marita rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Men!" she grumbled. She sighed and asked, "How famous of pirates are you?"
"Uh . . ." Ragetti answered in his normal brightness.
"How wanted are you?"
"Well, mum said I was an oopsy, and da said that if it were legal to sell another Christian, 'e wouldn't get two farthin's fer me on the auction block."
"That's not what I mean, you moron! How much of a reward would the Royal Navy put on your head, and would you be recognized by the public?"
The one eyed pirate bit the knuckles of his right hand and scratched the back of his neck. The woman knocked his left hand away from doing any more damage to himself. "I don't think we were well know. We weren't an'thing special 'board the Pearl."
She nodded to him and left them for a few moments. She returned with two jars. She handed him one. "Here. Put this salve on your sores. It will keep them from itching so much, and it will heal them."
Ragetti nodded and obeyed. Once he was done with his own application, he carefully did the same for Pintel. The older pirate continued to moan and struggle with breath, but he did not wake. Ragetti bit his lower lip and forced himself not to cry. The baker heard the jingle of the store door's bell, and she left to take care of her customer. She made a conscious effort to hurry back before the conscious nitwit destroyed something.
Ragetti sat on Pintel's bedside and tears streamed down his cheeks. He may have lost the right eye, but it was a clean cut, and he still had the tear ducts there. He was capable of streaming tears from that empty eye socket as well. He held the older man's hand in his own. Marita was silent as she returned to the room, and she went to and pulled Pintel up into a sitting position. "It is best for him," she told the puzzled Ragetti. The younger pirate wiped the tears from his face. "Are either one of you marked for your crimes?" she asked.
The pirate looked down and blushed deeply. "Pintel's not, but I am," he answered. He pulled up the right sleeve of his sleeping gown to show her the "P" on his forearm. "Pintel don't look it, but 'e's really good at runnin' 'way. I've been caught a couple o' times, but 'e's always got me out of it."
"Uh-hun," she answered, as she opened the other jar, that contained makeup.
Ragetti pulled away from her. "'Ey! Now, wait a minute! Just 'cause Pintel and me've been caught in dresses don't mean anythin'! We be real men!"
"Oh, do shut up!" she ordered, as she pulled his branded arm towards her. She smeared the makeup over the scar to hide it. The young man watched her curiously at first, then he smiled at her unexpected gentleness. She put some of the makeup on the welts on his face and his neck. Strange thoughts entered his head and singed the tips of his hair He felt those argumentive butterflies in his stomach, and they tickled his bladder. He drew in his legs tight to avoid further embarrassment.
"Get dressed and watch the bakery for me," she told him, as she put the lid back on the jar of makeup. I'll fetch a doctor, and I'll be back as quickly as possible. Try not to tear the place down while I'm gone!"
Ragetti nodded dumbly . . . not a difficult feat for him at all. Within a quarter of an hour, the tall scruffy man, with wooden eye included, stood stiffly behind the counter. He would have hurled his breakfast, if he had gotten any, but blessedly his stomach was now empty, and his other bladder problems were taken care of before he came out front. Marita hurried out the door. Luck was even more with them all. It was the slow time of the day, and Ragetti had gotten no customers during Marita's absence. Not only did he not know one pastry from the other, but he had a real hard time counting change.
With a very few questions asked about Marita's late husband's "very distant cousin and his nephew", the doctor treated the patient. He left her a list of instructions for the care of the sick man. Well, it would cure his physical illness, but he was not the type of doctor to take care of his mental problems. Fortunately, Pintel didn't feel much like opening his big mouth, proving beyond a doubt that the man was seriously ill. Therefore, the doctor did not question the ruse. The doctor gave Ragetti a suspicious look on the way out. The taller man only put on a forced cheery smile and waved him "bye".
It took no time for Ragetti to rush into the room and let out a vast sigh of relief. Pintel was sitting up on his own accord and eating . . . well, slurping the chicken soup, that Marita was coaxed into making for him. He grumbled something about being indebted to a bloody woman. Ragetti only smiled. The doctor was right. The old fellow would be back to normal in no time at all.
"Quit gawking and get back to work, you lazy pile of cretinous rags!" Marita called back through the doorway. "You've got the work of two to do now, plus take care of this accursed dolt!"
"Yes, Mrs. Marita," Ragetti called back. He shrugged and gave Pintel a tired smile.
"Bloody woman!" growled Pintel again. As his younger companion left, he added, "Stupid bonehead!"