Steel Beach by John Varley Read Free Book Online

mind it. There’s worse ways of earning your daily oxygen.”
    Brenda had drifted over to catch the last of our conversation. She was wrapped in a ridiculous pink robe, still favoring one foot.
    “You fixed up yet?” she asked me.
    “I think I’ll wait,” I said.
    “Another lame mare?” the doctor asked. “Toss that hoof up here, little lady, and let me take a look at it.” When he had examined the cut he grinned and rubbed his hands together. “Here’s an injury within my realm of expertise,” he said. “You want me to treat it?”
    “Sure, why not?”
    The doctor opened his black bag and Brenda watched him innocently. He removed several bottles, cotton swabs, bandages, laid it all out carefully on the bar.
    “A little tincture of iodine to cleanse the wound,” he muttered, and touched a purplish wad of cotton to Brenda’s foot. She howled, and jumped four feet straight up, using only the un-injured foot. If I hadn’t grabbed her ankle she would have hit the ceiling.
    “ What the hell is he doing? ” she yelled at me.
    “Hush, now,” I soothed her.
    “But it hurts .”
    I gave her my best determined-reporter look, grabbing her hand to intensify the effect.
    “There’s a story in here, Brenda. Medicine then and now. Think how pleased Walter will be.”
    “Well, why doesn’t he work on you, too?” she pouted.
    “It would have involved amputation,” I said. And it would have, too; I’d have cut off his hand if he laid it on me.
    “I don’t know if I want to—”
    “Just hold still and I’ll be through in a minute.”
    She howled, she cried, but she held still enough for him to finish cleaning the wound. She’d make a hell of a reporter one day.
    The doctor took out a needle and thread.
    “What’s that for?” she asked, suspiciously.
    “I have to suture the wound now,” he said.
    “If suture means sew up, you can suture your self , you bastard.”
    He glared at her, but saw the determination in her eyes.
    He put the needle and thread away and prepared a bandage.
    “Yes sir, it was hard times, 1845,” he said. “You know what caused people the most trouble? Teeth. If a tooth goes bad here, what you do is you go to the barber down the street, or the one over in Lonesome Dove, who’s said to be quicker. Barbers used to handle it all; teeth, surgery, and hair cutting. But the thing about teeth, usually you could do something. Yank it right out. Most things that happened to people, you couldn’t do anything . A little cut like this, it could get infected and kill you. There was a million ways to die and mostly the doctors just tried to keep you warm.”
    Brenda was listening with such fascination she almost forgot to protest when he put the bandage over the wound. Then she frowned and touched his hand as he was about to knot it around her ankle.
    “Wait a minute,” she said. “You’re not finished.”
    “I sure as hell am.”
    “You mean that’s it ?”
    “What else do you suggest?”
    “I still have a hole in me, you idiot. It’s not fixed .”
    “It’ll heal in about a week. All by itself.”
    It was clear from her look that she thought this was a very dangerous man. She started to say something, changed her mind, and glared at the bartender.
    “Give me some of that brown stuff,” she said, pointing. He filled a shot glass with whiskey and set it in front of her. She sipped it, made a face, and sipped again.
    “That’s the idea, little lady,” the doctor said. “Take two of those every morning if symptoms persist.”
    “What do we owe you, doc?” I asked
    “Oh, I don’t think I could rightly charge you…  ” His eyes strayed to the bottles behind the bar.
    “A drink for the doctor, landlord,” I said. I looked around, and smiled at myself. What the hell. “A drink for the house. On me.” People started drifting toward the bar.
    “What’ll it be, doc?” the bartender asked. “Grain alcohol?”
    “Some of that clear stuff,” the doctor agreed.
     
    We