The Poor Mouth by Flann O’Brien, Patrick C. Power

should drop in a note summoning Dr Blennerhassett.
    –I am afraid, he said, that that good man is day tros. He means well but damn the thing he knows about medicine.
    –But he might know something about those pains of yours.
    –Oh, all right.
    Dr Blennerhassett did call and said Mr Collopy had severe rheumatism. He prescribed a medicament which Annie got from the chemist—red pills in a round white box labelled ‘The Tablets’. He also said, I believe, that the patient’s intake of sugar should be drastically reduced, that alcohol should not in any circumstances be consumed, that an endeavour should be made to take mild exercise, and to have hot baths as often as possible. Whether or not Mr Collopy met those four conditions or any of them, he grew steadily worse as the weeks went by. He took to using a stick but I actually had to assist him in the short distance between his armchair and his bed. He was a cripple, and a very irascible one.
    I had arranged one night to attend a session of Jack Mulloy’s poker school, but a crafty idea had crept into my head. A late start for 8.30 p.m. had been fixed, apparently because Jack had to go somewhere or do something first. I deliberately put my watch an hour fast, and hopefully knocked on the door in nearby Mespil Road at what was really half seven. A pause, and the door was opened by Penelope.
    –My, you’re early, she said in that charming husky voice.
    I gracefully stepped into the hall and said it was nearly half eight. I showed her my watch.
    –Your watch is crazy, she said, but come in to the fire. Will you have a cup of coffee?
    –I will, Penelope, if you will have one with me.
    –I won’t be a moment.
    Wasn’t that a delightful little ruse of mine? So far as I could see, we were alone in the house. Silly ideas came into my head, ideas that need not be mentioned here. I was the veriest tyro in such situations. Into my head came the names of certain voluptuaries and libertines of long ago, and then I began to wonder how the brother would handle matters were he in my place. She came with a pot of coffee, biscuits, and two delightful little cups. In the light her belted dress was trim, modest, a little bit mysterious; or perhaps I mean enchanting.
    –Well now, Finbarr, she said, tell me all the news and leave nothing out.
    –There’s no news.
    –I don’t believe that. You are hiding something.
    –Honestly, Penelope.
    –How is Annie?
    –Annie’s in good order. She never changes. In fact she never changes even her clothes. But poor Mr Collopy is crucified with rheumatism. He is a complete wreck, helpless and very angry with himself. He kept going out to get drowned in the rain every night a few months ago, and this is the price of him.
    –Ah, the poor man.
    –And what about poor me? I have to act the male nurse while I’m in the house.
    –Well, everybody needs help some time or other. You might grow to be a helpless old man yourself. How would you like that?
    –I wouldn’t fancy it. Probably I’d stick my head in the gas oven.
    –But if you had very bad rheumatism you couldn’t do that. You wouldn’t be able to stoop or bend.
    –Couldn’t I get you to call and help me to get my head in?
    –Ah no, Finbarr, that would not be a nice thing. But I would call all right.
    –To do what?
    –To nurse you.
    –Heavens, that would be very nice.
    She laughed. I must have allowed true feeling to well up in that remark. I certainly meant what I said, but did not like to appear too brash.
    –Do you mean to say, I smiled, that I would have to have a painful and loathesome disease before you would call to see me?
    –Oh, not at all, Finbarr, she said. But I’d be afraid of Mr Collopy. He once called me ‘an unmannerly school-girl’, all because I told him in the street that his shoelaces were undone.
    –His bootlaces, you mean, I corrected. To hell with Mr Collopy.
    –Now, now, now.
    –Well, he gets on my nerves.
    –You spend too much time in that