The Alcoholics (1953) by Jim Thompson

Author:Jim Thompson [Thompson, Jim]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

11

Doctor Murphy always ate with his patients,

those of them, at least, who were able to get to the

dining room. It was often a nuisance to do so—

nerve-wracking and time-consuming. But he felt

that it was necessary, and worth the effort. Much

could be discovered about the condition of a

patient by his appetite or lack of it, and his manner

of eating. Also, by eating with them, he could still

any alcoholic suspicions that he looked down on

them or was enjoying better food than they.

With the exception of Susan Kenfield, and, of

course, Humphrey Van Twyne, they were all at the

table today; even the General was there, very erect

and urbane and so shaky that he could hardly get a

spoonful of soup to his mouth. Doc Murphy studied

him from the corner of his eye. He slipped

something into Rufus’ hand, and whispered to him.

A minute later the General’s coffee cup was

removed, and another set before him. He drank,

and his tremblings quieted, and he began to eat.

Doc sighed, silently. It was all wrong; it was

murder. But you had to choose: slow murder or

quick starvation. When a man had only one thing to

live for, bad though it might be, how could you

strip him of it completely?

He dropped the problem and moved on to

another, everpresent and always hateful. Money.

Mentally, and detesting himself for doing it, he

began to add and subtract, divide and multiply, to

figure over and over, always arriving at the same

hopeless result.

The General? Nothing, next to nothing. No more

than enough to take care of his medicines.

Bernie Edmonds? Nothing.

Susan Kenfield? Not now. Suzy was always

broke and abysmally in debt after a binge. Not

now, and now was all that counted.

The Holcombs? Yes. Right on the dot. They

would even be good for a generous loan—which,

of course, he couldn’t ask for or accept. You

couldn’t be in debt to an alcoholic whom you had

to treat. Inevitably, the debt would influence the

treatment.

Jeff Sloane? Yes.

Van Twyne … ?

Doctor Murphy’s calculations ceased abruptly.

He caught Rufus’ attention, and whispered to him

again. Rufus, who had been hovering about Jeff

Sloan with a mixture of curiosity and relief, looked

aghast.

“Me, Doctuh? You mean you want me to feed ‘at

—”

“Yes,” said Doctor Murphy. “What’s the matter?

You were anxious enough to fool around up there

yesterday.”

“Yes, suh, but I wasn’t foolin’ around his

mouth.”

Doc grimaced. “Go on, now. He’s the same as a

child— perfectly harmless. How many times do I

have to tell you that?”

“Yes, suh. You tell me that, but do you tell him? ”

Miss Baker started to rise from her chair. “I can

do it, Doctor. I’m all—”

“Rufus can do it. I’ve got some case reports I

want you to type up.”

“But I can do that, and—”

“Rufus!” snapped Doctor Murphy. “Move!”

“Yes, suh. Right away after a while, suh, Jus’

soon as I take care all you—”

“Josephine can do anything that’s left to do. Now,

get moving.”

Rufus moved, his great shoulders slumped in

dejection. Miss Baker murmured an inaudible

word of apology, and left the table. Frowning, Doc

watched her enter the areaway to his office.

He hadn’t acted very subtly in the matter, but he’d

had to head her off. At any rate, there wasn’t

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