himself from.
"I'll put some salt on it, it'll feel better right away."
She reached for his belt. "Listen, Nemiroff, nobody dares come in here except you. I've put salt on your cuts, iodine, everything I could think of. I don't like anyone busting in here on me when I'm reading. Take my advice."
Nemiroff looked up at her with pain in his eyes. "I didn't come in here for advice," he said. "Are you going to fix me or not?"
Nemiroff knew the answer to the question before he ever asked it. Nurse Goodenow never fixed anybody.
"I'm going to let you in on a little secret," she said, "only I don't want you to ever tell anybody."
Nemiroff fainted on the floor again. Nurse Goodenow put the smelling salts under his nose again. Nemiroff slowly opened his eyes.
Nurse Goodenow continued. "I'm going to tell you this for your own good, before you really hurt yourself and expect me to do something about it." She wiped some of the blood off Nemiroff's forehead. "I'm not really a nurse," she said.
Nemiroff's eyes opened wide. "You're not really a what?"
"A nurse."
"But what about your uniform?"
"I bought it in a second-hand store."
"But your title ... it says nurse."
Nemiroff was trying to struggle to his feet. She kept knocking him down.
"I know," she said calmly, "but that's my name. Nurse."
"Your mother named you Nurse?" Nemiroff couldn't believe it
"Yes, she wanted all of her children to be professionals." She couldn't understand Nemiroff's concern. "I got a brother in Toledo, Dr. Goodenow. My mother named him Dr."
"I don't believe you," Nemiroff shouted.
"Why not?" She was hurt. "He's got a hell of a practice. Had one for the past seventeen years."
"And nobody suspects?"
"No, he's a specialist His patients come to see him and he asks what's wrong with them." She stopped.
"Then what?" Nemiroff had to hear the end of this.
"Well, if the patient has a heart condition, my brother recommends him to a heart specialist"
"What if they have a stomachache?"
"Then he sends them to a stomach specialist. He has a very big practice." She got up and let Nemiroff's head slam to the floor.
"So please, Nemiroff, don't get yourself hurt I can't do a damn thing for you if you do."
Nurse Goodenow went back to her magazine.
Nemiroff looked at her for a few moments and then slowly crawled out of the office.
Nemiroff's home life left a lot to be desired. It w*s Nemiroff's parents that afforded him any kind of distinction. They were Jewish and they hated their son. That was fine with Nemiroff. The more his parents hated him, the less Jewish he had to be. He had dropped out of Hebrew school a few days after his fight with the ugly tough kid. His parents couldn't understand it, and eventually they gave up trying.
He would only rarely bring friends home for fear of being embarrassed by his parents' Jewishness. Only Jewish fathers kissed their sons on the lips.
"Why do you say those things, Mrs. Nemiroff?" he asked.
"Why? Why you ask me." She was pouring another cup of coffee. "I'll tell you why. Because you hurt people." She poured the coffee into Nemiroff s waiting lap.
Nemiroff got up and wiped the coffee away. "I just want to tell you something," he said, walking out the door. "You make lousy coffee."
Nemiroff was waiting for breakfast when he saw his mother approaching the table with a cup of steaming coffee. He quickly dropped his fork and reached down to cover his crotch, but it was too late. Every morning since he quit Hebrew school Nemiroff's mother spilled a hot cup of coffee on his crotch. She said she did it to teach him a lesson, but Nemiroff could never figure out what the lesson was supposed to be.
"Mrs. Nemiroff," he said, drying off his pants, "I'm going to be late for work."
Nemiroff s mother never let him call her Mom or Mother since he stopped being Jewish. "If you were Jewish, you'd be a part of this family," she'd tell him. "But since you think you're a gentile, then you certainly couldn't belong to
"I'll put some salt on it, it'll feel better right away."
She reached for his belt. "Listen, Nemiroff, nobody dares come in here except you. I've put salt on your cuts, iodine, everything I could think of. I don't like anyone busting in here on me when I'm reading. Take my advice."
Nemiroff looked up at her with pain in his eyes. "I didn't come in here for advice," he said. "Are you going to fix me or not?"
Nemiroff knew the answer to the question before he ever asked it. Nurse Goodenow never fixed anybody.
"I'm going to let you in on a little secret," she said, "only I don't want you to ever tell anybody."
Nemiroff fainted on the floor again. Nurse Goodenow put the smelling salts under his nose again. Nemiroff slowly opened his eyes.
Nurse Goodenow continued. "I'm going to tell you this for your own good, before you really hurt yourself and expect me to do something about it." She wiped some of the blood off Nemiroff's forehead. "I'm not really a nurse," she said.
Nemiroff's eyes opened wide. "You're not really a what?"
"A nurse."
"But what about your uniform?"
"I bought it in a second-hand store."
"But your title ... it says nurse."
Nemiroff was trying to struggle to his feet. She kept knocking him down.
"I know," she said calmly, "but that's my name. Nurse."
"Your mother named you Nurse?" Nemiroff couldn't believe it
"Yes, she wanted all of her children to be professionals." She couldn't understand Nemiroff's concern. "I got a brother in Toledo, Dr. Goodenow. My mother named him Dr."
"I don't believe you," Nemiroff shouted.
"Why not?" She was hurt. "He's got a hell of a practice. Had one for the past seventeen years."
"And nobody suspects?"
"No, he's a specialist His patients come to see him and he asks what's wrong with them." She stopped.
"Then what?" Nemiroff had to hear the end of this.
"Well, if the patient has a heart condition, my brother recommends him to a heart specialist"
"What if they have a stomachache?"
"Then he sends them to a stomach specialist. He has a very big practice." She got up and let Nemiroff's head slam to the floor.
"So please, Nemiroff, don't get yourself hurt I can't do a damn thing for you if you do."
Nurse Goodenow went back to her magazine.
Nemiroff looked at her for a few moments and then slowly crawled out of the office.
Nemiroff's home life left a lot to be desired. It w*s Nemiroff's parents that afforded him any kind of distinction. They were Jewish and they hated their son. That was fine with Nemiroff. The more his parents hated him, the less Jewish he had to be. He had dropped out of Hebrew school a few days after his fight with the ugly tough kid. His parents couldn't understand it, and eventually they gave up trying.
He would only rarely bring friends home for fear of being embarrassed by his parents' Jewishness. Only Jewish fathers kissed their sons on the lips.
"Why do you say those things, Mrs. Nemiroff?" he asked.
"Why? Why you ask me." She was pouring another cup of coffee. "I'll tell you why. Because you hurt people." She poured the coffee into Nemiroff s waiting lap.
Nemiroff got up and wiped the coffee away. "I just want to tell you something," he said, walking out the door. "You make lousy coffee."
Nemiroff was waiting for breakfast when he saw his mother approaching the table with a cup of steaming coffee. He quickly dropped his fork and reached down to cover his crotch, but it was too late. Every morning since he quit Hebrew school Nemiroff's mother spilled a hot cup of coffee on his crotch. She said she did it to teach him a lesson, but Nemiroff could never figure out what the lesson was supposed to be.
"Mrs. Nemiroff," he said, drying off his pants, "I'm going to be late for work."
Nemiroff s mother never let him call her Mom or Mother since he stopped being Jewish. "If you were Jewish, you'd be a part of this family," she'd tell him. "But since you think you're a gentile, then you certainly couldn't belong to
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