To Elizabeth, Dr Koekentapp’s receptionist, starting the day trapped with Mrs Chaimowitz in the lift at Nedbank Gardens in Rosebank was most unfortunate. Mrs Chaimowitz, eagerly responding to Mrs Levy’s scheme for further details, was flatulent and her distress at being stuck in what she called a communal coffin had aggravated her condition. When the handyman opened the door and freed them, his gaunt expression on breathing the lift’s atmosphere had done nothing to placate Elizabeth. The telephone was ringing and patients were already waiting when she reached the medical suite. She rushed to the switchboard, clutched a pen and breathlessly answered the call.
‘Dr Koekentapp’s rooms. May I help you?’
‘It’s Mrs Levy speaking. Dr Koekentapp saw my husband last night. Is the doctor in?’
Mrs Levy wondered why everyone associated with Dr Koekentapp was out of breath when they answered the telephone.
Elizabeth pressed the intercom button. ‘Good morning, doctor. I’m sorry I’m late. I was trapped in the lift for twenty ghastly minutes with Mrs Chaimowitz. She just arrived for an appointment this morning and I’m sure there is something terribly wrong with her colon.’ Elizabeth ran a shaky hand through her short blonde curls. ‘Thank heavens Anne will be back from her holiday tomorrow.’
Dr Koekentapp smiled at the mention of Anne. ‘I’ll be happy too. It’s been a little hectic running my own practice here, let alone seeing Dr Schwachbaum’s patients as well.’
‘A little hectic? Wait until you see today’s list. I’ve got a Mrs Levy on the line. She wants to talk to you.’
Elizabeth connected Mrs Levy’s call through to Dr Koekentapp, then looked at the patients seated in the waiting room. She glanced down at her appointment book.
‘Mrs Chaimowitz, Mr Watson and Mr Humphries,’ she read aloud.
Mrs Watson looked up. She was a large, overbearing woman who liked getting to the point.
‘Yes?’ she said loudly.
‘Mister Watson?’ Elizabeth looked oddly at her.
Mrs Watson indicated a thin little man with arms and legs crossed sitting next to her.
‘My husband Cecil,’ she said.
Cecil smiled wanly to identify himself as the male member of the Watson union. Elizabeth looked at the remaining patient. Mr Humphries had come to the surgery for an ear syringe to remove lumps of wax that had rendered him almost totally deaf. Deeply engrossed in a magazine article about sexual foreplay, he was quite unaware that he was expected to announce himself.
Behind the closed door of his consulting room, Dr Koekentapp picked up his telephone. Mrs Levy was sitting with her husband in his ward at the Park Lane Clinic.
‘I’ve arranged his IVP for nine o’clock,’ Dr Koekentapp said.
‘I’ll tell him to wait then,’ replied Mrs Levy.
Dr Koekentapp shifted his ear against the receiver. ‘What for?’ he queried.
‘For his pee,’ said Mrs Levy. ‘I’ll tell him to wait till nine o’clock.’
Dr Koekentapp grinned. ‘No, Mrs Levy. His intravenous pyelogram is at nine o’clock.’
‘Oh.’ Mrs Levy considered the situation. ‘That sounds quite serious. Shouldn’t we get a second opinion?’
‘For an X-ray?’
Mrs Levy laughed. ‘Is that what it is? I thought it meant cutting. You doctors and your big words.’ She decided to make her play. ‘I was talking to Aaron about how wonderful you were last night.’
Dr Koekentapp shuddered. His testicles still ached from their exposure to coitus interruptus telephonicus.
‘Well I was a little tied up, else I would have arrived sooner,’ he said.
‘Tied up? The poor girl was in agony! Don’t deny it. I know what I heard. Then from relieving her pain you travelled to help my husband. You are a messenger from God!’
Dr Koekentapp shifted uncomfortably. The pain in his groin was distinctly non-evangelical.
‘I want you to know that Aaron and I have decided that we want you to be our doctor from now on,’ continued Mrs Levy. ‘In one night you did more than Dr Schwachbaum could ever do!’
Dr Koekentapp declined to comment on Dr Schwachbaum’s abilities. ‘That’s very awkward, Mrs Levy,’ he said. ‘I am doing his locum for a few days. I can’t just take over his patients.’
‘Awkward, shmorkward,’ retorted Mrs Levy. ‘Who’s paying anyway? For our money aren’t we entitled to choose our doctor?’ She decided that the conversation wasn’t going quite the way she had intended. ‘Dr Koekentapp,’ Mrs Levy continued formally, ‘my husband and I would like the pleasure of your company at a family dinner this Friday night.’
‘Well, I don’t know . . .’ said Dr Koekentapp, totally loath to spend an evening discussing Levy’s kidneys with his relatives. ‘I’ll have to check my diary. I don’t have it at the moment but—’
‘Sylvia will be there,’ interrupted Mrs Levy, ever sensitive to her victim.
Dr Koekentapp hesitated for a long while as he recalled the photograph of Sylvia grinning in Levy’s bedroom.
‘She was the radiant beauty queen on Durban beach last year,’ wheedled Mrs Levy.
‘I’m not sure . . .’ Dr Koekentapp said, vacillating between radiant beauty and relatives.
‘Radiant Beauty Queen,’ emphasised Mrs Levy.
He decided that radiant beauty beat relative reluctance.
‘Love to,’ Dr Koekentapp capitulated.
Mrs Levy was smiling with satisfaction when she put down the receiver. The next step was easy. Once Dr Koekentapp had eaten a Dolly Levy meal, he was hers. She decided that she would include a pink bow on her ensemble for the wedding. Dr Koekentapp buzzed Elizabeth to send in his first patient then thoughtfully tapped his finger on his desk while he waited. Although confident he could escape any net Mrs Levy might use, he was not sure what her reaction would be when she realised he wasn’t Jewish. He decided to leave things at face value and simply accept a dinner invitation. Meeting Sylvia at a family meal was perfectly innocuous.
Mrs Chaimowitz waddled through the door and sat down in front of Dr Koekentapp’s desk. The chair creaked as she rummaged through her bag and withdrew a square of paper. ‘I wrote it all down, doctor,’ she said. ‘I didn’t want to forget anything.’
Dr Koekentapp’s heart sank. A shopping list of problems invariably meant a litany of chronic ailments induced by years of self-abuse.
‘It’s my grandson’s bar mitzvah next month,’ she began, ‘and I have a few things I want to discuss with you.’
Dr Koekentapp gazed sceptically at her.
‘It’s at the Greenside shul,’ Mrs Chaimowitz continued. ‘I don’t suppose you had your bar mitzvah there?’
‘No,’ replied Dr Koekentapp.
‘My dear friend Mrs Levy’s daughter will be there,’ she went on. ‘Do you perhaps know Sylvia?’
‘No,’ said Dr Koekentapp.
‘She’s a lovely girl, a real lady if you know what I mean.’
‘Not really,’ responded Dr Koekentapp.
‘Do you perhaps have a regular girlfriend?’ enquired Mrs Chaimowitz.
Dr Koekentapp decided to ignore the question. ‘Perhaps you should tell me what’s bothering you today,’ he said.
Mrs Chaimowitz sighed. ‘It’s my tummy. I can’t tell you how windy I am. Every time I get the urge to go all I pass is smelly, smelly wind.’ She laughed coyly. ‘It’s lucky I’m a widow.’
Dr Koekentapp shivered and agreed it might have been a problem.
‘But my legs and my knees . . .’ Mrs Chaimowitz rolled her eyes back. ‘You’ll never believe how big they have become. Wait till you examine me. You’ll see what I mean. I think I’m retaining water.’
The intercom buzzed. ‘It’s Mrs Levy again,’ came Elizabeth’s voice wearily. ‘She’s going on and on and I can’t put her off. She won’t take no for an answer and she sounds very short of breath. Won’t you please take the call?’
‘Put her on,’ Dr Koekentapp said, already deeply regretting his dinner acceptance. He heard stertorous respirations as the connection was made. ‘Mrs Levy? What’s wrong?’
‘I’m sorry to keep disturbing you doctor, but it’s Aaron again. He thinks his hands are swollen. I told him he was just imagining things but now he thinks he’s going into kidney failure. He is already talking about a transplant. You know how men are. Such panickers!’ Her voice rose a tremulous octave. ‘Do you think he could be right?’
‘No,’ Dr Koekentapp reassured her, gritting his teeth. ‘There is nothing wrong with his hands. Just tell him to relax.’
‘I’ll tell him to take deep breaths like one does when one’s under pressure,’ Mrs Levy suggested.
‘Fine,’ said Dr Koekentapp bewilderedly. ‘Goodbye.’ The click of his receiver settling in its cradle cut off Mrs Levy’s departing wheeze.
Mrs Chaimowitz, expressing her appreciation of human drama, looked sympathetically at Dr Koekentapp. She closely examined her hands. ‘I think my hands are swollen too, doctor,’ she said, holding up her fat, jewel-encrusted digits for his scrutiny. ‘Do you think it’s going around?’
‘I doubt it, Mrs Chaimowitz,’ he answered. ‘Won’t you change please? I’ll need to examine you.’
‘But I haven’t told you about my bladder problem.’
‘What about your bladder?’
‘It doesn’t empty properly. I always have to give a little squeeze at the end.’ Her neck swelled as she pressed down to show him how she squeezed. A strident blare resulted. Dr Koekentapp stood up hurriedly. ‘Let’s go next door,’ he said. ‘You can pass a specimen and I’ll check it.’
‘There are some more things,’ she persisted, peering at her list.
‘I’m sure there are, but we’ll discuss them while I look you over.’
He leant back in his chair as she disappeared into the examination room. Elizabeth entered his room, blanched, and then hurriedly retreated to fetch an air-freshener spray. Dr Koekentapp’s thoughts drifted back to Mrs Levy’s invitation and he wondered why he had allowed her a foothold in his private life. But he hadn’t had a traditional kosher meal since attending Mrs Karnovsky’s sixtieth birthday party soon after her husband’s well-insured death a few years back. He was also looking forward to meeting Sylvia. For the umpteenth time he marvelled at how physically homely parents managed to produce astonishingly attractive offspring. A breathless grunting drew his attention to the examination room. Through the half-open door he could see Mrs Chaimowitz undressing industriously, her large black bloomers around her ankles and her torso buttressed by an enormous pink lace-up corset.
This will take time, Dr Koekentapp thought, and went through to the waiting room to ask Elizabeth to telephone later for the results of Levy’s kidney X-rays.
Mrs Chaimowitz was too large to fit into the patient’s dressing gown hanging on the wall. ‘I’ve gained a little weight in the past year,’ she admitted as Dr Koekentapp entered and silently took in her naked bulk. Her eyes followed the movement of his gaze. She became nervous. ‘Do you think it could be a glandular problem?’ she asked worriedly.
Dr Koekentapp thought that the only glandular problem she had was salivary gland overuse. He shook his head sadly and Mrs Chaimowitz happily consulted her list.
‘Do you perhaps keep a kosher home?’ she enquired.
Dr Koekentapp sighed. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘let us first check your blood pressure . . .’
At twelve Dr Koekentapp arrived at the Park Lane Clinic. Situated just a few blocks away from the much cheaper but understaffed, overcrowded and deteriorating Johannesburg General Hospital, it was a well-liked facility, especially for those patients fortunate enough to have medical aid cover. His shoes clicked on the tiled floor as he walked rapidly down the austere corridor to the hospital section and entered Levy’s private ward. Levy’s family was gathered around his bed. Bowls and bouquets of flowers occupied every available ledge. A giant arrangement of nuts and fruit had been placed on a table within easy reach should Levy feel peckish. Dr Koekentapp was startled to see Mrs Levy sitting next to the bed, wearing a large bouquet of purple Dutch irises and yellow tulips on her head. As she moved to greet him Dr Koekentapp realised that the arrangement was behind her. Mrs Levy smiled widely and hastened to introduce her family.
‘Stand up, everybody,’ she commanded. ‘Our doctor is here. This is the wonderful man I told you about.’
There was a shuffle and scraping of chairs as everybody reluctantly stood up.
‘Dr Koekentapp,’ Mrs Levy went on, ‘I want you to meet my brother Hymie Finkelstein and his wife Naomi.’
Dr Koekentapp glanced curiously at Mrs Finkelstein, who was mumbling, ‘Oy a klog, a goy.’
Unheeding of Levy’s resentful stare, Finkelstein had helped himself to Levy’s nuts and was chewing noisily as he shook Dr Koekentapp’s hand. A recent stain on Finkelstein’s tie evinced that he had also enjoyed Levy’s fruit.
Mrs Finkelstein muttered, ‘How do you do?’ She didn’t offer her hand to be shaken.
‘And this is my sister-in-law Sarah,’ continued Mrs Levy. ‘Sarah’s a widow. Her husband, God bless his soul, passed away last year.’
Sarah smiled sadly and Dr Koekentapp said he was pleased to meet her and sorry to hear it.
‘And in there . . .’ Mrs Levy turned and, with a dramatic wave of her arm, pointed to a closed door. ‘In there is my treasure! Behind that door is my Sylvia!’
Dr Koekentapp stared blankly at Mrs Levy. In an uneasy silence the entire family stood and gazed at the floor while they listened to the burbling of a vigorous stream of urine, the whirr and rustle of toilet paper being torn and, after a brief pause, the sound of flushing. Dr Koekentapp came to the rescue when the whoosh of a running tap began. He cleared his throat loudly. ‘You are looking much better now that you have passed your stone,’ he said to Levy.
Ensconced in his bed and glaring at Finkelstein, Levy remained silent. Feeling that he was expected to do something, Dr Koekentapp began palpating Levy’s abdomen. Mrs Levy watched with approval. ‘Golden hands!’ she exclaimed. Flushed with enthusiasm she looked at her family excitedly. Finkelstein burped and stretched over for another handful of nuts. Mrs Finkelstein sniffed huffily and Sarah smiled politely. Feeling somewhat let down, Mrs Levy leant over and removed a stray piece of fluff lodged in Levy’s navel.
‘I like things to be neat,’ she explained.
The door opened and Sylvia emerged. She looked in bewilderment at Levy’s visitors, then took in the doctor examining her father.
‘What’s wrong? Why is the doctor here?’ she asked.
Finkelstein burped and stretched for more nuts. Mrs Levy ignored him. She had no intention of allowing anything to mar the magic of the meeting she had so carefully planned.
‘Sylvia,’ she exclaimed, ‘I want you to meet Dr Koekentapp, the man who saved your father’s life!’
Dr Koekentapp stared at Mrs Levy. ‘I would hardly say that,’ he interjected.
Mrs Levy was not to be stopped. To her mind Levy’s stone had assumed the proportions of a vicious man-killer, a crystalline beast that had been defeated only by the consummate medical skill of her future son-in-law Dr Jeremiah Koekentapp.
‘Don’t be so modest, doctor. Anyone could see that he was at death’s door. It’s thanks only to you that he’s alive,’ she declared.
Dr Koekentapp had stopped listening to her. His eyes were riveted on Sylvia. She had been beautiful in the photo but in real life she was ravishing. He mentally dismissed any lingering regrets about his Friday supper decision, slowly approached her and held out his hand. Her returning grip was cool and dry.
‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ he said.
‘Nice to meet you too,’ she replied. ‘My mother has spoken of no one else since last night.’
Mrs Levy was in her element. She began pacing the ward and addressing no one in particular. ‘I can tell you, it’s hard to find a dedicated doctor these days,’ she raved at a bowl of drooping roses. She turned to confront an obscene arrangement of bulrushes and red hot pokers. ‘Only a man like Dr Koekentapp, a man with a really big emission in life would do what he did for us.’
Dr Koekentapp declined to comment on his emission. Sylvia grinned broadly at him. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
‘You seem to have seduced my mother, Dr Koekentapp,’ she said.
‘Call me Jerry,’ he replied.
‘I’m Sylvia, Jerry,’ she said and squeezed his hand again.
‘What did I tell you? Isn’t he a catch?’ Mrs Levy cried when Dr Koekentapp had gone.
‘He does seem very nice,’ admitted Sylvia.
‘Nice?’ yelled Mrs Levy. ‘Nice? Chicken soup is nice. Beigels are nice. Dr Koekentapp is a guarantee!’
‘He looks like a goy,’ said Mrs Finkelstein. ‘Are you sure he’s Jewish?’
‘What do you mean am I sure he’s Jewish?’ Mrs Levy retorted furiously. ‘Look at his fine forehead. Look at his grey eyes. Look at the strength of his Yiddishe jaw. Would a goy eat my chopped herring? Naomi, you should be ashamed of yourself!’
‘I only said what I thought,’ Mrs Finkelstein pouted.
Mrs Levy puffed out her chest. ‘I’ll prove it to you,’ she said. ‘He’s coming for supper on Friday. I’m going to ask him to bless the food. When you hear him singing the brocha in Hebrew, and I’m sure he sings like an angel, you’ll see who is Jewish!’
Sylvia looked at her mother and thoughtfully gazed at Mrs Finkelstein, who was shaking her head and muttering that Dolly should look at the fine straightness of his goyishe nose.
Unaware that he would be expected to exhibit considerable Hebraic expertise within two days, Dr Koekentapp drove to his next call. His thoughts were about Sylvia. In his mind’s eye her long auburn hair shone like a copper-splashed wave about her beautiful face. Her lovely smile beckoned him seductively. He felt her body tight against his. Dr Koekentapp rubbed his fine forehead and decided that Friday would be wonderful.
Mrs Kindel lived in a newly renovated and redecorated residence in Illovo. She had recently divorced her grateful husband, ending an unsavoury marriage that had wasted their youth and any good looks they might have had. Their union had produced three unpleasant offspring, each a genetic amplification of one of their mother’s primary characteristics – Greed, Lust and Envy, also known as Ashley, Darren and Cecil.
Mrs Kindel was in her en suite bathroom when Dr Koekentapp arrived. She was industriously applying a heavy layer of make-up in preparation for his examination of her darling son Ashley. A large colour photograph of Mr and Mrs Kindel on their wedding day stood on the bedroom dresser. Elaborately framed in gold, the newly-weds happily stared into the equally golden future that was assuredly theirs.
‘I’m sorry to keep you, doctor,’ sang Mrs Kindel from the bathroom, ‘but I haven’t had a minute to myself all day.’
From the picture, Mr Kindel smiled at Dr Koekentapp as he shared the experience of having to wait for Mrs Kindel in the bedroom.
‘While you’re waiting, Jeremiah – I hope you don’t mind my calling you by your first name – I wonder if you wouldn’t start examining Ashley. He’s been off colour lately. Ash-ley!’ A high-pitched screech summoned Greed.
‘What?’ came Ashley’s bellow from the kitchen.
‘I want the doctor to examine you,’ yelled Mrs Kindel.
‘I told you I didn’t want him!’ shouted Ashley.
‘I don’t like your colour. I think you need a tonic.’
‘I’m fine!’ shrilled Ashley from the refrigerator.
‘Ashley! If you don’t come here this very second I am going to break every bone in your body!’ squealed his mother.
Ashley entered, chewing on a chicken leg. He burped, wiped his greasy fingers on Mrs Kindel’s imported silk-covered duvet and malevolently eyed Dr Koekentapp.
‘There is nothing wrong with me,’ Ashley snarled.
Dr Koekentapp glanced at Ashley’s beefy face liberally sprinkled with pustules.
‘Your mother doesn’t like your colour,’ he responded.
‘What colour would she like?’ Ashley grunted. He was looking for a place to put his chicken bone.
‘Get undressed,’ Dr Koekentapp answered brusquely. ‘I’ll examine you.’
Ashley threw the half-chewed leg onto the glass top of the dresser. It hit the wedding picture, leaving an oily smear that blurred Mrs Kindel’s face. Mr Kindel smiled happily.
A little later Mrs Kindel emerged, clad in a diaphanous green gown that revealed every sagging curve of her dumpy body.
‘Ashley’s fine,’ Dr Koekentapp said, ‘he is just too fat.’
‘Ashley darling, you must try and diet a little,’ simpered Mrs Kindel.
‘Yes, mom,’ replied Ashley, staring at his chicken bone.
‘Don’t you think he should have a tonic?’ asked Mrs Kindel, staring anxiously at Dr Koekentapp.
‘No,’ Dr Koekentapp replied, ‘he is already over-nourished.’
‘But he doesn’t seem to have any energy. He is always just lazing around.’
‘Send him to a gym,’ Dr Koekentapp answered. ‘There’s one just down the road next to the Wanderers Club. An exercise programme would do wonders in improving his shape.’
‘That’ll be the day,’ muttered Ashley as he closed in on the remnants of his bird.
Mrs Kindel unsuccessfully tried to thrust her breasts over the broad dimple of her navel in the nightgown. ‘You are so right, Jeremiah. Diet and exercise are so important.’ She slumped onto the bed, obliterating the fat-stain on the duvet. ‘Thank you for coming, Jeremiah. I was so worried. He really is a delicate child, not at all like his father.’ She glared at Mr Kindel on the dresser, then looked up. ‘I’m feeling a little peckish. Would you like some tea before you go? I have some delicious pastry puffs and chocolate éclairs.’
Dr Koekentapp declined with alacrity and, as he left, he saw their combined reflections in the mirror. Mrs Kindel was licking her peckish lips, Greed’s eyes were gleaming and Mr Kindel was smiling.