‘Who’s next?’ Dr Keppelshnaier asked as he tied the last skin suture on the gastrectomy.
‘The mole,’ replied Candy. She cut the nylon thread one centimetre above the knot, covered the wound with gauze, and then unrolled a length of Elastoplast.
‘Then there’s the vasectomy,’ she continued, ‘followed by the circumcision. The haemorrhoidectomy is just before lunch.’
‘The circumcision is Dr Jeremiah Koekentapp,’ said Dr Keppelshnaier, pressing the bandage onto the abdomen of the gastrectomy. ‘I’m looking forward to meeting him.’ He looked at Candy. ‘I don’t suppose you know him?’
‘Only vaguely. I’ve bumped into him on a few occasions.’
She began cleaning up, passing a stainless steel bowl containing the ulcered half of Willem van der Merwe’s stomach to nurse aid Pinky Ngobene.
‘He’s converting to Judaism,’ said Dr Keppelshnaier. ‘That’s why he needs to be circumcised.’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ shrugged Candy, hoping that the operation would be a cock-up.
Dr Keppelshnaier looked at the wall clock. ‘It’s nine-thirty,’ he said. ‘He should be in his ward now. I can manage the mole with Pinky to help me. Why don’t you pop down and check that he is prepped properly? You know, a little good will and extra professional attention for a colleague.’
Candy smiled tightly. ‘Of course, doctor. I’ll make sure that everything goes smoothly.’
Lying in his semi-private ward, the curtains drawn around his bed to exclude his ward mate Ebrahim Bhamjee from his personal life, Dr Koekentapp listened to Sylvia.
‘I’m mortified,’ she said. ‘I was so looking forward to discussing things last night. I can’t believe I fell asleep!’
‘I had a hard time believing it myself,’ replied Dr Koekentapp.
‘It’s only natural,’ said Mrs Levy, remembering a magazine article she had read. ‘When people are worried they escape into sleep.’
She yawned, worried by the fact that Dr Koekentapp had refused to eat her four-course breakfast because he was going to have an anaesthetic. ‘At least you had some stuffing to keep you going when you went to bed last night.’
‘Thanks only to you,’ said Dr Koekentapp, looking reproachfully at Sylvia, who hung her head.
Candy parted the curtains and entered bearing a tray.
‘I must ask you to wait outside,’ she said, staring hard at Sylvia. ‘I have to prepare the patient for his operation.’
‘Thank you, sister,’ replied Mrs Levy, grabbing Sylvia by the hand and stepping outside the curtains. Dr Koekentapp looked at Candy in alarm. She placed the tray on the bed trolley and smiled bleakly at him.
‘Good morning, Dr Koekentapp, how nice to see you again. Dr Keppelshnaier asked me to prep you for surgery.’
‘Hello, Candy,’ he mumbled thickly. ‘What prep?’
‘Your shave, of course.’
Outside the curtains, Sylvia grinned at Mrs Levy, who shook her head admonishingly.
‘Everything is a joke to you,’ she said.
‘What is he in for?’ asked Bhamjee, who was the haemorrhoidectomy before lunch.
I’m in for trouble, Dr Koekentapp thought, watching with growing trepidation as Candy lifted the bottom of his theatre gown and folded it high above his waist. He was naked underneath.
‘What happened to the male nurse who was supposed to shave me?’ he asked.
Candy took a shaving brush from its soap solution on her tray and, using vigorous little circles, worked up a lather in Dr Koekentapp’s pubic hair.
‘I told him we were old friends,’ she said, smiling. She put down the brush and put on a pair of rubber gloves. ‘You never know where a patient has been,’ she explained, flexing her fingers.
Dr Koekentapp nodded miserably. Delicately pressing down his penis with a finger, Candy began shaving him. The rough scraping sound of the disposable razor came clearly through the curtains. Dr Koekentapp hissed as Candy cavalierly lifted his penis by its foreskin and went to work on his scrotum with the brush. He stared down at his foam-covered testicles and shuddered. His penis, as if recognising an erstwhile playmate, bucked and slipped stoutly into Candy’s hand. Dr Koekentapp stared at his fickle organ in amazement.
‘My, aren’t we still the friendly one?’ asked Candy, dexterously flicking the sensitive spot below the head to render her admirer flaccid again.
Dr Koekentapp’s ‘ow’ came through the curtains and Mrs Levy hissed, ‘Sylvia! You can’t look inside there now! What’s the matter with you?’
Sylvia listened as the razor began scraping again. ‘What did she mean?’ she asked angrily.
‘Well, sometimes a man can’t help himself, you know,’ Mrs Levy explained vaguely.
‘How very true,’ admitted Bhamjee.
The curtains parted and Candy emerged. Sylvia’s eyes narrowed as she took in Candy’s heavily voluptuous figure.
‘He’s all yours,’ Candy said, smiling widely. ‘He hasn’t changed at all. Still the naughty fellow!’ She beamed at Dr Koekentapp, who avoided Sylvia’s glacial stare. ‘I’ll send down a trolley now. Looking forward to seeing you in theatre soon, doctor.’
Sylvia was still fuming when the porter arrived. ‘Isn’t your godfather here yet?’ he asked Dr Koekentapp irritably. ‘He is supposed to meet Dr Keppelshnaier in the doctor’s change room.’
‘Mr Levy’s finding parking for the car,’ Mrs Levy explained.
‘Well, tell him to go to the third floor as soon as he arrives.’
The porter looked warningly at Bhamjee. ‘At this rate, you’ll still have your piles for lunch.’
Dr Koekentapp carefully moved from his bed onto the trolley. He smiled palely at Sylvia and lay down as the porter covered him with a blanket. Mrs Levy hurried to him, uncovered his face and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Don’t forget your yarmulke,’ she said.
She grabbed it from the top of his bedside cupboard and, taking a hairclip from her hair, fixed the yarmulke onto Dr Koekentapp’s head. He reached out for Sylvia’s unwilling hand. Mrs Levy sharply nudged Sylvia in the ribs. Relenting a little, Sylvia leant over, pecked Dr Koekentapp on the lips and watched as the porter wheeled him away.
‘Good luck!’ cried Bhamjee from his bed.
Placed strategically in front of the lift on the third floor, the theatre waiting room was empty when Dr Koekentapp arrived. He lay alone on his trolley and stared at the closed theatre doors lining the all-too-familiar corridor as the porter departed to collect the vasectomy.
‘Are you all alone, you bastard?’
Dr Koekentapp winced as Candy returned.
‘Your prick has got more sense than you have!’ she declared. ‘At least it knows a good thing when it sees one. Why did you just dump me, Jerry? Surely you aren’t serious about that skinny blue-eyed bitch?’
Dr Koekentapp regarded Candy steadily. ‘I love her, Candy, and I’m sorry if I’ve hurt you. I didn’t know. You were the one who said, “Let’s make love and let live.”’
Candy contemplated him quietly. ‘You’re a shit and you know it! I hope your operation hurts!’
She tossed his hospital file on the foot of his trolley and left, leaving Dr Koekentapp reflecting miserably on the complexities of his love life.
‘Don’t look so sorry for yourself, we’re not going to cut it off, you know.’
Dr Koekentapp twisted his head round to gaze at the gowned and masked figure approaching him.
‘Dr Keppelshnaier?’
‘No, I’m Dr Schlafenmacher, your anaesthetist.’ Dr Schlafenmacher pulled down his paper mask and smiled at Dr Koekentapp. ‘I’ve come to check you over before the operation.’ Dr Schlafenmacher opened Dr Koekentapp’s file and perused it. ‘No allergies, no illnesses, no medications, no cortisone. Good, a nice clean history.’
Dr Koekentapp sat up on his trolley as Dr Schlafenmacher loosened the back ties of Dr Koekentapp’s gown and listened to his chest.
‘Your lungs and heart are fine,’ said Dr Schlafenmacher, wondering why Dr Koekentapp mentioned parogen. ‘You’ll sail through this. By the way, how old is your youngest?’
‘My youngest what?’ asked Dr Koekentapp.
‘Your youngest child.’ Dr Schlafenmacher indicated the file. ‘It’s says there you have eight children. No wonder you want a vasectomy.’
‘A what?’ yelled Dr Koekentapp. He leapt off his stretcher, grabbed his file and frantically paged through it. Still untied, his gown fell off, leaving him stark naked, except for his yarmulke, which didn’t cover much.
‘I’m not Jeffrey Cooke,’ he bellowed, clutching Dr Schlafenmacher by his gown. ‘I’m Dr Jeremiah Koekentapp and I don’t want a vasectomy! I’m here for my bris!’
Some months previously, Dr Schlafenmacher had permitted a surgeon to perform a silicone breast augmentation on an aged Muslim grandmother whose family, horrified by decrepit allure, had sought a second opinion for her gall bladder problem. Hence Dr Schlafenmacher’s next response was understandable.
‘Sister!’ he roared. ‘Sister Candy Viljoen! Come here, now! And I mean immediately!’
Up and down the corridor, doors opened as nurses and theatre staff temporarily left their theatre duties or their tea in the nurses’ room to determine the cause of the uproar.
‘It’s the vasectomy!’ shrieked nurse aid Pinky Ngobene, seeing Dr Koekentapp clawing at Dr Schlafenmacher’s garb. Leaving Dr Keppelshnaier to handle the mole on his own, she grabbed the nearest weapon. ‘He’s naked and gone mad!’ she screeched. ‘He’s attacking Dr Schlafenmacher!’
She galloped down the corridor followed by nine female nurses and a male nurse, who was brandishing a pair of sterile Wrigley’s obstetrical forceps.
‘Stop! It’s not the vasectomy, it’s the circumcision!’ screamed Dr Schlafenmacher as Pinky Ngobene drew closer. ‘It’s Dr Koekentapp! He doesn’t want to be sterilised!’
His declaration brought the surgical platoon to a halt and Dr Koekentapp hurriedly retrieved and donned his gown as ten ladies and an anatomical gentleman curiously assessed the neatly shaven genitals of the man who reputedly could satisfy the vaunted demands of their boss, Theatre Sister Candy Viljoen.
‘Whatever is the matter?’ shouted Candy, rushing white-faced to the scene. ‘Why is everyone so excited?’
‘Excited?’ howled Dr Schlafenmacher. ‘This man was nearly sterilised! He was almost vasectomised! Who is responsible for this outrageous error?’
Candy reached out and perused Dr Koekentapp’s file. ‘My goodness!’ she exclaimed. ‘I seem to have switched files between the circumcision and the vasectomy. But just look how similar the names are! I really am most dreadfully sorry, Dr Koekentapp.’
Seconding the apology, Pinky Ngobene stepped forward appealingly. Dr Koekentapp glared in disgust at the kishka in her bowl. He put a restraining hand on his anaesthetist’s arm as Dr Schlafenmacher said that sorry wasn’t an excuse and that he would have to initiate a disciplinary investigation. Candy began to cry.
‘It was an understandable error, Dr Schlafenmacher,’ Dr Koekentapp intervened. ‘No harm was done. I am happy to let everything drop provided there are no further unfortunate incidents?’
Pinky Ngobene assured him there wouldn’t be and shyly waited for everything to drop. Dr Koekentapp put an arm around Candy’s shoulders and led her a little away from the group who curiously examined through the gaping back of his gown the buttocks of Theatre Sister Candy Viljoen’s allegedly consummate lover.
Candy leant close to sob softly in Dr Koekentapp’s ear. ‘I wouldn’t have let them actually do it. I just wanted to frighten you. I am going to miss you so much, Jerry.’
Dr Schlafenmacher was astounded when Dr Koekentapp kissed Candy and said, ‘Thank you, Candy, I’ll miss you too.’
Levy emerged from the lift. His first impressions of the reputable theatre section of the Park Lane Clinic were the naked back and buttocks of a man who was hardly wearing a theatre gown and kissing a nursing sister who had very sensuous hips.
‘Excuse me, are you Dr Keppelshnaier?’ Levy asked, seeing the yarmulke.
Dr Koekentapp froze, then buried his face into Candy’s shoulder. Dr Schlafenmacher came to the rescue.
‘Dr Keppelshnaier is operating at the moment. You must be Dr Koekentapp’s sandek.’ He indicated that Levy should follow him and hurried to the doctors’ change room. Dr Koekentapp tottered to his trolley and lay down shakily, ignoring the fluttering eyes of Pinky Ngobene and the sidling glance of the male nurse with the obstetrical forceps.
Downstairs, Rabbi Zindelman had arrived and was talking to Sylvia in Dr Koekentapp’s ward. ‘You must stop jumping to conclusions, Sylvia,’ Rabbi Zindelman said admonishingly. ‘The man is a patient on his own ground, surrounded by people he knows and works with. His operation is on the most intimate part of his body and not for any strictly medical reason. He is going to be embarrassed and be the butt of silly jokes. It isn’t easy for him, you know. You must be more supportive. At this moment he is undoubtedly all alone and wishing you were with him. I am going up to him now. Do you have a message for him?’
‘Tell him I love him,’ whispered Sylvia.
‘And give him a hug too,’ suggested Bhamjee emotionally.
Dr Koekentapp was all alone and watching a little gecko on the ceiling when Rabbi Zindelman arrived.
‘Sylvia sends her love,’ Rabbi Zindelman said, as Dr Koekentapp nervously smiled in greeting.
‘Thank you. I need it,’ replied Dr Koekentapp. ‘It’s been a little peculiar here.’
Rabbi Zindelman nodded understandingly. ‘Where is Aaron?’ he asked.
‘I thought I heard his voice down the corridor – in the doctors’ change room,’ Dr Koekentapp said.
‘And your father? Dolly told me he was very keen to be present.’
‘He hasn’t arrived. Nor has my other sandek Paddy O’Reilly. I can’t understand it. They both were so insistent and I’m due for surgery at any moment.’
Rabbi Zindelman was puzzled too when he went to change.
At five to eleven, Pinky Ngobene wheeled Dr Koekentapp into theatre number four and held the trolley steady against the side of the operating table as Dr Koekentapp wriggled across. He blinked apprehensively at the bank of incandescent lamps in the overhead theatre light, then craned his neck round to watch Dr Schlafenmacher drawing sodium pentothal into a syringe. Levy and Rabbi Zindelman were dressed in green theatre hoods, gowns and booties and were standing out of the way against the wall. They looked at him over their masks and their eyelids crinkled in silent greeting. Through the glass window of the scrub-up room, Dr Koekentapp saw an elderly man hold up his hands for a moment to allow the excess water to drip off his arms as he finished scrubbing. Using an elbow, he switched off the lever that operated the hot tap and waited another moment to allow the steam that had fogged his thick-lensed glasses to clear.
‘Dr Keppelshnaier?’ Dr Koekentapp asked, shaking his head negatively.
‘Yes,’ replied Candy, fully garbed for surgery.
Levy and Rabbi Zindelman turned away as Pinky Ngobene whisked off Dr Koekentapp’s gown. Candy, using a gauze swab held in a pair of gleaming forceps, rubbed antiseptic solution energetically onto his genitals. When satisfied that Dr Koekentapp’s penis was sterile, Candy began draping him with green theatre towels, still warm from the steriliser. Covered from neck to foot, except for the sterilised area, which protruded through a cleverly designed hole in a towel, Dr Koekentapp nervously watched Pinky Ngobene adjust the theatre light to focus precisely on his testicles. Dr Keppelshnaier emerged from the scrub-up room.
‘I’m delighted to meet you, Dr Koekentapp,’ he said, washing off the powder on his gloves in a basin of warm water.
Dr Koekentapp noticed with dismay that Dr Keppelshnaier was blind in one eye. Dr Schlafenmacher tapped Dr Koekentapp’s cheek and whispered reassuringly into his ear.
‘A freak accident. A scalpel blade. Don’t worry, he’s very experienced. He could do you blindfolded.’
Dr Koekentapp’s testicles retracted and Pinky Ngobene attentively moved the light.
‘How do you do, Dr Keppelshnaier,’ Dr Koekentapp said faintly.
Dr Keppelshnaier disparagingly eyed the illuminated object of his surgical expertise.
‘Move the light woman!’ he ordered Pinky Ngobene. ‘I’m going to circumcise the patient, not castrate him!’
‘Thank heavens!’ sighed Dr Koekentapp, allowing his testicles to relax and viewing Dr Keppelshnaier with new respect. He closed his eyes as Dr Keppelshnaier warmly greeted Rabbi Zindelman and was introduced to Levy.
‘Where are your father and godfather, Jeremiah?’ Levy asked worriedly, as Dr Keppelshnaier announced that he was ready to start whenever Dr Schlafenmacher said so.
‘I’ve no idea,’ replied Dr Koekentapp.
A distant drum roll and the whine of a bagpipe preceded a muffled rendering of ‘The Campbells Are Coming’.
‘I think they have just arrived,’ said Dr Koekentapp weakly.
The volume of the Campbells coming increased dramatically as the lift doors opened and Colonel Koekentapp and Paddy O’Reilly marched into the theatre waiting room. Standing next to the trolley that supported the startled vasectomy, they loudly sang ‘Hurrah Hurrah’ and watched as the Drum Major following them was joined by a valiantly blowing Pipe Major and a crisply rolling Tenor Drummer. Marching on the spot, the Drum Major lifted his mace on high, instantly killing the gecko on the ceiling. Falling onto the tenor drum, the unfortunate creature was pulped in a paradiddle that ended smartly as the Drum Major dropped his mace.
‘Where’s the party?’ bellowed the Pipe Major. His kilt was the sombre tartan of the Black Watch. The vasectomy said that he was terribly sorry but he didn’t know. The Pipe Major removed his moth-eaten busby and carefully preened the red hackle on its side. Fumbling in his sporran, he withdrew a flask of Athole Brose and took a swig.
‘Are you not going to be offering it around then, you stingy drunken Highlander?’ wheezed Paddy O’Reilly.
He lifted his shillelagh threateningly as he spotted the second advance of the surgical platoon with Pinky Ngobene and the male nurse with the obstetrical forceps in the van.
‘It’s war, lads!’ yelled Colonel Koekentapp drunkenly. He drew his sword. ‘For the honour of England!’
‘Bugger the bloody English!’ roared the Drum Major, resplendent in the yellow, black and orange tartan of MacLeod of Lewis. ‘For the honour of Scotland!’
‘Up the Irish!’ howled Paddy O’Reilly.
The Tenor Drummer began a drum roll on his bloodstained vellum and the Pipe Major hurriedly pumped his bellows and played ‘My Love Is like a Red, Red Rose’.
Once more the surgical platoon faltered. The combatants warily faced each other over the vasectomy and waited for the music to stop.
‘Who the hell are you?’ demanded the male nurse, waving his obstetrical forceps threateningly. ‘What are you doing here? This is a surgical theatre, not a parade ground!’
‘Oh, so it’s duelling you want, me little princess,’ said Paddy O’Reilly. ‘Then the choice be yours.’
‘What choice?’
‘Whether it’s me shillelagh or that heathen abomination in your hand that you want shoved up your arse after I knock your block off.’
The male nurse looked in horror at the oaken cudgel in Paddy O’Reilly’s hand and quickly applied the forceps to the vasectomy’s head.
‘I brought these for him, actually,’ the male nurse explained, ignoring the terrified gaze of the vasectomy. He stepped back and Pinky Ngobene stepped forward.
‘What do you want?’ she snapped.
‘We are here to celebrate with my son!’ declared Colonel Koekentapp. ‘I am Colonel Christopher Koekentapp in command of this unit!’
‘And I am the godfather,’ announced Paddy O’Reilly. ‘I am here to drink to him before he lies down.’ He winked suggestively at Pinky Ngobene, who eyed him speculatively.
‘You’re too late. He’s already lying down,’ she replied. ‘He’s having an operation in theatre number four.’
As one, Dr Koekentapp’s relatives made for the corridor.
‘Hold the fort!’ Colonel Koekentapp yelled back to the Drum Major.
‘You can’t go in there!’ yelled the male nurse without the obstetrical forceps. ‘It’s a sterile area!’
Paddy O’Reilly pointed his shillelagh at the male nurse’s crotch. ‘I’ll be violating someone’s sterile area,’ he said, ‘and the choice still is yours.’
Dr Schlafenmacher’s head appeared around the door to theatre number four. He watched unbelievingly as a senior British officer charged towards him and a breathless Irishman wearing a shamrock pinned to his beret did his best to keep up.
‘What’s happened to my son?’ shouted Colonel Koekentapp, drawing to a halt in front of Dr Schlafenmacher. ‘Why is he having an operation?’
Paddy O’Reilly stood and wheezed a little way away, waiting for sufficient breath to complete the distance.
‘Chris, I’m alright!’ yelled Dr Koekentapp from the theatre table.
Pushing Dr Schlafenmacher to one side, Colonel Koekentapp peered round the door to theatre number four. He sobered instantly as he saw his son lying fully draped except for his genitals, which were brightly illuminated. Next to Dr Koekentapp, a half-blind elderly surgeon was holding a scalpel. Next to him, a voluptuous nurse appeared to be grinning behind her mask. Next to her, an elderly rabbi was placating a fat middle-aged man who was saying, ‘Oy vey’. Aside from the voluptuous nurse, Colonel Koekentapp could find nothing alright about the situation.
‘What the fuck is going on in here?’ he screamed.
‘Who the hell are you?’ returned Dr Keppelshnaier angrily.
Considering his exposed and horizontal condition, Dr Koekentapp responded with remarkable aplomb. ‘Rabbi Zindelman, Mr Levy, Dr Keppelshnaier, and Dr Schlafenmacher, meet my father, Colonel Christopher Koekentapp. The man wheezing outside is Paddy O’Reilly, my other sandek’. He looked regretfully at Rabbi Zindelman. ‘Paddy’s a Catholic, although you wouldn’t say so to hear him talk.’
‘You haven’t answered my question,’ snarled Colonel Koekentapp without saying how do you do to anyone.
‘I’m going to be circumcised,’ said Dr Koekentapp.
‘What?’ shrieked Colonel Koekentapp. ‘What kind of damn party did you invite me to, you bloody lunatic?’
‘His circumcision,’ replied Rabbi Zindelman blandly. ‘What kind of a party do you think he should be having in an operating theatre?’
‘He said he was having a piss-up in theatre!’ Colonel Koekentapp protested frantically.
‘I did not! I said a bris up in theatre!’ howled Dr Koekentapp.
‘Does that mean that drinks are off then?’ inquired Paddy O’Reilly, arriving at the scene.
Levy eyed him nervously. ‘The party is at my house later this afternoon,’ he replied.
‘Aaron Levy is my other sandek,’ Dr Koekentapp explained to his father. Colonel Koekentapp and Paddy O’Reilly studied Levy, then exchanged a bewildered glance.
‘So what do we have to do now?’ they queried simultaneously.
‘You show some respect and get changed for Dr Koekentapp’s operation,’ replied Rabbi Zindelman.
While Dr Koekentapp closed his eyes and wished that the day was over, Pinky Ngobene escorted his family to the doctors’ change room.
Meanwhile, in the theatre waiting room, the band was becoming increasingly concerned.
‘What’s keeping them do you think?’ asked the Drum Major worriedly.
‘Fuck knows,’ replied the Pipe Major, emptying his flask of Athole Brose.
The vasectomy quickly said he didn’t know either so the Majors turned to the Tenor Drummer for a possible solution. Distracted by the possibility of the inexplicable blood stains on his drum being Aids-contaminated, the Tenor Drummer ignored them.
‘Let’s check,’ suggested the Drum Major sensibly.
Stealing cautiously down the now deserted corridor, the Drum Major glanced at the Pipe Major as they reached the closed door to theatre number four.
‘You look,’ ordered the Drum Major.
‘No, you,’ refused the Pipe Major.
They opened the door together. The sterile penis of Dr Koekentapp gleamed under the overhead light.
‘Jesus!’ whispered the Pipe Major, his throat suddenly dry.
‘That’s his lot then,’ murmured the horrified Drum Major.
They closed the door and returned to the theatre waiting room, where the Tenor Drummer and the vasectomy were discussing whether Aids could climb up drumsticks.
Dr Koekentapp opened his eyes as a ragged drum roll preceded a mournful rendition of ‘Abide with Me’.
By the time Colonel Koekentapp and Paddy O’Reilly returned, Dr Schlafenmacher had inserted a drip into a vein on the back of Dr Koekentapp’s hand and the Pipe Major was playing the ‘Last Post’ on the bagpipes. Dr Keppelshnaier told Colonel Koekentapp and Paddy O’Reilly to stand next to Rabbi Zindelman and Levy.
‘I’m ready for the second time, Dr Schlafenmacher,’ he announced.
Candy passed him an artery forceps and held a scalpel ready. Dr Koekentapp took a deep breath as Dr Schlafenmacher slowly injected the sodium pentothal into his intravenous line. Dr Keppelshnaier nodded at Rabbi Zindelman and Levy, who recited the first three words of the circumcision ritual, the welcoming of a new male to Judaism.
‘Baruch ha ba,’ they intoned together in Hebrew.
‘What’re they saying?’ whispered Paddy O’Reilly, who’d never heard a Hebrew prayer in his life. Colonel Koekentapp looked at him and shrugged ignorantly.
‘Blessed be he that cometh,’ Levy translated, as Dr Koekentapp lost consciousness.
‘Crikey,’ whispered Paddy O’Reilly, looking respectfully at Dr Koekentapp’s penis, ‘he’s off to a good start. I never knew there were blessings like that.’ He stared at Levy. ‘I don’t suppose you have got one for emphysema?’
Levy shook his head confusedly and joined Rabbi Zindelman and Dr Keppelshnaier in prayers as Dr Koekentapp was circumcised.