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Authors: Johanna Sinisalo
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control himself.
“If you were treating roundworms, what would you do?”
“I’d administer an anthelmintic.”
Angel’s lips move. He mouths the word silently: an . . . thel . . . MIN . . . tic . . . an . . . thel . . . MIN . . . tic. Memorizing it. I’ve no idea what he’s going to do with the knowledge. Is he going to rush off and save his uncle’s illegal wolverine? But anyway I add fuel to the fire.
“Mebendazole is the commercial form. It’s a wonderful medicament. In practice it works on all animals. You can employ it just as well with reindeer and cattle as with the large predators.”
Angel’s eyes blaze up with interest. I smile.
“Unfortunately, you can’t get it from a pharmacist.”
He swallows the bait and takes the hook, which will give me two different catches. And of those two, satisfying my curiosity is almost as pleasurable as satisfying my lust.
ANGEL
Another thing I’ve managed to extract from Spider is that this anthelmintic takes two or three weeks to take effect and that the extermination of the parasite’s no big deal: the animal doesn’t, thank God, throw up or excrete strings of worms wriggling in a pool of bile but little by little gets better. He also drops the hint in passing that it’s a common type of medicine he himself always keeps on hand.
Lightly brushing Dr. Spiderman’s thighs with my fingertips, I breathe inviting little sighs toward him and let my eyes dissolve in his. I say that I’ve been longing for him.
And, feverishly, I’m thinking how I can get him to make love at his office and not at his home? It’s not beyond possibility: we’ve done it before, on the gaudy sofa in his waiting room. Remembering that helps—and instantly it tells me which string to pull.
“Do you still remember our first time?”
Spiderman nods, with a strange look in his eyes.
“That creaky waiting-room sofa, with dog hairs everywhere. You said the cleaner wouldn’t be there till Sunday . . . And then you brought out that bizarre collar! A restraining collar!”
I laugh boisterously, far more than the unforgettably absurd event deserves.
“I was still picking those dog hairs off my underpants all the next week. And the memory’s stayed with me.”
Spider gives a brief dry smile, but I can see he remembers, too, and well.
“I’d give almost anything for that same feeling again. Just that very feeling,” I say and lick my lips lightly and then sink my eyes bashfully in my beer mug.
DR. SPIDERMAN
Angel has forced me with a little affectionate flirting to show him my office, as if it were something he’d not seen before, something incredible and wonderful. He’s sweetly inquisitive and boyish and wants to see everything, wants to know everything, wants me to open all the doors, and bends to kiss me at exactly the moment when I should be locking the medicine cabinet.
ANGEL
I feel like Buster Keaton as I sneak through the dark in my boxer shorts. They’re the ones I bought in London, literally “boxers,” covered with pictures of those wrinkle-faced, flop-eared, soft-eyed dogs that resemble a certain canine-faced figure currently lying prone in a deep sleep on the shabby sofa. Before I set off for the Café Bongo I remembered they were Spider’s favorite under-pants—when I first took my jeans off for him at this very spot, they sparked off that nervous strangled but in its own way sexy giggle that is his trademark. I’m cursing that I don’t have Pessi’s eyes. I can’t even find the door from the waiting room to the examination room without bumping my toes on the doorsill, making my eyes flash red amoeba-like flecks for a moment. The medicine cabinet is dimly outlined at the other end of the room, looking like a big white whale mounted on the wall.
I open the door and the hinges creak, making me nearly wet my pants. My heart tries to jump out of my skin. I freeze. I’m an antique statue, so just carry on with your dream, my dear Spider. I know where the anthelmintic
“If you were treating roundworms, what would you do?”
“I’d administer an anthelmintic.”
Angel’s lips move. He mouths the word silently: an . . . thel . . . MIN . . . tic . . . an . . . thel . . . MIN . . . tic. Memorizing it. I’ve no idea what he’s going to do with the knowledge. Is he going to rush off and save his uncle’s illegal wolverine? But anyway I add fuel to the fire.
“Mebendazole is the commercial form. It’s a wonderful medicament. In practice it works on all animals. You can employ it just as well with reindeer and cattle as with the large predators.”
Angel’s eyes blaze up with interest. I smile.
“Unfortunately, you can’t get it from a pharmacist.”
He swallows the bait and takes the hook, which will give me two different catches. And of those two, satisfying my curiosity is almost as pleasurable as satisfying my lust.
ANGEL
Another thing I’ve managed to extract from Spider is that this anthelmintic takes two or three weeks to take effect and that the extermination of the parasite’s no big deal: the animal doesn’t, thank God, throw up or excrete strings of worms wriggling in a pool of bile but little by little gets better. He also drops the hint in passing that it’s a common type of medicine he himself always keeps on hand.
Lightly brushing Dr. Spiderman’s thighs with my fingertips, I breathe inviting little sighs toward him and let my eyes dissolve in his. I say that I’ve been longing for him.
And, feverishly, I’m thinking how I can get him to make love at his office and not at his home? It’s not beyond possibility: we’ve done it before, on the gaudy sofa in his waiting room. Remembering that helps—and instantly it tells me which string to pull.
“Do you still remember our first time?”
Spiderman nods, with a strange look in his eyes.
“That creaky waiting-room sofa, with dog hairs everywhere. You said the cleaner wouldn’t be there till Sunday . . . And then you brought out that bizarre collar! A restraining collar!”
I laugh boisterously, far more than the unforgettably absurd event deserves.
“I was still picking those dog hairs off my underpants all the next week. And the memory’s stayed with me.”
Spider gives a brief dry smile, but I can see he remembers, too, and well.
“I’d give almost anything for that same feeling again. Just that very feeling,” I say and lick my lips lightly and then sink my eyes bashfully in my beer mug.
DR. SPIDERMAN
Angel has forced me with a little affectionate flirting to show him my office, as if it were something he’d not seen before, something incredible and wonderful. He’s sweetly inquisitive and boyish and wants to see everything, wants to know everything, wants me to open all the doors, and bends to kiss me at exactly the moment when I should be locking the medicine cabinet.
ANGEL
I feel like Buster Keaton as I sneak through the dark in my boxer shorts. They’re the ones I bought in London, literally “boxers,” covered with pictures of those wrinkle-faced, flop-eared, soft-eyed dogs that resemble a certain canine-faced figure currently lying prone in a deep sleep on the shabby sofa. Before I set off for the Café Bongo I remembered they were Spider’s favorite under-pants—when I first took my jeans off for him at this very spot, they sparked off that nervous strangled but in its own way sexy giggle that is his trademark. I’m cursing that I don’t have Pessi’s eyes. I can’t even find the door from the waiting room to the examination room without bumping my toes on the doorsill, making my eyes flash red amoeba-like flecks for a moment. The medicine cabinet is dimly outlined at the other end of the room, looking like a big white whale mounted on the wall.
I open the door and the hinges creak, making me nearly wet my pants. My heart tries to jump out of my skin. I freeze. I’m an antique statue, so just carry on with your dream, my dear Spider. I know where the anthelmintic
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