Traditional Western Medicine

 Narita was a budding champion. Or a budding competitor, at any rate. She had been performing very well in the snowboard downhill races in Australia, and was looking forward to trying her hand overseas.

   So it was unlucky when she wiped out on her last day in the Australian season, and landed on her back, hard. She took a few days off, swallowed an unadvisable amount of painkillers, and waited for it to wear off. Except it didn't.

   The 29-hour plane flight to Scotland did nothing to improve her situation. She gritted her teeth and soldiered through, cramped and folded five ways in an airplane seat, and when she got off the plane in Edinburgh she was comprehensively stuffed. Her neck cricked, her back cracked, her shoulders twitched, and her hips made the kind of suspicious and alarming noises more usually associated with elderly people's walking frames in the terminal stages of conditions leading up to drastic and invasive surgery. At the age of 22 she didn't feel this stage of affairs was entirely due quite yet.

   Dragging her frame up and down the various hill tracks, mountain slopes, glen sides and summit heights of the Highlands and Islands did, not surprisingly, nothing to remedy this state of affairs, and she was getting fed up to her teeth with not being able to pick her nose without paroxysms of pain flashing up and down her spine and her legs. Somewhere in the back of a part of her brain not otherwise occupied with scouting routes up and down mountains and calculating snow depth and downhill speed, a nagging little thought was vying for attention and trying to push itself through to the forefront of her mental processes. Eventually, after not being able to get up out of a chair, she caved in, paid attention, and booked herself a session with a local chiropractor.

   A long, winding drive took her through the Great Glen of Scotland, Gleann Mòr na h-Alba, to the capital of the Highlands, Inverness. Narita and her mate fetched up in front of a door of an old town house. The door had once been painted black, though most of the paint was peeling off now, in long, sad strips.

   Narita bent closer to the wall.

   'There's a plaque here,' she said, leaning closer. It was made of brass that had given up on shining a long time ago, and had relinquished bright bronze for a deep, variegated and corrosive mottled green.

   'What's it say?' said her mate Naroush.

   'Dunno, can't read ... hang on,' said Narita, and she spat on it and rubbed it with her thumb. Bits of corrosion fell of it and dropped to the ground, where, with a softly sizzling sound, they slowly dissolved the concrete of the footpath. She looked at her thumb. It was black, and smoked gently. She shook it to and fro, and resisted the temptation to put it in her mouth.

   'Uh ...' Naroush put his head closer to the plaque, 'it says here ... Dr Hamish McCraicainn ... BA Chiropsycho, MA Ostensiopout, PhD Retchi Heeling, ScotQuacAss.' He sounded doubtful. 'You sure you wanna go in here?'

   Narita scratched her head. It sent lances of pain up and down her back. 'Uuuurgghh ... yes, yes, I am, I do.' She groaned. 'It can't be worse than doing nothing.'

   Naroush looked as if he could think of quite a few things better than going through that door, without even trying very hard. He shrugged. 'Well, it's up to you,' he said. 'I guess.'

   Narita put on a brave face. It was slightly marred by the look of deep and abidingly painful constipation she wore, courtesy of another spasm.

   'Erccchh .... yeah, I'll be right,' she said. 'See you in an hour.'

   She put one hand on the doorknob, twisted it, and pushed the door open with her other hand. It creaked in a protracted, torturous and ominous way. Behind it lay a dark hallway, paved with black and white tiles. It looked like a chequerboard. At the end of the hallway a faint light shone.

   'All right,' said Naroush. 'See you then.'

   She saw him turn and walk away, then closed the door. It clicked shut with a sound that was altogether too gleeful for her liking. Her feet made clonky noises on the tiles as she made her way towards the light at the end of the hallway.

   'Uh ... anybody there?' she called out.

   After a moment of silence a head popped out from around a corner, near the light. It was an old woman, with steel-grey hair pulled into a tight bun, thick coke-bottle glasses, a wart on her chin with three hairs growing out of it, and very few teeth. She was wearing a skin-tight fluoro green leotard five sizes too small.

   'Yes dearie, how can I help you?'

   'Uh ...' Narita swallowed. This didn't seem like such a great idea anymore. 'Uh, I've ... uh ... I've got an appointment with Dr McCraicainn?' Her voice rose in pitch and faltered at the end. 'For ... uh ... for a treatment?'

   'Ah yes, well, of course, that's what we're here for, dearie luvvie.' The old woman bared her teeth and leered at Narita. A small black spider abseiled out of her left ear. She batted it away absentmindedly. 'Just you take a seat right there, he won't be a minute, I'm sure.' She waved her hand vaguely in the direction of an old wooden chair with cracked leather upholstery.

   Narita gingerly lowered herself onto it. Small puffs of dust rose up from it, and one of the legs wobbled worryingly. 'Right, thank yo‒'

   'WHEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGGGG!!!!!' A monstrous racket started up behind a door across from Narita. She flinched.

   'Ah, that'll be him,' the old woman beamed, 'he'll be ready to see you now, you can go in.' She pointed to the door from where the noise was coming and made generic encouraging gestures.

   Narita stood up and took a hesitating step towards the door. Before she reached it it was flung wide open, with a loud bang indicating it had hit the wall on the other side. It bounced back but was stopped by a bare foot, attached to a bare leg. Both were very hairy. The horrendous noise intensified.

   'Come in, come ... ' ‒WHEEEEIIIIINNNNNGGGG‒ '... in. Sit down there!' A gnarly hand detached itself from what seemed to be a taxidermised octopus, and pointed at another rickety chair. Narita sat down on it carefully. The hand returned to the octopus and punched it in the guts.

   ‒wheeeeEEEEEEIIIIINNNNGGG!!!!‒ The octopus seemed to be invigorated from the punch, and the noise level rose several dozen decibels. Narita stared with her mouth wide open.

   The bare foot kicked the door shut, then lifted up high, came back down on the ground with considerable force, and then stayed there while the other foot performed the same manoeuvre. Eyes watering, Narita dragged her gaze away from the foot and up the bare leg. And up a bit more. There was a blanket wrapped around the midsection of a person, above which sat a shirt with aspirations of being white. They were sorely misguided. The shirt was topped by a big, round head, covered in bristly ginger hair. The face between the hair and the collar of the shirt was exceedingly red, with burgeoning hues of purple, and appeared to be blowing into a hollow tube that disappeared into the innards of the octopus. The apparition pumped its hairy legs with its bare feet up and down, knees high, blanket flapping higher, and goose-stepped around the room to a desk in front of Narita. At particularly high flaps of the blanket two hairy testicles could be glimpsed dangling to and fro to the rhythm of the noise.

   The person had reached the other side of the desk.

    ‒WHEEEEEEIIIIInnnnnnnnngggggggpppwweeeerrrrbbbbbbb‒

   With a sound like a particularly depressed cow being strangled the noise died away. Narita's ears were ringing. In the corner of the room a piece of plaster fell off the ceiling, and smashed on the ground. The person looked at Narita and gave her a bright, manic smile. Teeth were not noticeably in evidence in the mouth cavity. He put the stuffed octopus on the desk. It gave one last sad squeak and died.

   'Ah, that gets the blood flowing, doesn't it?' he shouted at Narita, and rubbed his hands. 'I do like to perform the Welcome To The Coffin routine to my patients!' He grinned from ear to ear. 'It's traditional, you know! Very important that, tradition.' He gave her a stern sideways look, as if to make sure she understood the value of a meticulously kept tradition. 'It always makes people feel very welcome. They really appreciate it.' He scratched the ginger bristles on his head with a sound like a shovel being rammed into a heap of gravel. 'Mostly when I stop playing, come to think of it. For some reason.' He looked slightly puzzled for a moment, then shrugged and continued. 'So, what can I do for you?'

   Narita swallowed. 'Uh ... so ... so you're Dr McCraicainn?'

   'Himself! The one and only!' Dr McCraicainn looked at her with considerable pride. 'Now, what is your ailment?'

   Narita glanced at the door and decided escape was unlikely at this stage of the proceedings. Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound. She took a deep breath,

   'Uh ... it's my back, you see ...'

   'Yes, I see it! It's that thing below your head between your neck and your arse, isn't it!'

   Uh ... yes ..., yes, that's right ...'

   'Aha! I thought so! So, what's wrong with it then?' His eyes pumped out a 100 Watt stare. Little veins throbbed and popped in their corners.

   'Uhm, well, I ... I was snowboarding, you see ...'

    'Ah! Snowboarding! Very good exercise! Very vigorous! I love partaking of a bit of that myself, occasionally, you know! In the nude of course. Can't stand those fancy skiing pants! It's just not natural!' He lifted up his blanket and scratched around underneath it. Several cockroaches fell out and bolted for their lives. He crushed one with his bare foot, and lifted it up to his eyes for inspection. 'These little bastards, they get in everywhere, don't they!' He tossed it over his shoulder. It hit the wall behind him and stuck to it.

   'Uhm ... yes, yes, that's right,' said Narita, starting to sweat. 'And, you see, I crashed really badly, and landed on my back, and now it hurts everywhere and I can't move. Or do anything at all,' she added. Like running away from here at the speed of light, or, possibly, jumping through the window, she thought. Too late for that now.

   'Yes, of course, that stands to reason, that always happens.' He sniffed. 'Happens to me all the time when I go snowboarding, although,' he looked reflectively at his fingernails, 'it's usually more so the people that I crash into who have the back problems afterwards, not me so much.' He brightened up and grinned at her. 'It's a great way to keep a steady supply of customers coming through my door! Never out of a job! Hahaa!' He cackled.

   Narita went green around the nose. 'Uh, yes, ... haha ... yes, I can see that ...' Her voice trailed off.

   'Right then! Let's do it!' Dr McCraicainn jumped to his feet. His blanket flapped up again, affording Narita another look at his testicles. A small cloud of dust rose from the blanket. Narita looked away.

   'So, you just go and lie down here on this table!' He indicated a wonky looking contraption with uneven padding, a hole at one end, where presumably a face would go, and four pairs of handcuffs, dangling off the corners.

   Narita eyed off the handcuffs suspiciously. 'Uh ... what are those for?' She pointed at them, her heart starting to beat faster than she would like it too.

   'What, those?' The doctor shrugged. 'Nah, don't worry about them. They're only for special customers. They pay extra.' He leered at her, wriggled his eyebrows and looked meaningfully over to a corner of the consultation room. Leaning against the wall was a black leather whip.

   'Riiiight,' said Narita slowly, 'I don't think I'll be requiring that, thanks all the same.'

   'Of course not!' Dr McCraicainn looked offended. 'It's very expensive, you know! We're not doing these things for free!' At that notion his face temporarily faded into a pale red, and a look of panic crossed his eyes. 'Perish the thought!' He shuddered.

   'No worries,' said Narita, 'as long as we're clear on that.'

   'Of course! Now, lie down!' He pointed at the table again. Narita lay down, and screwed her eyes tightly shut. The sooner this was over the sooner she'd be out of there.

   'Now, let me see, what's the problem here ...' The doctor paced around her, cracking his knuckles with a sound like the winter ice on Loch Ness breaking when an unlucky bugger wearing concrete slippers gets chucked in by the local mafia. 'Hmmm, yes, yes, I can see the issue there ...' He rubbed his chin. It sounded like someone starting up a light chainsaw in the middle distance.

   'You can?' Narita felt a bit faint. 'Oh. Good-oh. What is it then?'

   'Ah well, you see,' said the doctor, walking around her, 'this little verteebrat here‒' He slammed his open hand down hard on an area of Narita's lower back.

   'OW!'

   '‒should be over there.' He punched a spot just below her shoulder blade with his fist.

   'Aaaaaarrrrrggggghhhh!' Narita howled.

   'Yes, I thought you would like that!' The doctor chuckled to himself with a sound like a goose laying an egg, and it's a boy goose. 'Right, lay still!'

   Narita froze and screwed her eyes shut in mortal dread.

   'Right, here we go, now, a-one, and a-two, and a-three ...'

   Nariata carefully opened up one eye and peeked through her eyelashes, just in time to see him take a long run-up from the corner with the whip, jump up, rise up high above her on the table, sail through the air‒

   ‒and land flat on her back with his bare feet, his full weight bearing down on her spine.

   'Aaaaaarrrrrgggghhh!!!! Eerrheeerrrgggghhh!' Narita screamed.

   'Yes, feels good, doesn't it! Now, won't be a minute ...'

   He lifted up his feet and his knees, and blanket flapping and balls swinging wildly from side to side, started jumping up and down on her back as fast as he could, while singing at the top of his voice at the same time.

   'OH YOU'LL TAKE THE HIGH ROAD ...'

   'Aaaaarrrgggghhh! Ow!'

   'AND I'LL TAKE THE LOW ...'

   'Ouch! Oooooowww!'

   'AND I'LL BE IN SCOTLAND ...'

   'Eeeeerrrrrreeeeuuuugggghhhhhhrhrhrhrhcccchhhh!!!!'

   'BEFOOOOOORE YOU ... QUIET, GIRL! YOU'RE DISTURBING MY CONCENTRATION!'

   He jumped up and down manically to the tune of his song, mangling Narita's verteebrats, realigning her spline, splicing her slips, relocating her fibs, and grinding her tones.

   After half an hour he jumped off, out of breath, and landed heavily on the floor.

   'There,' he panted, 'that should just about do it.'

   'Oooooooooooo ... muuuuuuuuummmeeeeeee ... eeeeerrrrrrrgggghhh ...' moaned Narita. She lay with her face down in the hole at one end, arms draped over the side, in a pool of sweat and tears, legs shaking uncontrollably.

   Doctor Hamish McCraicainn grabbed her by the ponytail and unceremoniously yanked her upright. She managed to swing her legs off the table, and rest her feet on the ground. It felt like it was shaking and rolling from side to side. She thought she might throw up.

   'Now,' said the good doctor, and lowered his face so it was in front of Narita's. His eyes bored into hers. She looked back in numb dread. 'There's only one more thing. But it's very important.' He straightened up, leaned back, and hooked his thumbs in his armpits, looking for all the world like he was about to launch into the chicken dance. He frowned, and a deadly serious expression came over his face. 'Do you drink, girl?' He fixed her with a beady stare.

   'Drink?' Narita was flabbergasted.

   'Yes, drink, girl!' the doctor snapped.

   'Wha‒, what, drink alcohol?' Narita stammered.

   'Yes, of course, what else?' the doctor barked. 'Water? Don't be stupid! Are you daft, girl?'

   'Uh, no ...'

   'No what?'

   'No, I'm not daft. Although I should be for coming here.' She grimaced painfully.

   The doctor made an impatient gesture. 'That's not what I meant! I meant, do you drink! Alcohol?' He rolled his eyes, as if exasperated at the necessity of having to spell out such a simple, vital and straightforward matter.

   'Uh ... no?' Narita ventured. She had a nasty suspicion that wasn't going to be the required answer.

   She was right.

   'No? You don't?' His voice rose an octave. He leaned closer and looked her straight in the eye. 'I thought as much.'

   'You did?' Narita said faintly.

   'I did. So, I strongly advise you to take up drinking heavily. Right now!'

 

Naroush was waiting outside in the street for her. She staggered out of the door, almost fell, and managed to grab hold of him at the least minute.

   'What? What happened?' he said, bewildered. He put his arm under her armpit and held her up. Her knees buckled. 'Are you all right?'

   'Yes, it's nothing,' Narita gasped.

   'It's nothing? You look like you're‒'

   'It's nothing!' she cut him off impatiently. 'Let's go to a pub!'

   'What? A pub? You?' Naroush was astonished. 'But you neve‒'

   'I do now!'

   'But ... but why?'

   Narita looked at him and brushed a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. She shrugged.

   "I have to,' she said, 'doctor's orders.'