property of ameri-pac rail

8/14/2019 Property of Ameri-Pac Rail

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Property of Ameri-Pac Rail

By Gabriel A. Cook

Mason Forbes, M.D., pulled the chart of Tyke Dixon and gave

it a cursory glance before entering the examination room. Had

Tyke not been his last patient of the day, Dr. Forbes might have

noticed the obvious at once. As it was ten-till-cocktail hour

at the Bunsen Mills Gentleman's Club, the good doctor pushed

through the burnished door, laid the chart aside, and donned a

pair of powdered latex gloves before acknowledging his patient.

Smiling through obvious pain, his homely, leathered face

creased with years of field work, Tyke Dixon greeted the doctor

with a cordial wave and a hearty, "How do, doc. Hope I'm not

keeping ya late."

Doctor Forbes's contrived reply of "No, no, of course not"

died on his lips. He stood there a moment, trying to make sense

of the figure atop the papered table.


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"Good--Good evening, Mr. Dixon. What...um, seems to be the

trouble?"

Quite unexpectedly, the farmer lifted a sandaled foot.

"It's this ingrown toe, doc. Pinches somethin' awful."

Dr. Forbes stared in horrorat Tyke Dixon. Sticking out of

the patient's head was a six-inch spike, its top flattened and

flecked with rust. The doctor cleared his throat. "Did you--

Did you say ingrown toe?"

"Sure enough. Areal dilly, too. Wife tried t' dig er out,

but it hurt fit to split. Figured it needed a doctor's care."

Forbes remained fixed onDixon's skull. "An ingrown toe

brought you here?"

"I know what you're thinkin'." Tyke Dixon sighed.

"Shouldn't be such a baby bout it. But I never was one fer

pain. Oh, I broke plenty a bones in school--even lost a

fingertipworking up to the saw mill. But this toe, doc! Lord a

mercy, it aches. Can ya do somethin' for it?"

"Do something for the toe?"

With a grunt, Dixon removed the sandal and pointed the

afflicted digitat Dr. Forbes. The doctor ignored it. "Mr.

Dixon," he began calmly. "Mr. Dixon, I'm afraid we've a more

serious matter at hand than an ingrown toe."

"You'd say otherwise were it yours," Dixon lamented. "Lord

a mercy, I'm near ready to cut er off and be done with it."


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Forbes adjusted his rimless specs andcleared his throat

again. "You've experienced massive trauma, Mr. Dixon. I think

you need immediate surgical attention."

"Don't I know it? Dang thing keeps me up nights, makes me

cranky with the missus. She turned me outta the house t'other

day..."

"You don't understand--"

"True. I'll never understand women. Me and that ol gal

been saddled thirty-eight years, and I still don't understand

why--"

"Mr. Dixon, you've a spike stuck in your head!"

A dusty eyebrow archedin confusion. "Do what?"

"It's lodged in the parietal bone," Dr. Forbes persisted.

"There's writing on it. 'Property of Ameri-Pac Rail'."

"Ameri-Pac?"

"American Pacific, I assume. Have you ever been employed

by that railway?"

"No, sir. Worked the saw mill nigh on ten years. Been

farming ever since."

"Do you live near a train line?"

"No, sir."

"Do you remember how that spike came to be in your cranium,

Mr. Dixon?"


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Tyke's face scrunched in thought, the effect comical.

"Guess I was too busy worryin' overthis toe to notice. Sorry,

doc."

"Does it hurt?"

"Awful bad." Dixon caressedhis foot. "Can't wear socks,

some days."

"Not the toe! Forget about the toe!"

"Easy fer you to say, fella," the farmer replied. "You

ever suffered an ingrown toenail?"

"Er...no," Dr. Forbes admitted. "No, I haven't."

"Worstpain in the world. And I need relief, doc. What do

ya say?"

"What do I say?" Forbes rubbed his eyes with

powderyfingers. "I say you've been in aterrible accident, Mr.

Dixon. I say you've suffered mild, temporary amnesia. I say

the severity of your trauma is mentally displacing the source of

pain from your head to your toe. And I say you should visit an

emergency room immediately or you could do irreversible damage

to your brain...or worse. That's what I say."

"What bout my toe?"

Dr. Forbes cried out in frustration and left Tyke Dixon in

the exam room. He reached for a phone to dial 911. Before

Forbes could finish the call, a bent figure appeared in the


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doorway. A little old man draped in a hairy coat shuffled toward

the desk and rang the bell.

"I'm sorry," Dr. Forbes said. "We're closed."

"Hate to bother you at quitting time, but--" The old man

opened the coat; a steak knife wobbled jauntily in his chest.

"I'm in need of help."

"My God!" Forbes approachedthe old timer. "What's

happened?"

"I've aterrible stitch in my side, doc. But it only hurts

when I laugh."

*

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