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| Close Encounters |
Close Encounters of the Unpleasant Kind
I've just about had it with this machine! How often in the past weeks, months, years have I battled it out with this forsaken evaporator here on the South Ridge...and still this recalcitrant device refuses to do more than occupy a few square metres of ground on the crest of the long dune at the foot of the craggy mountain locally known as the "Sleeping Dragon". Should my darling Uncle ever get the bright idea to insist that 'I first get this evaporator going before I am to try to get into the Space Academy', he can be damn sure I'll be stuck here for the rest of my miserable life. I HATE THIS MACHINE!
The suns are high and a low growl in my stomach tells me that lunch time is inching closer. And me ,happy-go-lucky idiot that I am , plumb forgot to bring anything edible along. So I'll have to go back to the farm to get a bite to eat. Geez , I hope Auntie has a few slices of that cold Bantha roast left from last night's dinner. In my mind, I'm already stacking layer upon layer of tasty items on my sandwich...when something goes "purrrrrr" inside the evaporator, the last note slurring down and fading slowly until no longer audible. Oops, whatever that was it just didn't sound promising. Maybe if I open the little hatch on the side I can...well, I COULD- if that hatch would come open that is. But it stubbornly refuses to allow me access to the machine. I try a bunch of gimmicks,hoping that there may be one among them able to pry open the reluctant little door. Eight frustrating minutes and two tired arms later I grab the meanest looking of all available hydrospanners and -swearing like a Bantha skinner - make a final attempt at getting to the evaporator's intestines. One, two, three...Squeak!!!
Something gives with a sharp "ping" and the momentum sends me,
ass-over-teakettle, backwards down the sandy slope of the dune. The sand
is very hot; but luckily the speed with which I'm racing down the
hillside, as well as the constant turning over, prevents me from
getting burned. So I roll , more or less happily , towards the
sandy pit at the bottom of the ridge.
I should have stayed in bed.
This is not my day. Do I get it that Tatoo One and Two both are
laughing at my expense?
Thud! I land at the bottom in a heap of fine, soft, brightly
yellow colored sand and remain stretched out on my back for a few
seconds, squinting into the blazing suns. Slowly, the heat of the
sunbaked sand creeps through my tunic and I'm mentally tossing a
brass credit whether I should get up immediately or see just how
long I can stand to lie here on the ground before the heat becomes
unbearable. And then it happens.
First, all I notice is a slight tickle on the nape of my neck
that slowly descends down into the collar of my tunic and along my spine
between my shoulder blades. I roll over on my left side, facing the
slope of the dune I came down a minute ago and study the sand. I
have a bad feeling about this.
There , just what I thought.Mirryx. Dozens, hundreds, thousands
of them and then,just when my inside claxon starts blaring its' warning, it happens.
From behind my left ear, down the back of my neck, over my left shoulder blade and my entire left arm, down my spine, over my left hip, down my left leg, all the way to the inside of my knee and even spreading over to my right side as well and entering every crevice of my body, is an itching sensation that keeps growing stronger by the second. Dammit! I'm up like light speed now, hopping around like a mad nerf, trying to shake the beasties that are feasting on my various bodily parts.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Tattoine zoology: Mirryx , also commonly called sandsuckers, are tiny whitish creatures, about 1.5 to 2 mm long, maybe 0.5 mm thick, looking like crawling shields with needle-sharp pincers protruding from the first segment (head) of their two - segmented body. Tiny as they are, they can be literally a pain in the ah,uh, neck. They bite and suck blood. Not that the bite itself is bad - the pincers are too fine to inflict a painful sting-but to keep the blood from clotting up the Mirryx inject their saliva into the bitemarks. Unfortunately, this certain ingredient in their saliva that keeps the blood liquid also is poisonous. The effects can be quite severe, depending on how many of the beasties nibble their way into your life.
I'm in for it now.
There must be zillions of them crawling all over
me now. The itching is unbearable. I scramble up the slippery
slope, sliding back every couple of steps, panting and heaving like
an old man;but somehow I finally do make it up the hill. Topping
the dune I zip to my landspeeder and jump in with a flying leap,
sending the little craft rolling and swaying from side to side. I
put the hammer down and, sending billowing clouds of dust and
gravel flying, whoosh off the ridge and towards the farmstead
beckoning to me on the northern horizon.
I never realized just how far the South Ridge is away from the
dugout I call home. Actually, it's only 5 kilometres as the Mynock
flies,but with an army of white hardshells - miniature Stormtroopers - crawling and
sucking all over my body, 5 kilometres stretch to infinity. Ouch and ouch again.
I take a quick look at my left hand. It bore a reddish tan before, but
this crimson color now looks unhealthy. The wind whipping
the exposed parts of my skin brings some relief to the burning itch; but the Mirryx are
also biting in some spots I just can't expose to the wind. Shoot!
The last few hundred etres. Hooray! I slam on the brakes,
making the engines whine in protest. A wave of loose gravel sprays against
the wall of the machine shed. The speeder has hardly come to a full
stop as I leap out and zip down the ramp towards the kitchen
entrance.
Aunt Beru is brewing a pot of Ubesian Horkho. The strong
aroma of the roasted seedbuds sifts lazily through the wonderfully
cool air of the underground dwelling. Hearing me stumble and pant
into the kitchen, my foster mother turns and gives me a wide-eyed
stare.
"Goodness, sweetums, you're in one heck of a hurry. Are you
THAT hungry, dear?"
Nope , not anymore, Auntie;but somebody else is, obviously. For
animals that small they sure possess a big appetite. I try to slip
by Beru Lars and into the bathroom , but Auntie is faster on the
trigger then a Corellian pirate. Zip - and she's got me by the belt
of my baggy tunic.
"STOP! Just a second, young man. Where do you think you're
going?"
"To the bathroom, Auntie. Please...I gotta GO!"
"Luke Skywalker." She gives me a stern look - which looks
funny on her. "Don't you try to tell me you have come home all the
way from the South Ridge just to go to the bathroom. You have a
whole unpopulated desert out there, for Force's sake. So: what is
it?"
She looks at me with her pale blue eyes - the same color as mine -and has, so it seems, already decided that I'm trying to hide something from her. How she manages to do this escapes my wit;but she KNOWS whenever there's something wrong. Either she possesses supernatural powers ,or this sort of clairvoyance is something all women of this universe came equipped with. I have fooled Uncle Owen, Biggs Darklighter, Windy, Deak...practically all men in my vicinity;but never was I able to pull any such stunts with Aunt Beru or the girls that sometimes hang out at Toshe Station. I'm starting to understand why the guys all claim that women are there to be loved, not to be understood
"Luke. I'm waiting..."
Without another word, I pull up my left sleeve slightly and give
her a peek at my hand and lower arm. The limb is by now dark red
and swollen. It feels very hot and burns as if someone had poured
acid over it. Auntie inspects it, then looks up at my face, lets
her eyes trail over my neck, spots the reddening there too and-
"Where did you get THAT?"
"I fell into the sand pit at the bottom of the South Ridge.
There was this Mirryx nest..."
"Quick! Into the bathroom. At once!"
Well, Auntie. That's exactly where I wanted to go in the first place. If you hadn't kept me, I could already be under the shower by now. Call this female logic! Aunt Beru ushers me (as if THAT was necessary) into the bathroom and - Jedi help - pulls my tunic over my ears, throwing it into the washing machine. Water kills the beasties. At least that's what they say. I sure hope so.
Undoing my leg wraps is the pits. I want to get rid of the pants as
quickly as possible, as the itching and burning in some parts is a
bit more than I can take on a normal day. But there's just no way
I can pull off my legwarmers while still wearing those bandages
around my calves. So I bend down and unwrap. And unwrap. And sweat.
And itch. And burn. And pant...I think I'm dying.
Finally, the wraps are off! My boots follow suit , sailing
in a big arch into the next corner. Fast. Fast. With flying fingers I fumble
at my belt, trying to undo it as fast as possible;but the faster
I go, the behinder I get. Eventually I get done and remove the belt
that keeps my baggy pants from sagging. Immediately, my pants slide
over my narrow hips and land in a heap around my ankles. I have
barely time to step out of them, as Aunt Beru pulls them out from
under me with one quick motion; nearly causing me to fall on my
face. Whoa, Auntie!
Now all I have to get rid of are my briefs. There - nude as a
skinned Nerf. Quick now , under the shower. I turn on the water
while Aunt Beru stuffs my duds in the washer. The cool liquid pours
down my aching skin; as welcome as rain on the parched Jundland
Wastes.
"Just make sure you get all of 'em, sweetums."
Aunt Beru turns on the machine, sending my duds flying. They spin around in tidy circles, giving the nasty bugs a nice zippedy-doo-dah ride through a wet and unhealthy universe. I'm glad she hasn't decided shoving me in along with my clothes would be a good idea. I don't think I would have enjoyed another head-over-heels tumble. Once a day is plenty for little ole me.
"Will water alone do?" I ask, trying to peek at Auntie from
under my long bangs that are plastered over my eyes by the running
water.
"No. I don't think so. Better use some soap, Luke. And
remember: these critters are so tiny, they can crawl into every nook and cranny."
How come the bad feeling I have keeps growing like a well-fed
Bantha?
I grab the bottle with the liquid soap, pour some of the frsh
scented translucent golden liquid into the palm of my right hand
and start washing my neck - for starters. The second the soap hits
my skin I experience a pain that feels as if someone were skinning
me alive. I yelp at the top of my lungs. No, Auntie , the beasties
may be bad but this is definitely more than I can stand. Take this
soap and shove it...Every nook and cranny of my body. Ha! C'mon, be
serious, Auntie...you don't really expect me to rub that liquid
torture into the extremely sensitive skin of my more vital parts.
Or do you?
"Come here, I'll help you."
NO-N)-NOO. Help! Don't you dare...but too late. Once my darling foster mother has set her mind to something there is no stopping her. Try stopping a runaway TIE fighter with bare hands and you know what futility means.Aunt Beru grabs the bottle, pours the soap into her hands and
starts spreading it evenly over my back, from the shoulders down to
the buttocks, and I react by immediately turning my back to the
water-thereby stupidly offering my front to her. She pulls me out
from under the water stream, then gives the bottle a happy little
squeeze and sends a gust of soap on a collision course with my
little partner downstairs. I squeal like a stuck womprat, all the
while wondering if the beasties have dared to damage THAT part of
my precious anatomy too. Must be, or why would it burn so terribly
otherwise? Normally that soap doesn't burn at all. With my hands
pressed to my buddy-buddy, I do a knock-kneed turn towards the
water again. Please Auntie , refrain from putting soap on my
backside again.
"Kid, you look like Corellia." comes the slightly desperate
remark from Aunt Beru, accompanied by a deep sigh.
To "look like Corellia" is a common term here; describing something or someone in a very bad state of being. I've heard it applied to anything from slaughter-house-bound Banthas ,to broken-down droids, to drunken troopers. And if Corellia really looks like some of the things or beings named after her, the planet must be the hellhole of the universe.
"I guess you can come out now, Luke. They should be gone
now."
Yeah, Auntie- along with my sanity. I step out from under the
water as my Aunt turns the shower off, then wraps me in a big
towel.The fabric hurts on my skin. Auntie states that I look as red as
the robe of an Imperial Guardsman. I've never seen any Imperial
Guardsmen, but I get it that their outfits must be a real fancy
color to judge from the hue of my skin.
"Luke you go into the bedroom. I'll look up "Mirryx Bites" in
the med-book and see how I can help you."
With this my foster mother vanishes into the living room, where she keeps her computer library. I vanish in the other direction; into my own little four walls, where I plunk down on the bed...and am up again immediately with a hardly surpressed howl. Dammit - I keep forgetting that my pelt can't bear any contact with whatever kind of fabric at the moment. I can't sit. I can't lie down. I can't even bend over. Rigid as a rusty droid I stand around and get tired legs. How am I going to sleep tonight? Hanging head down from the ceiling like a snoozing Mynock? This is going to be interesting, folks. Maybe Uncle Owen ought to sell tickets: "Come and watch the Skywalker kid sleep...only 5 credits per nose. Corellians pay in advance. Kids and Stormtroopers pay only half price. Free admittance for unborn children and Sithlords."
Aunt Beru comes in, carrying a few printouts, as well as the
medbox.
"Sit down, sweetums."
Why Auntie? Does that mean that the news you bear will be a sit-downer?
" You tell me how, Aunt Beru?"
" Oh, you can't sit, darling? Poor baby. How about lying down
on your belly? Your front side isn't that bad...actually, there are
only very few red spots there."
" Yeah, but the red spots are in just the right- or should
I say wrong-© places."
But since I'm a pretty cooperative fellow, I slowly lower my sore
body down onto the bunk. "Munkie", my fuzzy, stuffed childhood
companion ,who still shares my living quarters with me, looks at me
with round black eyes; wondering about what kind of mess I have
managed to maneuver myself into this time around.
Munkie, you're one lucky fellow. You sit around on a soft, cozy bed
all day and don't run any risks of falling into Mirryx nests, irking a grouchy
old Uncle, messing up farm equipment...you feel like trading places
with me?
Aunt Beru sets down the medbox on the little table across from
my bunk, then sits down on the slightly wobbly chair (one leg is a bit
loose) and starts reading the printouts to me.
" Listen, darling! The medbook says: 'Mirryx bites. Mirryx
are tiny, desert dwelling creatures belonging to the large Yphryx
family. Wingless and almost blind, they live underground in fine
sand, often at the foot of dunes. They are native to the planet
Tattoine, where they abound, especially the Jundland Wastes and the
Dune Sea. Mirryx have a keen olfactory sense with which they find
their prey. Mirryx are very fast and attack their victims suddenly
and in great numbers. The bite caused by the Mirryx is absolutely
painless. Drinking the blood of the victim, the animal injects its
poisonous saliva into the bitemark to prevent clotting. One or two
seconds after the bite a severe in its intensity ,increasing ,itching
occurs at the bite site. The surrounding skin breaks out in a
bright scarlet rash. As sometimes hundreds or even thousands of
Mirryx attack one victim, often large areas of the prey's skin are
affected. The scarlet spots then run together to form large
blotches that can sometimes cover a whole limb or even the whole
body of the bitten person or animal. The skin of the victim becomes
very sensitive to the touch. Humans find themselves often unable to
tolerate any kind of clothing on the infected areas. Keeping the
body of the bitten person from cooling out therefore provides a
problem. Fever may occur, also bleeding from the tiny bite marks.
The victim often experiences nausea. Headache, running eyes and
nose, burning sensations while urinating / defecating are common,
depending on the site and extent of the bites."
" Treatment: First aid: The victim should get under a shower
or into a tub with cold water as soon as possible after the attack.
Great care should be taken to remove ALL Mirryx. Parasites clinging
to the outside of the body are easily washed off. It is advisable
to comb hair with a very fine toothed comb to make sure there are
no Mirryx hidden, which could eventually enter ears or nostrils of
the victim. In case this happens, seek professional help
immediately. Mirryx rarely enter the mouth, the eyes or the
urethra. If they should get into one of the orifices, they will be
easily removed / killed by contact with saliva, tears and urine.
Mirryx who have entered the rectum are easily removed by a simple
enema of warm soapy water. This water should be held inside as long
as possible - at least 6 minutes. Treatment may be repeated two or
three times to make sure there are no Mirryx hidden among the folds
of the mucous tissue. Bleeding bite marks may be cautiously cleaned
by gently wiping the site with a pad drenched in rubbing sedarene
or an 80% solution thereof. It is advisable to see a medic if more
than 50% of the victim's body is affected."
" Medical Treatment: Denarol salve is often prescribed to
soothe the irritated skin and aid in healing the rash. The salve
has a slightly numbing affect on the skin and will make wearing of
loose fitting clothes possible. Water solulable pain killers, such
as the popular Koralez tablets and anti-fever medication, such as
Cumarin suppositories will help clear up the flu-like side effects.
In very severe cases an IM injection of Pharizine may be given. The
patient should stay inside , in cool and shady areas , for at least
a week. With proper treatment, the health should be fully restored
in about 6 - 8 days."
Auntie pauses. I gasp. Talk about bad feelings.I
think the nausea is about to start now! She NEVER should have read this to me. I'm
one of those persons who can't take horror stories.
Aunt Beru looks at me and makes a wild guess that
the beasties got at least 60% of my body. I try to talk her out of this...how about
40%? After all , my face, the front of my neck, my chest, 3/4 of my
belly, the front of my right thigh, the whole right arm, and both
legs below the knees are unaffected. And I must make sure that
there will be no repetition of the famous 'Jundland Fever'
procedure that almost drove me Jawas a couple of years ago. Never
again. Not with Luke Skywalker.
"Well, dearie , whether you like it or not,we will try to
get a doctor, or at least a med-droid ,to come over and take a good
look at you. I'm not taking any chances with this."
Aunt Beru dives into the depths of the med-box and retrieves a big
yellow tube with black script. Denarol.
" See how lucky you are? I KNEW it was good to keep some of
this stuff at hand. Always figured it might come in handy one day with Owen and you
fooling around in the desert all the time."
With this she screws off the top of the tube and squeezes
out a long, worm-like ,white string of salve. The salve feels cool to the
touch as Auntie starts spreading it in a thick layer onto my skin.
At first it hurts a little, but then the numbing effects sets in
and I breathe a sigh of relief.
" Wish I had some of those Koralex tablets for you, sweetums.
Owen will have to go to Anchorhead and get the medication. He'll
have to go there anyway to contact the doctor. Do you feel
nauseous?"
Hmm, do I have to answer that question? OK, I tell her
that "yes,I do have a slightly yucky feeling in my stomach."
There's a rumble at the door, then heavy footsteps...Uncle Owen.
He just returned from working over on the Northern Plains and now
expects to find lunch ready. What he finds instead is a foster-son
in bad shape and a wife rummaging through the med-box hunting for
Force-knows-what. His reaction is accordingly.
" Where's my lunch?"
" Oh, Owen , it's you." Aunt Beru exclaims, surprise in her
voice.
" Hell, yeah , it's me. Who else did you expect? Your brother-in-law?"
" I've got two of those, remember?"
" Only if I'm forced to do so.If you stick both of'em in a sack, tie it up, and beat it with a club, you're always gonna hit
the right one!"
Who are these relatives they're referring to? A brother-in-law
would either be a brother of Uncle Owen, or the husband of a sister
of Aunt Beru. Right? Hm...could they be talking about my Dad?
Before I can ask any questions regarding that matter, Uncle Owen
points to my flaming red backside and remarks that I look like Mos
Eisley on payday. Whatever that's suppose to mean.
" How did you manage to do THAT?"
" I fell into a Mirryx nest , over on the Southern Ridge."
" Mirryx? Dammit. I just hope you didn't bring any of 'em in
with you."
" No, I don't think so, Owen," Auntie butts in. "He went right
under the shower and I'm sure we got all of them."
" Have you LOOKED ,or are you making wild guesses?"
Auntie remains quiet. That's all the answers Uncle Owen needs.
"Well, then I'll have a look. See if there's any of those
beasties hidden and still alive."
" N..,N...N...No...NO! Please, no. I...I...I'm sure they're all
gone. Really." Dammit, how come I start stuttering when I'm scared?As if it wasn't
annoying enough to put up with a slight lisp.
.
" I think we should take him to a medic, Owen."
.
Uncle Owen throws a look at the medbook, reads a few lines, then
turns to Auntie again.
" You give 'im anything yet?"
" Yes , some Denarol salve. We had some of that stuff left.
Remember that was the salve you used to heal your hand a couple of
months ago when you had the steam burns."
" Medbook says he'll have to stay out of the sun. How do you
suppose we get him to Anchorhead?"
Uncle Owen tilts his massive head and squints at his beloved wife
like she was radiating bright light. He often does that when he's
waiting for an answer.
" We could wrap him in a bedsheet - or do you think the medics
will make housecalls for Mirryx bites, Owen? I hoped they would,"
" I don't need a medic. Could I get something to drink
instead?"
Instead of answering my request, Auntie places a hand over my
mouth.
" Shut up, sweetums. The way I know you, you wouldn't even go
to see a doctor if you had to carry your head under your arm."
She's got a point there. I got to give her that.
The next minutes are a bit hectic as Uncle Owen tries to grab a
bite to eat, while Aunt Beru tries to wrap me in a bedsheet. I must
look like a Tusken Raider now. Uncle Owen, upon seeing me enter the
kitchen in this costume, mutters: "Looks like a Jedi on a
pilgrimage", then keeps hacking at his cold roast as if he was
trying to kill the beast once more.
" You haven't eaten anything yet, Luke. Don't you want a nice
sandwich?"
" Thanks, but no, Auntie. I still don't feel like having
lunch. I only feel like having been lunch-© the Mirryxs' lunch."
" He's not refusing to eat b'cause of what's happened - he
doesn't eat b'cause of what's a-coming up." Uncle Owen mumbles
around a mouthful of roast.
Thanks, Uncle. How nice and considerate to say that. Now
I'm really sick.
A few minutes later, after another cup of Horkho, Uncle Owen gets up and drags me along, outside, to the place where the landspeeder is parked. In we hop - more or less elegantly - and off we go into the wild blue yonder. Not that I'm all to eager to go to Anchorhead;but with my Uncle, there won't be any negotiations. There are a few people who won't take "no" for an answer. He IS one of those.
Anchorhead ducks under the glaring suns like the helpless
victim of a heavy beating. A few loose running Shaomins scatter in all
directions as Uncle Owen rounds the corner of Market and Second
Street. 500 metres , and we're in front of a low filling -station-
like building that bears a sign in several languages and scripts.
Most people here on Tatooine use Imperial Standard (what once,
before the Empire, must have been known as Alderaani Standard). The
other scripts are undecipherable for me. I ask Uncle Owen if he
knows any of the other scripts. He studies the sign for awhile,
then shrugs his shoulders.
" The second from the top could be Mandalorean;but don't ask
me to read it out loud. I'm only guessing what it could be. I have no idea how to pronounce
any of these scribblings. This, down there, could well be Ubesian. It looks like the script on the Horkho your
aunt buys at the colonial goods store over on Mantooine Street."
The script he points at look like the tracks a decapitated Shaomin
might leave on wet sand.
We enter the Med-Station. A disgusting smell floats in the air.
Probably a disinfectant. Yuck. Uncle ushers me into the ambulance
room, where two droids and a human in a light blue doctor's outfit
are whiling away the hours. I wonder if the hospital over at Mos
Eisley is livelier than this dismal place.
" This young man here had the splendid idea to take a bath in
a Mirryx nest." Uncle Owen barks at the medic, who- as I notice
now - is a nice looking woman in her late thrities to early
forties. She smiles and comes over to take a closer look at little
ol me.
Uncle Owen pulls the bedsheet away and bares my body to the
scrutinizing eyes of the pretty medic. She's a tall woman. 1.78
meters is my guess - in socks. Light brown hair, tied into a nerf
tail, falls down her back and dangles back and fore like the
pendulum of an ancient timepiece. Here eyes are brown, about the
color of a Bantha's pelt. Lashes are almost as long as mine, but
more visible, since they are black. I find her rather attractive,
but dare not look at her. I know what looking at a pretty woman can
do to a guy my age (and probably any other healthy member of my
clumsy sex). Besides, I'm starting to wilt under her withering
stare like a bowl of tirra leaves after sitting on the kitchen
counter for several hours. I sure hope she misinterpretes the blush
creeping up my neck and into my face as another Mirryx-caused rash.
Uncle Owen ,meanwhile, gives my personal data to the droid behind the
desk. The medic starts interrogating poor little me.
" When did it happen?"
" This morning- shortly b'fore noon."
" What did you do for first aid?"
" Went home and got under the shower. My Aunt put Denarol
salve on the rash a bit later on."
" That was good. So, how do you feel? Experience any
discomfort besides the itching?"
" I can barely stand anything touching my skin. And I have a
slight case of nausea. But I can handle that!" I'm quick to add.
Geez - I hope she'll refrain from doing anything nasty to me.
The medic - the nametag on her uniform gives her name
as Cordene Veeral-© grabs a vicious looking tool and peeks into my ears to
make sure there are no mirryx hidden there. She doesn't find any.Ô
Mirryx there, either.
" So far I'd say you're a pretty lucky young man, Mr.
Skywalker." she smiles.Just as I'm starting to relax, she - still smiling like a spice
miner on payday - casually says: "Turn around and bend over."
Yikes! I think I am going to ignore this request, wrap myself into
the bedsheet again and make for the hills. But there is still ole
Owen Lars to be reckoned with. His eyes meet mine, and I know
there's no bargain in this deal. Shoot! With a deep sigh I turn
around and bend over, resting my elbows on the examining table.
What follows now is just a tad too unpleasant to be
described in detail. Doc Veeral warns me that it may feel a bit uncomfortable.
What she doesn't say is that the instrument she uses is icy cold
and fairly large in diameter, making the whole procedure a little
more than just "uncomfortable" - to put it mildly. I- trying to
evade her - snap my pelvis forward in an involuntary over-reaction
and collide with the examining table. Uncle Owen is at my side in
a split second. His big, calloused fist grabs my neck and pushes my
upper half downward until my nose is almost buried in the fabric of
the exam table's upholstery. Uncle's other fist steadies my lower
body, as the medic examines my innards some more. I'm about to sink
into the ground...I'm so embarrassed. I shut my eyes, clench my
teeth and hope the ordeal will be over soon. A half minute later
comes the relieving message : "No Mirryx in sight."
I straighten up, glad that Uncle Owen finally has let
go of my neck. The medic wants me to turn around and face her. NO! Please, don't
touch me THERE. But who cares what Wormie wants? This lady means business I
can tell. She takes this inspection seriously. I stare at the
ceiling, trying hard to ignore that there is a woman fidgeting
around with something near and dear to me. How long can I keep my
cool before "little Luke" gets into the game, rises and shines?
Down, boy. Down!
"OUCH!"
" Oh , did that hurt? I'm sorry. It'll be over in a minute.
This I hope. Well, actually , if this wasn't a medical examination I wouldn't mind female attention on the lower level.I may still look like a child, but my hormones are those of a grown man; demanding their equal rights. The times of spending lonely nights cuddled up to stuffed animals are over.
Finishing her examination, Doctor Veeral states that I
have a severe rash and will probably develop some side symptoms, like a
slight fever, a minor sinus infection, maybe an upset stomach ;that I ,therefore ,
should stay in bed for maybe 2 days. The Denarol
salve treatment is to be continued until the rash starts to vanish.
She also prescribes Koralex tablets (which I don't mind taking, as
they turn plain water into a bubbly, almost carbonspring likeÔ
If I get feverish , some Cumarin suppositories (which I don't intend
taking. Period!).
I reach for the bedsheet, trying to cover my bare facts again, but
the medic stops me.
" Not yet, young man. Just a second. I think we will speed up
the healing process a bit © so you'll be able to go outside by the
end of the week. How does that sound?"
I like the idea of hanging out at Toshe Station, or taking the
Skyhopper for a "walk" on my day off; but I have the uneasy
feeling that I will like the "speeding up" process a lot less.
" That sounds very good to my ears, Doctor Veeral," Uncle Owen
booms. "The sooner he gets back to working condition, the better.
There's still an evaporator to be repaired out there."
" But , Uncle Owen,do you really think this will be
necessary? I mean, think about the costs of this treatment..."
" Since when do costs concern you, Sandcrawler?"
Uncle Owen gives me a half stern, half amused stare. The medic
butts in:
" Oh, the costs are not very high. If you have an insurance,
the expenses will be covered by it. Otherwise the grand total will
be about 15 credits."
" Professional droid repair's cheaper 'n that. I think I'll
have him slaughtered and carved up into steaks," Uncle mumbles,
hardly surpressing a grin.
I watch the second of the two droids slowly roll over
to a gray and white highboy, where the instruments are kept. Oh no. Please. I
promise to be a good little Wormie. I'll repair that evaporator to
perfection.I'll even eat all the darn ghunnabar roots Auntie
loves to pile on my plate - altho' she knows how I HATE that green
stuff. I promise everything if I'm spared the forthcoming shot.
Please...!
" Say- you're not scared, are you?"
Pretty Mistress - or is that Miss? - Veeral tries to look
me in the eyes, but I keep staring at the floor; hoping there might appear a
hidden trap door I could jump through and make my escape. I hate
alot of things-the evaporator on the Southern Ridge, ghunnabar
roots, my Uncle's temper tantrums, the Empire;but most of all I
hate getting stuck with a needle.
" Couldn't I take any pills instead?" I ask, trying to keep my
voice from becoming squeaky.
" It's not going to hurt. Really. Trust me."
Sure - that's what the Krayt dragon said to the Bantha before
gobbling it up. Medics and Imperials I trust from here to the next
wall - and not one step farther.
" Would you rather lie down on the stretcher - or do you want
to remain standing?"
Don't ask me what I want.What I really want is to run!
" Get on the stretcher, Luke. Now!"
That's my Uncle. The added categoric imperative "NOW"
makes it all too clear that he's slowly losing his humor. I better do as he
says, or my backside's going to experience more than just a shot.
I lie down. Better safe than sorry. I think the Denarol is slowly
wearing off. My skin gets touchy again. I feel Uncle Owen's hand
closing around my neck once more, trying to make sure I stay where
I am. Oh, ok - I give up. No need to get rough.
The lady is very, very good at her job. I feel a cool
sensation as a pad with rubbing sedarene is wiped over a spot on my left
"cheek", then a quick, not very severe ,pinch and it's over. I'm
allowed to get up. My, that wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
Actually that was the first time I didn't scream at the top of my
lungs while getting stuck with a needle.
" See - that's all. No need to be afraid. Like I told you."
Doctor Veeral smiles and hands the empty syringe back to the
helpful droid. I get up and gather my bedsheet; all the while
thinking on how wonderful it might have been had this medic taken
care of me some years back when I came down with the fever.
Uncle Owen handles the financial matters, then we leave the med
station. Doctor Veeral can't refrain from gently pushing a blonde
strand of hair back under my makeshift hood, thereby brushing
lightly over the left side of my face before she lets me go. What
a pity she's so much older than me. She's exactly my type of woman.
On the way back to the farm, Uncle Owen whistles the old traditional "My Love is a Spacer". and drums the rhythm on the steering gear. Bet the thought of me going back to work in just a few short days makes him happy.
Back on the farm, Auntie greets the two of us with a
huge bowl of frosted cimino cream. Uncle Owen admonishes that I'm too sick to
eat anything and should go to bed immediately. Instead of the
frosted cream I could have a water-diluted Koralex tablet and a
suppository. I try to convince him that I feel fine now and that my
stomach can handle a generous amount of the cream without any
problem. Auntie laughs and says: "Let him have some, Owen. It won't kill him."
I guess I love you, Beru Lars.
Then she addresses her husband again.
" Did he ( here, she points her spoon at me), behave himself?"
" Yeah , surprisingly enough he did. Compared to what he
usually does when you drag him to a doctor."
" Did the doctor prescribe anything - besides the Koralex and
the Cumarin?" Auntie asks.
" He's suppose to stay in bed for 2 days or so. And plenty of
that salve. That's it. That medic gave him a shot, claiming that
would have him up and running around by the end of the week."
Auntie throws me a gentle, motherly look.
" Poor baby. Did he hurt you?"
Uncle Owen interrupts.
" Not a 'he'-© the medic's a 'she';and a very pretty one I
must say. Very. And no - believe it or not - that boy didn't say a
thing during the whole procedure. Just lay there and let it happen.
Flinched a bit an' bit his lip, but no screams this time around."
" He's growing up, Owen! He'ws almost a man now."
" Don't give me any of that, Beru. You know as well as m that
there are enough grown men around who can't handle medical
treatment without hollerin' bloody murder."
" This , and assorted other things, Owen."
Aunt Beru smiles and starts collecting the empty dishes.
" Yeah like your crazy brother-in-law ,who almost fainted when
he witnessed Khoreena Darklighter giving birth to her son."
How interesting. There's that ominous brother-in-law of
Auntie's again. I must know who he is, or was.
" Who's that man you're talking about? Do I know him?"
Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru exchange glances. Then Uncle Owen growls at me to shut up and go to bed; where I ought to be anyway according to the doctor and medbook.
Dammit, every time things really start to get interesting I'm sent to bed. Will this ever change?
Aunt Beru accompanies me to my room, helps me with the Denarol
salve, gives me my medicine and tucks me in. Before leaving she kisses my forehead and, in
a hushed voice and with a smile says:
" This brother-in-law was the man who married my sister, Janu. And
now, sleep tight. Sweet dreams. See you in the morning."
Aunt Beru's sister... Janu... her husband... my father??? I'll have to find out. Tomorrow, maybe. Yes... tomorrow.
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