James Axler – Trader Redux

Mildred shook her head. “Sounds like our beloved and worthy time traveler’s returned here from the land of Winken, Blinken and Nod.”

“Heavy on the ‘nod,’ isn’t he?” Krysty asked.

They could judge what was happening from the noises. There was much puffing and panting as the old man struggled to pull on his boots, a sharp exclamation and clatter as he dropped one of them. The springs creaked as he levered himself upright.

“Now he’ll spit,” Krysty predicted.

They heard a phlegmy hawking, followed by the explosive expectoration over the rail.

“Now he’ll come in and he’ll feel he has to offer some excuse for crashing out like that,” Mildred stated.

The door opened, and a shaft of sunlight darted across the room, tiny motes of dust floating in its heart.

“By the Three Kennedys! The best of times to all in this house.”

“Been sleeping, Doc?” Mildred asked.

“No, no. I was lying out there with my mind seeking the memory of the solution to the famed theorem of great Pythagoras. My eyes were probably closed for a few moments with the effort of my concentration.”

“The one about the squaw on the hippopotamus being equal to the sons of the squaws on the other two hides?” Mildred grinned. “That the one, Doc?”

“There is nothing like a good joke, madam.” He paused. “And that was nothing like a good joke.”

Krysty looked puzzled. “I did a little math, but I don’t know that one.”

Doc bowed, his disheveled hair tumbling over his shoulders. “Pythagoras deduced that a square constructed on the longest side of a triangle would be equal in area to the two squares constructed on the two shorter sides.”

“I see,” Krysty said doubtfully. “Does that work for all the triangles, then?”

Mildred couldn’t resist interrupting. “Yeah. For once Doc’s been really exercising what passes for a brain.”

He shrugged and turned away. “Devilish warm out there. I wonder what sort of climatic conditions our dear absent friends are experiencing?”

“Probably colder and wetter,” Krysty replied. “Seattle’s not the sun capital of the land.”

“What are we having to eat?” He had wandered into the doorway of the kitchen.

“What would you fancy, Doc?” Krysty rested her hand on his arm. “Anything, anytime?”

“My own dear wife’s mutton chops, with her special wow-wow sauce. Capers and fresh cauliflower. Baked potatoes with a honey glaze. Positively lashings of her thick, rich gravy. Ah, I can almost taste it now. Perchance, followed up with a steamed treacle pudding and cream. A decent Medoc with the main course and then a marsala for the dessert. An ’82 port, properly decanted to go with the coffee and cigars.”

“I’ll join you in that, Doc,” Krysty said.

“I fear that you and all the other chattering Amazons would have retired at a decent point, before the port and cigars, to gossip about babies and other women’s talk.”

Mildred gasped in outrage. “And fuck you, too, Doc Tanner! Maybe all things have changed, but some of them sure have changed for the better.”

“What delicious repast would you have selected for yourself?” Doc asked, making a real effort to heal the sudden breach between them.

“None of that fancy-Dan stuff for me. I was in New York for a while, staying at the good old Chelsea Hotel on West Twenty-Third. I used to eat at a diner a few blocks away called the Galaxy, just a way south on Eighth.”

“A fast-food greasy spoon!” Doc mimed disgust. “About the level of cuisine I would have expected from you, Dr. Wyeth. Definitely ‘low’ cuisine.”

“No, no, not at all. The Galaxy had wonderful food and it was a real good deal, too.” She licked her lips. “Their eggs, bacon and home fries set you up for the whole day. And Greek omelets with feta cheese. Cheese blintzes with sour cream. Chicken cutlet parmigiana. They did a Galaxy Platter with steak and sole and a whole mass of other goodies. I had it a couple of times, and I can still taste that great feeling of being so full with good food that you can hardly move.” Doc held up a hand. “All right, all right. But forgive me if I stick with Emily’s home cooking.”