Valenti, "I think it might be a long wait for you, you'd better leave."

Fontane stared at him in utter disbelief. "You son of a bitch, you think you're going to

keep me here? You think you're going to fuck around with my throat?"

Jules, with more pleasure than he would have thought possible, gave it to him straight

between the eyes. "You can do whatever you like," he said. "You've got a growth of

some sort on your vocal chords, in your larynx. If you stay here the next few hours, we

can nail it down, whether it's malignant or nonmalignant. We can make a decision for

surgery or treatment. I can give you the whole story. I can give you the name of a top

specialist in America and we can have him out here on the plane tonight, with your

money that is, and if I think it necessary. But you can walk out of here and see your

quack (знахарь; шарлатан) buddy or sweat while you decide to see another doctor, or

get referred to somebody incompetent. Then if it's malignant and gets big enough they'll

cut out your whole larynx or you'll die. Or you can just sweat. Stick here with me and we

can get it all squared away in a few hours. You got anything more important to do?"

Valenti said, "Let's stick around, Johnny, what the hell. I'll go down the hall and call

the studio. I won't tell them anything, just that we're held up. Then I'll come back here

and keep you company."

It proved to be a very long afternoon but a rewarding one. The diagnosis of the staff

throat man was perfectly sound as far as Jules could see after the X rays and swab

Мультиязыковой проект Ильи Франка www.franklang.ru

(мазок /мед./) analysis. Halfway through, Johnny Fontane, his mouth soaked with

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iodine, retching (to retch – рыгать, тужиться /при рвоте/) over the roll of gauze stuck in

his mouth, tried to quit. Nino Valenti grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him

back into a chair. When it was all over Jules grinned at Fontane and said, "Warts."

Fontane didn't grasp it. Jules said again. "Just some warts. We'll slice them right off

like skin off baloney (= Bologna-sausage – болонская /копченая/ колбаса). In a few

months you'll be OK."

Valenti let out a yell but Fontane was still frowning. "How about singing afterward, how

will it affect my singing?"

Jules shrugged. "On that there's no guarantee. But since you can't sing now what's

the difference?"

Fontane looked at him with distaste. "Kid, you don't know what the hell you're talking

about. You act like you're giving me good news when what you're telling me is maybe I

won't sing anymore. Is that right, maybe I won't sing anymore?"

Finally Jules was disgusted. He'd operated as a real doctor and it had been a

pleasure. He had done this bastard a real favor and he was acting as if he'd been done

dirt. Jules said coldly, "Listen, Mr. Fontane, I'm a doctor of medicine and you can call

me Doctor, not kid. And I did give you very good news. When I brought you down here I

was certain that you had a malignant growth in your larynx which would entail

(повлечет за собой) cutting out your whole voice box. Or which could kill you. I was

worried that I might have to tell you that you were a dead man. And I was so delighted

when I could say the word 'warts.' Because your singing gave me so much pleasure,

helped me seduce girls when I was younger and you're a real artist. But also you're a