Manhunt. Volume 9, Number 4, August, 1961

Decay by Michael Zuroy

The tooth was bad alright. But with this patient the tooth was incidental. Dr. Rodney prepared to get to the root of the trouble.

The dentist tied the strings of the protective vestment around the patient’s neck and adjusted the aseptic looking white chair so that the patient’s head tilted slightly back. He put a fresh paper cup into the receptacle under the thin chromed pipe and, turning the finger knob, filled it with water. The constantly flowing drain, located where a patient could hastily turn to its bowl, made a pleasant swishing sound in the car. But this patient was not lulled into relaxing; a dentist’s office was not a place of pleasure.

“Well, let’s have a look,” said the dentist cheerfully. He was a trim man of medium height, somewhere in his forties. The vertical wrinkles that channeled his face and the keen eyes behind the glasses gave him an intelligent, professional appearance. The name on the framed license was Robert Rodney.

The patient felt the dentist’s probe gently moving along his teeth, entering the sensitive area. His nerves tightened, anticipating a stab of pain, but relaxed somewhat when the instrument, still gently and painlessly, finished its investigations and withdrew. He realized that Dr. Rodney possessed a sure and competent hand.

“Will it have to come out, doctor?” he asked with false jollity.

“M-mmmn,” said Dr. Rodney noncomittally. “Bothers you, does it?”

“I think so,” said the patient. Actually, the tooth had been hurting like hell for days, but now that he was in the chair facing an extraction he was not so sure. The glare of the close overhead dentist’s lamp was in his eyes and the heat of it on his forehead. He felt at a disadvantage, and he didn’t like feeling at a disadvantage with anybody, even a dentist.

The dentist deftly swung the lamp back out of the way, and moved the nose of the X-ray machine into position. “Hold this film with your thumb,” he directed, and the machine buzzed. “And this one, finger here,” directed the dentist, and the machine buzzed again. Dr. Rodney pushed the machine back and disappeared into a little room.

He reappeared, seated himself at a gleaming counter, and took a blank card from a drawer. “While the X-rays are developing,” he explained, “I’ll put down a little data on you. Normally, my nurse does this, but she’ll be out for a while. Your name, you said, was...”

“Taggert. Vance Taggert.”

“Ah, yes. Age?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“Address?”

Taggert told him.

“How did you happen to come to me, Mr. Taggert?”

“You were highly recommended by a gentleman I know, a Mr. Henry Thornwood. My own dentist recently retired.”

Dr. Rodney nodded. “Yes, I know Thornwood well. Have I met you before Mr. Taggert? I have the impression that you’re not quite a stranger.”

“Well,” said Taggert, watching Rodney with some complacency, “you may have heard of me or listened to me. I’m a radio commentator.”

An expression of interest appeared on Dr. Rodney’s pleasant features. “Of course! Vance Taggert! I should have realized. That vibrant mellow voice. That alert probing expression I’ve seen in the newspapers. Well! I didn’t expect a celebrity in my chair to-day.”

Taggert smiled, his dark features fox-like, basking. They knew him, he thought with satisfaction. Wherever he went, they knew him. It was this, even more than the money, that he worked for. He was not a man to be ignored.

Dr. Rodney went out and returned with the X-ray pictures. He held them up and examined them minutely. “H-mm,” he said. Taggert did not like the way he said it. “Have you felt pain in your ear?” the dentist asked.

“Yes, some.”

“I don’t wonder. The tooth will have to come out. There’s a spreading infection there. And a good deal of inflammation.” Dr. Rodney began to busy himself at the sterilizer. “Best do it immediately. It wouldn’t be wise to wait.”

“O.K., doc.” Taggert made his tone light, but he felt a sinking, trapped sensation. He loathed this handling of his private flesh and bone. He feared the wrenching separation that would violate his jaw.

“You won’t feel anything,” said Doctor Rodney, reading his mind with long experience of patients. “I’ll give you an injection, of course. In order to make sure you’re comfortable, I’m going to give you something a little different than the ordinary injection. This is because of the inflammation. The anesthesia will have to be a little stronger to block the pain. It will put you into a brief torpor.”

“You’re the doctor.” Taggert forced a smile. Dr. Rodney approached him, delicately holding the hypodermic needle. Taggert closed his eyes. Feeling was bad enough; he didn’t have to watch the details of the damn operation. He felt Rodney’s hands moving his head, and reluctantly he cooperated. “Open wide,” instructed Rodney. He felt the sudden sharp pain as the needle penetrated his flesh, pushing far in. He wanted to gag, but bore it, and after a while the needle withdrew.

He opened his eyes and watched Rodney put the hypodermic away and seat himself comfortably on a chair. “Might as well relax a bit,” said Rodney. “It’ll be a little while before the injection takes effect.”

“Um,” said Taggert, still feeling the needle.

“Yours must be an interesting profession,” said the dentist in a chatty manner.

“I enjoy it.”

“Apparently your audience does too. Although, I never could see the necessity of your placing such emphasis on — shall we say — gossipy items?”

“The public likes it,” said Taggert stiffly. “There are enough general news and political commentators. I supply the human interest that people crave. My program is based on personal items.”

“Oh, yes, of course, but don’t you sometimes have qualms about invading personal privacy? Don’t you wonder if your broadcasts might harm innocent individuals? Forgive me, Mr. Taggert, but there are times when it seems to me you come perilously close to slander.”

Taggert sighed wearily. Criticism of his methods was an old story to him. He was never bothered by it. It was a tough world. He looked out for himself. Let others do likewise. He replied, “I can’t worry about that. I do a chatter broadcast. I can’t pull any punches; I hear a juicy item, I announce it. Anybody thinks I’m slandering them, they’re at liberty to sue me.” Dr. Rodney agreed, “Of course.” There was a little silence. Then Dr. Rodney said softly, “But isn’t it possible that some people may not have the means to carry on a lawsuit? Or that there may be those who are too sensitive to have their private lives dragged through the courts and newspapers? I imagine a lot of dubious statements might go unchallenged this way.”

“I don’t know,” said Taggert indifferently. “I don’t think about it. I try to tell the truth.”

“Do you, Mr. Taggert? Do you really? But how is it possible for you to check the thousands of items you broadcast?”

“Well, naturally, I can’t do that. But I’ve got a pretty good instinct, doc. I rely upon my instinct.”

“Oh. I wonder how many tempting items your instinct actually turns down?”

Taggert sat up in his chair and stared at the dentist. This was getting too thick. He was used to criticism, but he wouldn’t put up with insults. “Look here, doc...”

“Or how many juicy items you make up yourself?”

“Now, wait a minute...”

“Or why every item must be shouted to the world even if true? There are such things as charity. Mercy. When people have hurt no one but themselves, why should they be hurt by others? We’ve all buried mistakes.”

Furious, Taggert snarled, “I don’t give a damn whether you approve of me or not. I came here for dental attention and if I’m going to get a lecture...”

Suddenly Dr. Rodney smiled disarmingly. “My friends know me as a great kidder, Mr. Taggert. I beg your pardon.”

Taggert continued to stare, doubtfully, at the dentist. “Well, if you were only kidding...”

“How do you feel, Mr. Taggert? The anesthetic should be taking effect by now. Do you begin to feel a numbness in your cheeks? A difficulty in working your facial muscles? A heaviness in your head?”

“Well, yes,” mumbled Taggert, sinking back into the chair. “I do feel that way.”

“Fine. We can get at that extraction in a few minutes.” The dentist smiled, and to Taggert there was something enigmatic about that smile. He wanted to struggle up again and say that he had changed his mind about having the tooth pulled, but an increasing lethargy bound him. This tilted position was comfortable, and growing more so. He felt himself sinking back into warm comfort, aware that the dentist’s voice was going on, sounding more and more distant.

“Seriously,” Doctor Rodney was saying, “you ought to be proud of the tremendous influence your program has. A few words from you and people’s lives are touched, changed forever. And these, in turn, change other lives dependent upon them, and still others. That mellow voice of yours creates countless ripples, you know that. You have power, Mr. Taggert.”

Yes, thought Taggert sleepily. Power. Power was the headiest wine. People cringed before you. People whined for favors. People jumped to attention.

“I don’t suppose it’s possible to count the thousands of lives you’ve changed, but it must be very many because even I am personally acquainted with a few of your cases. I knew Andrei Lassko, for example. Do you remember the name? No? Well, of course, there have been so many, you can’t be expected to remember. Lassko was a great composer of music, a great conductor. You spread the rumour that Lassko did not write his own music, that a few underpaid hirelings did it for him. An amusing little item to you, but it ruined Lassko. The charge was untrue.

“There was State Senator Tom Berman. A brilliant, honest servant of the people, a type that the country badly needs, with a fine career ahead of him. You made quite a splash by claiming that Berman had underworld tics. You were acclaimed for your fearless expose, but you had nothing to fear; the underworld was not involved. But the public did not forget your attack, and Berman’s career was finished.

“There was Dr. Stansky, the physicist. An easy name to attack. You called him subversive. Years later, an investigation finally cleared him, but his reputation had been damaged and his work interrupted. The country was the loser.

“I might mention the financier, Paul Jackson. You accused him of running a stock swindle. Not directly, of course; it would have been dangerous in this case. But your innuendo was enough. Jackson lost a fortune.

“There are, of course, your innumerable bedroom scandals, your bread and butter, I might say. Illicit affairs, illegitimate children, you do a fine job on them.” The dentist looked at Taggert steadily and continued softly. “Mrs. Dan Sprague. You wouldn’t remember that name, would you? You linked her name to that of a notorious actor. A bedroom scandal. Untrue, but her husband could not be convinced of that. He left her. She committed suicide.”

“Not responsible,” mumbled Taggert. “Not responsible for... crazy things... people do.”

“It must be a comfort not to feel responsible,” said Dr. Rodney’s voice. His features wavered and blurred before Taggert’s eyes. “By the way, just to show you how many people you’ve reached, did you know that Henry Thornwood, the man who sent you to me, is the brother of a lady whose character you’ve blackened?”

“No,” mumbled Taggert. “Didn’t... know.” Didn’t care either. Didn’t care about anything. Darkness was coming. Comfortable darkness. Warm sleep...

Clarity returned. First fuzzy images, then sharpness.

Nothing seemed to have changed; Dr. Rodney still stood before him looking competent and professional. His head and jaw was still numb, devoid of feeling, except for a warm wetness in his mouth.

“Spit out,” said Dr. Rodney pleasantly, indicating the basin with its flowing drain.

“It would have been worse if I hadn’t cauterized,” said Rodney.

Taggert realized that the smell in his nostrils was that of singed flesh and that it came from his own mouth.

“Here’s the tooth,” said Dr. Rodney. He picked up a decayed molar with long roots. “It was far gone, as you see.”

What Taggert started to reply, the sentence that formed in his mind was, “Yes, I’m glad it’s out,” but no words came from his mouth, only a strange croak. To a man who was used to controlling his voice like a tool, this was star-ding. Probably the after effects of the injection. He tried again, and heard the same croak.

Taggert realized he had been looking at something on the tray before him, a longish, pointed, fleshy object. It was an object that had no business in a dentist’s office.

Taggert took a long time at understanding because this was not something that could be accepted. To believe it would open the gates to horror.

“There will be a good deal of pain later,” said Dr. Rodney, still pleasantly, “but you’ll live through it. I think this should bring home to you the point that you’ve made enemies. I merely represent some of your enemies. Mrs. Sprague, the girl who took her own life, was my daughter.” Dr. Rodney went on, “You may wish to prefer charges against me. I must warn you that if you do so, your enemies will take the next step, the final step. I rather think that you’ll drop the matter.”

Dr. Rodney reached into the tray and picked up Taggert’s tongue. “Yes,” he said, “the tooth had to come out, but so did this. It is a diseased and poisonous member. It had to be extracted.”