Scene Twenty Eight
In which the correct way of setting a broken leg is mentioned, with counter points
If there was one thing that Greg was good at, it was staying calm and playing along. He had remembered an old Dwarfish ritual for dishonoring a defeated Dwarf. Well, ‘in for a penny, in for a pound’ as Frankie was fond of telling him, he broke off the blooded horn and slipped it into his pocket. “I need a ride”, he told Crazy Sven
“Ya, you do!” said Crazy Sven, who popped open the back door of the cab.
Greg tried to climb in, but had trouble lifting himself up. Crazy Sven opened his door, walked behind Greg, threw Greg into the cab like someone might load something soft and unbreakable, and jumped back into the driver’s seat. “Ver to Mac?” he barked, while swiveled in his seat.
Greg was still muzzy, “Take me to someone who can fix a broken leg” he said
“YA!” screamed Crazy Sven, like a battle cry. He moved the accelerator from no pressure, to flat against the floor; the wheels spun, and they were away.
They were, at least for the moment, far away from the Dwarfs that, he was sure, were swarming down the mountain at this moment. Another problem for another day, he thought, he considered it a more immediate problem that he had apparently escaped from one group of maniacs by getting into the car of another. “Why are you called Crazy Sven”, he asked
“Is, how you say? Irony”, said Crazy Sven, “I am being only sane man, so they call me Crazy. Is like, call hoops player Tiny. Ya? Cause he is being Tall”
Greg decided not to question this. “Where are you taking me?” he asked.
“Like you say, Leg Fixer”
“Oh, and who is that?”
“Right. What I mean is; who is the Leg Fixer?”
“Ya me; Crazy Sven is Crazy Surgeon”
Greg thought about this, “Is there any way I could have a surgeon who isn’t crazy?”
“Ya, you Can have Crazy Sven”
“I mean, is there a surgeon without the word Crazy in his name?”
Greg was momentarily distracted by the possibility that he had worked out where Sven’s accent came from. “Oh, are you German?”
“Nein, Crazy Sven the Crazy Surgeon is not a Crazy German”
The Taxi skidded to a halt outside a small wooden hut. Crazy Sven grabbed Greg and walked into the hut with him over one shoulder. “You know, I’m not sure that a broken leg needs a surgeon.” protested Greg.
“Oh HO Ho, are you being licensed medical professional now?” Said Crazy Sven, throwing Greg onto a surprisingly comfortable bed.
“No” said Greg, a nasty suspicion occurring to him “Are you?”
“Nein!”, and before Greg could stop him, he had grabbed his leg and pulled.