Dr Jew

what's this new film about and when can we see it?"
    "It 's about the Swine-AIDS pandemic threatening the third-world and soon to threaten the rest of us if we don't take action."
    "Eww, can you say gross?"
    "My wife actually has Swine-AIDS."
    "Oh… that 's… cool."
    "Not really. She's been quarantined in Mexico until a cure is found."
    "That 's horrible, Sergio. You have my sympathies."
    "Well, she 's not dead yet."
    "But to never speak to her again. Mexico's like a black hole. Things don't come out."
    "We actually talk on the phone and video conference every day."
    "That is so bold of you, not fearing infection. You know, I just remembered in Star Trek where those evil aliens come out of the black hole and kill Captain Kirk's dad. I guess Swine-AIDS is kind of like that."
    "You – you can 't get Swine-AIDS through the phone –"
    "So now you 're a doctor."
    "Wha – no! You don't need to be a doctor to – look, I'm just trying to get the facts out about this condition –"
    "Disease. Let's call a spade a spade. And a black hole would surely make it a lot more fun! Say, this isn't gonna be a documentary, right? Those things put me to sleep. Zzzzzzzz. That's me. Sleeping through your documentary."
    "I don 't even know why I came on your show. I should be finishing my film."
    "Does your wife have warts in her armpit crotches yet? Because I hear that's how you know when they're ready to keel over."

VIII.

    Swan and his uncle Dave arrived in San Francisco on a warm Sunday, three days before Halloween, nine days before the election. Dave's house was in the Inner Richmond, just north of Golden Gate Park.
    They opened the front door. A woman flinched with surprise. It was Dave's wife, Swan's aunt, Anne. She was thin and had light brown hair in a pony tail.
    "Oh, I d idn't expect you back so early," she said.
    "And w hy not?" said Dave. "What you been up to? We're hungry. Go get dinner, woman."
    "Aren 't you going to introduce me?" said Anne, who'd never met Swan.
    "We can save all that la di da for later."
    Swan and Dave sat on the couch and turned on the television. Dave flipped through channels.
    "– advanced cult technology – "
    "– like real cheese only –"
    "– don't notice the best weather –"
    "– synchronizes –"
    "– this election will –"
    "– is my daughter, Bowelry –"
    Dave avoided the election news and glided by inertia to an episode of Sesame Street in which the Count had disemboweled Oscar the Grouch in his garbage can only to discover that Oscar had no blood, no bones, no internal organs whatsoever.
    "Bears don 't have bones, but I thought Oscar would," said Swan.
    Anne brought in two glasses, one with beer, the other apple cider. She put the beer before Swan and the cider in front of Dave. The uncle gulped once then set it down and sprayed fizz across the TV screen and Oscar's green face.
    "What 's wrong, Uncle Dave?" said Swan.
    Dave went to the kitchen and Swan heard a slap and his aunt cried out. Dave returned and took the beer in front of Swan and pushed the cider to Swan.
    "One thing I tell you, boy, you got to keep your women in line or I swear she'll take you for all your worth."
    "Okay," said Swan, drinking the cider. It tasted fine to Swan and he couldn't see why Dave had spit it out.
    On the TV , the Count sucked a rat he'd found in Oscar's trash can.

IX.

    That night I put the boy in my office on a cot and put him to bed early. He seemed dozy from the flight and I was glad. Gave him earplugs to help him go under.
    Went back up to the bedroom and Anne was pretending to sleep with the TV blaring loud, and what kind of a moron she take me for. I started undressing and snapped off my belt. Her eyes lit up just like I told you she would 'cause I tell you she couldn't hear me take it off over the TV if she'd been asleep so I tell you that woman has a conniving lying filthy soul in her.
    "Please, David, not tonight. The boy –"
    And that 's just like a woman using any damned inch to hide her deceitful ways. I did not drag myself up and into California all through the narrow-minded thinking of my fathers to be held back only when I get here by a woman who cannot learn the meaning of obedience.
    "Come here," I said.
    She came. She knew at least that much.
    "Get to it," I said. " And on your knees."
    She got to her knees like the unclean animal she is and lowered my boxers. She looked at my old man for no reason I could figure, this wasn't no matinee. I gave her the belt across the