The day his face bloomed on Time Magazine, after the awards had been announced, was also the day he went to see his doctor.

Runa detested barbers, dentists, doctors and lawyers,not necessarily in that order, but he finally goaded himself into making an appointment with the house quack, as he called his friend Doctor Julius Obama. Runa was very fond of Jul Obama, if only because Jul Obama never really insulted his intelligence in the time-crusted tradition of TV-type doctors keeping painful truths from the patients  for their own good.

Jul Obama was a little round man. onion bald, with a rosy plump wife, three children – two boys and a girl, all doctors – and a propensity for poker and horse-playing. He was famous in three countries as a diagnotician. He also drank whisky and smoked cigarettes furiously. He was quite grossly profane.

‘What the hell’s wrong with you?’ was his greeting. ‘Booze or babes or both?’

‘I dunno,’ Runa said. ‘I feel generally rotten. I got back pains and bloody toilet paper and Christ knows what-all. Also I’m going up against some insurance croakers and I want a prior opinion from an old-fashioned quack with dirty fingernails and a whisky breath.’

‘You came to the right store, sonny.’ Doctor Obama said. You want the full course, or just the customer’s phony you’ll-be-all-right-if-you-watch-the-cholesterol-count-and-take-the-low-blood-pressure-pills?’

‘Gimme the full treatment,’ Runa said, ‘Pretend I’m a cadaver.’

‘I like honest self-appraisal.’ Jul Obama said. ‘I trust you followed my telephone instructions about the booze, no breakfast, and did’nt cheat on the specimen in the bottle?’

‘I come to you pure,’ Runa said. ‘What do we do first’

‘Some blood. Some x-ray. Some barium. Some basal met. Some liver-dye retention-tests. And finally you bend over for me. I want to know if I can see daylight.’

‘The only thing I really hate worse than humorous barbers are humorous doctors.’ Runa said. ‘Let’s get on with the dissection.’

At the end of the interminable morning, Runa assumed the classic position on the table, head down, rump raised. After a bit he asked: ‘You see any new planets there with that telescope?’

‘No planets, but a little lump I don’t like, and you are pretty mushy. Certainly the prostrate is enlarged. I don’t want to cause you any undue alarm, but I think you had better see a good urologist for some more studies. These things aren’t very troublesome if you catch them early, but left alone they can get to be a damned nuisance. That’s all from me right now. i know a good guy- Ted Finnley. I’ll fix a date.’