Primal Sneeze

It was 1989. The year two walls came down - the big one in Berlin and the small one Pat Gleeson built for his mother. I wasn’t around to see Mrs. Gleeson’s collapse but I was in Germany for the other one. I will never forget that day as long as I live.

On the afternoon of November the 9th we were hitching a machine to the tractor when my unable assistant removed the safety stays too soon and my hand got jammed. Nothing broken, but one finger was split wide open.

It was obvious I needed a half dozen stitches or so. The boss’ wife, Maria, would drive me. Now Maria, a Californian of immigrant parents, was a stunning woman. A incredibly beautiful Latina. She was also incredibly fluffy-headed. She didn’t smoke dope - she didn’t need to. Her body somehow produced it naturally, and in large quantities. She lived in a world of her own and was oblivious to what was happening around her. In summer she would wear a bikini while supervising the Turkish staff. This would cause an immediate strike. She’d cover up for a few days then forget and don swimwear again. (I admit we looked forward to Streiktag). Her morale boosting idea of beginning and ending each work day with hugs didn’t fly with the 60 Muslim women either, although we 4 horny Irish lads were willing to give it a go. Once she booked a flight home for one of us. He noticed the ticket showed Frankfurt-Heathrow. Can’t you take a bus from there? So you appreciate I was apprehensive that I would be in her care.

In the car I asked for her thoughts on the developments in Berlin but she switched the conversation to her theories about when a woman is most ready for sex and how a man can tell. If I didn’t know her better I would have taken it as a come-on.

We pulled up outside an office with Frauenarzt over the door. Do you have an appointment with the gynaecologist, I asked. No. You need a letter from a doctor to be seen at the hospital. Thursday is their half-day and this is the only one open in the town. Oh, right so. Hey, Primey. Maybe you can practice detecting women’s cycles. There’ll be a lot of women here.

Naturally the chattering ceased abruptly when I entered the waiting room. The ever helpful Maria announced it’s okay, girls. He doesn’t speak much German so you can talk away. He’d like to look at you though. He’s learning about women.

After 20 of the most embarrassing minutes ever we left with the letter and headed to the hospital. Sniggers from the receptionist when she seen who penned the letter. Maria wouldn’t let up as we waited. What about the receptionist? I reckon not. Right on, Primey. You’re getting the hang of this. A nurse was coming in and out of the surgery. What about her then? Eh, a yes. Maybe. I’m not sure. She’s a definite. She needs a man right this minute. I can sense her need. It’s so strong.

I was called in. 5 stitches and the doctor left the nurse to finish up. She was trying to explain something I knew was important as she administered the anti-tetanus but I didn’t understand and suggested she ask Maria to translate. As I was pulling up my trousers Maria walked in. She clapped and jumped up and down and squealed in delight. See, Primey. I told you. I knew it. She was sooo in need of a man. Aren’t you the lucky one. Then she gave the bewildered nurse directions to the farm and promised her I would be allowed time off work the next time she was in need. Rather than have to face going back there I took the stitches out myself.