The Tooth Puller

The two men walked, mindful of the piles of horse manure on the street and the slop being tossed from the second floor windows. It was mid morning time for house cleaning which always meant a good dousing from above as house wives and maids tossed out the pails of sewage from the inside commodes. A carriage roared past in a vain attempt to ride faster than the stench and to be free from the congested neighborhood.

The men avoided the splash from the carriage as they made their way down the street toward a tavern. The older man carried a small leather satchel emblazoned with faded gold script initials that marked the life of a gentlemen or a professional of which the owner was both.

As they hustled down the street, the morning crowd was looking for deals from the stalls. All along the block, meat, vegetables, broth and occasionally a piece of rare semi rotted fruit. “Fresh,” the barker screamed as he rubbed the maggots off the deep purple piece of aging beef. “Good for a stew, my friend. A stew lasts for days on the back of the stove and this piece of beef tender and rare will feed you and yours for a good week. Just add some potatoes. Fine potatoes my good companion is selling. We’ll make you a deal.”

They pushed passed them all, their capes catching a welcomed breeze. The cleansing air swirled as they briskly walked steadfastly toward their goal, the corner and the tavern.

“Remember to set out your tools. Always the mark of craftsmen, setting out his tools. They will judge you by how you take care of them. A good idea is to set them out and fuss about their placement on the table, maybe give them a good polish. Wipe them clean with a fresh clean towel. Set out the bowls. One for the patient, the other for tips. Place the tip bowl next to the most vocal of the spectators, usually a woman, probably the patient's wife. She wants to enjoy seeing her husband go through some pain. A good idea to talk to her about her children, remind her of the pain of childbirth. She’ll throw in a coin just to make sure that you inflict some pain in the bastard.”

The men walked stepping around a dead man sitting on the sidewalk, his beggar's cup tipped over and empty.“These bastards will rob the dead. Don't cheat yourself on the bottle of port. Get a good one. The patient will thank you and add a coin or two for the drink, plus you'll have a bottle for your own use.”

The younger man scurried to keep up, making mental notes as the older man spoke. “Give the patient a good hard swig from the bottle, it helps if he swishes it around his mouth numbing it a bit and if it is good it will numb his mind a bit as well. Don't show the scarves to bind his wrists until the last minute. They tend to get frightened about being tied down. A glass or two of good port and they will let you do anything.”

The morning sun began to warm the stench in the street. A woman lifter her skirts to the two of them, asked if they were interested in giving it a go. The older man grabbed her, pulled down her upraised skirts, pushed her away remarking that she was filthy and needed to clean herself. The younger man turned away.

“Two bowls, one for tips and the other for bloody spit. They will spit. They will scream, make them scream. Put on a show, the louder the better, the louder the more coins go in the bowl.”

“How will I know which tooth to pull?”

“The black one, it's always the black one. If there is two, only pull one. Leave the other for another day. They will always pretend to be brave. The wine will make them brave. They will come back, anything to relieve themselves of pain in their mouths. Hold up the tooth like a trophy, the bloodier the better. It doesn't hurt if you wave it right in front of someone's face. A woman is best, because they usually faint from the blood, the smell and the putrid piece of a man.”

They entered the tavern, the barkeep pointed to a distress man in the back holding the side of his face.

“You the tooth puller?”

“That's me.”

“Who's that with you?”

“My apprentice.”

“I hear you can do this painless.”

“As painless as God will allow.”

The patient took a drink from a mug on the table. “Let's get this started.”

The tooth puller took off his coat, rolled his sleeves and began to unpack his bag. The bowls, the silver pliers which he wiped down several times with a fine white linen cloth. He pulled out a bottle of port with large red wax seals on it, asking for two glasses from the barkeep.

“Medicinal,” he said, then poured two glasses as the crowd began to gather round. The patient warned that he may be inclined to some pushing and shoving and asked to be tied to the chair. The apprentice stood in the background watching as his master took a quick drink, cracked his knuckles, grabbed his silver pliers and reached down the man’s throat. The bound man shook and gagged. The room was filled with muffled cries which seemed to last forever. True to form, a woman dropped in coins as the poor man screamed and twisted in agony. Finally the bloody tooth emerged. The tooth puller held it aloft to the delight of the crowd, many of whom tossed coins in the gold plated bowl set aside for tips.

The two men sat in the tavern drinking after the crowd faded away. “Blood is always good for tips.”