Jimmy wasn't the least bit interested in what disease he had, there were cures for all known diseases. But he waited with bated breath to be told what terrible, what terrifying thing he would have to do in order to be cured.
"You have," the doctor said even more slowly, "angina pectoris."
Scrambling through his memory, Jimmy tried to remember what heart patients had to do. All he could think of at the moment was the treatment for arterio-sclerosis. It was so awful that he found himself saying a little prayer of thankfulness to The Grandfather, that he did not have to indulge in that cure. Adultery was the only known cure for hardening of the arteries and the prospect of what he would have had to go through made Jimmy almost glad that he had angina. Imagine, he kept thinking, "I'd have had to get married and then be untrue to my wife...."
His gratitude faded a little when the doctor's droning voice went on, "As you may or may not know, son, the only cure for what you've got is drunkenness. We'll have to make you into an alcoholic, boy. I'm sorry."
The world reeled.
Jimmy had seen drunks, who hadn't, but the thought of having to share their disgraceful conduct was more than he could bear. He gasped, "I won't do it. I'd rather die."
"Ummm ..." the doctor said, "a lot of them say that ... but remember, boy, suicide is what you're talking about!"
Suicide, Jimmy thought sickly, the sin against The Grandfather!
Horrible as the cure for his disease was, he'd have to go through with it. But what would mother think when he came reeling home, singing songs, consorting with ... he retched. No more seeing Lydia once a month, he'd have to consort with fallen women all the time....
Thank Grandfather, he thought dully, that dad is dead. It was the only thing for which he could feel grateful at the moment.