E.G. Fricker sighs. "We all have a terrible job to do here . . . Moses . . . Jesus . . . I'm here to do a job for God. When I'm done I'll go back."

What everybody notices first is that Ted Fricker is a nice man. Friendly, With a warm handshake and a comforting, avuncular iar. And, to American ears, a rather pleasing downstairs sort of British accent.

So, you think to yourself, maybe he's a nut. But a nice one. Harmless . . .

Ted Fricker is a faith healer.

He has a London clinic where, he says, there is a two-year waiting list of patients who want to see him. He feels every hospital should have a department for "healers" who could take over where traditional medicine fails. The names of those he claims to have healed include British actor Christopher Lee, singer Tom Jones (of pre-performance laryngitis) and the late King Saud.

And now he's written a book - at God's behest he will tell you, and he tells you this with such compelling sincerity that you almost . . .

But anyway, now he's promoting it. And his tour in this country, only a few days old, has already left in its wake a trail of cures and a clutch of skeptics whose cynicism has been shaken - at least a little bit.

Andrew Farkas, 17, is a scientific prodigy, has his own computer business, attends a posh, private prep school - Trinity High School - in New York City and takes graduate courses at N.Y.Y. and Harvard on a special National Science Foundation program. Farkas' father, owner of a well-known New York department store, credits Fricker with curing a back problem some time ago and held a reception for the author at the family's New York flat Tuesday night. Young Farkas injured his neck several years ago in a tumbling accident and had been unable to turn his head since. The young scientist, skeptical and apprehensive, permitted Fricker to "lay hands" on his neck.

"It was the strangest sensation," Andrew Farkas said in a telephone interview yesterday. "He put his two hands behind my head and rubbed for a few seconds and then - his hands weren't moving and neither was my head - and then there was this vibration. And I heard something snap like a twig and I had full mobility."

Twenty-four hours later Farkas was still incredulous - but still "cured."

In his book, Fricker lays out his life story and the genesis of his gift in terms he knows will evoke varying degrees of ridicule, contempt, even anger in all but the most credulous readers. For example:

He's heard voices since he was 5 years old which used to tell him what to do and what not to do and now help him diagnose the ills of his patients.

God uses him as a channel through which the healing powers flow from God to Fricker's hands to the afflicted body. This can be done absentee.

He has a black retainer from the spirit world named Sambo, who finds lost things and who chases earth-bound spirits whose negative impulses can cause suicidal tendencies.

When it is suggested that this can be seen as out and out racism he shrugs helplessly: "I know, but what can I do? That's his name."

When it is suggested that this can be seen as out and out racism he shrugs helplessly: "I know, but what can I do? That's his name."

He has a golden aura. (It shows on the book jacket cover. "That really bugged me," Andrew Farkas admitted.)

He has experienced astral projection in which the spirit leaves the body for a time.

The publicist for Fricker's book, "God Is My Witness," took him for an interview Tuesday to New York's Channel 11 - WPIX. As the crew took him up in the elevator to his hotel room he effected two cures. One on a cameraman and another on a sound man. The sound man, 54-year-old Sam Zarulo, had an elbow so crippled with bursitis, that he was unable to carry his sound equipment.

He said yesterday: "He touched my elbows . . . there was a little vibration . . . the pain went away and I lifted my equipment without any trouble. It (the pain) was gone for a couple of days, but I wouldn't lie to you. Today, with all the rain and all, it's coming back again. Now I'm not naive, but I know the power of suggestion is really something . . . but this guy has . . . well he really is a nice man . . ."

WPIX televised Salzarulo's "cure" as well as the ulcer cure of his colleague, cameraman Robert Sarro. The three-minute segment prompted some 3,000 calls and the station wants him back again.

Sarro, 47, is an Emmy award-winning television cameraman (for the now-classic documentary on Willowbrook) who was assigned to the Fricker story. For several days, he said yesterday, he had been bothered by pains in his stomach, but mostly hadn't said much about it to anyone else. As he was accompanying the TV reporter, the rest of the crew and Fricker in the elevator the healer turned to him and "pointed right to the sore places. He said 'you have a slight ulcer right here and you have a slight hernia right there.' I said 'how do you know?' He said, I can see right through you.'"

The healing was filmed. Fricker told Sarro, "Drink a lot of water tonight and tomorrow you'll be okay."

Yesterday Sarro said, "I feel fine. I don't believe in these things . . . but . . ."

Ted Fricker says that God's healers have specialties just as physicians do. They can heal other afflictions, but neither as rapidly nor as successfully as in their given specialty. Fricker specializes in spinal problems and stomach ulcers.

He is a deeply committed, fundamental sort of Christian, but holds to an "evolving spirit" belief in which varying degrees of spiritude in the "other world" require repeated returns to corporeal life until all universal lessons are learned and the spirit, has reached the highest level. There is, Fricker offers, no death. Only a release from the body. "Darling," he says as he detects some skepticism in his interviewer, "I go there every night . . ."

Fricker's patients need not be Christians nor, in fact, anything at all. "I have," he says, "enough faith for everyone."

On the other hand, he notes, God intends no one to suffer. Ergo, healers to protect man from himself until his celestial number is up (precise time of "passing over" is determined before birth, Fricker says) and the earthly body is abandoned by the spirit.

Man is responsible for most of his own diseases, Fricker says, pointing to "unhealthy habits of daily life, dietary excesses, or the abuse of alchol" along with "the dangerous pollution of the environment bythe misuse of chemicals . . ."

Fricker believes in touching.It recharges the body's batteries, as it were, he explains. When he touches an afflicted person, he is merely a vehicle for God's spirit to recharge the ailing body.

Honey, Fricker recommends. And water. Honey, he tells an interviewer "has all the vitamins and minerals needed by the body . . ." When it is suggested that nutritionists have found honey to be composed of almost entirely "empty" calories - sugar - he shows the tinitest bit of impatience, a tiny flare of anger: "I don't care what the nutritionists say," he says, "either you take my work for it or forget it."

And beware, he warns, of spiritualist healers. "God said, don't mix with spiritualists . . . all they want is publicity . . ."

When Ted Fricker placed his hands on the aching hip of a somewhat arthritic interviewer, he first told her - in almost identical language - what an oethopedist (with the aid of a X-ray) had told her a week earlier. Arthritis - with as explicit a description of the problem as he had shown on the X-ray of the hip. Not, Fricker said, susceptible to instantaneous cure but possibly to amelioration. Then, although his hands did not move, there was a palpable vibration, as strong as, one of those electric foot vibrators they used to have in bus stations - through the back, down the leg. It lasted, maybe, 30 seconds.

The hip still hurts, but the interviewer is climbing stairs with more ease than she has in six months . . . to be continued . . .