A Prologue To Love (86 page)

She went back to her deathly house. She would find a way for Ames, her son, her crippled son. He was calling for her when she came into the living room, and she went upstairs to her study.

“What is it, Mother?” he asked lightly. “There seems to be some emergency, according to Griffith.”

“You,” said Caroline, and told him.

“You will do this for me?” he asked.

“I will do anything for you. My son,” said Caroline.

There was no answer. Then Caroline heard his breath, fast and shallow.

“For me?” he said.

“For you.”

Another silence. “May I ask,” said Ames, “where all this maternal solicitude has come from so suddenly?”

“I deserve that,” said Caroline. She spoke in a louder voice. “But you also deserve a lot that has happened to you. You aren’t a victim, Ames. You have had plenty of opportunities to be different from what you are. I am not going to take the sole responsibility. No more, now, than I blame my father for everything that I am. I had had opportunities too.”

Still another silence, longer than the others. Ames finally said, “I won’t be blind. I will kill myself first.”

“Let us wait,” said Caroline. “A man can always die. It is the living that requires stamina. Are you entirely without courage?”

“No,” said Ames. “I think not. And then I think so. But I’ll wait.”

“You must,” said Caroline, making her voice hard and brusque. “We all have to do that. Only cowards don’t wait.”

“I’ll wait,” said Ames.

On October 15, Dr. Moritz Manz crossed the border at Buffalo and went at once to Boston, to Sisters of Charity Hospital, where Ames Sheldon was waiting for him, and Caroline also.

The new tests were all ready for him, and the X rays and the blood tests. He was a little fat man with a tiny goatee on his round and rosy face. He had shining blue eyes behind his glasses and an air of brisk competence. His small nose was as pink as a rose, and his big skull was completely bald. He spent several hours examining his patient, who occupied a large suite of luxurious rooms. He had a lordly air and was autocratic to all the nurses and Sisters, who seemed larger than himself. These big American women! But then, all woman always seemed larger than his small self. He was very fastidious. He called for many things and many instruments. He tested, then tested again. His patient, he observed, this son of a famous mother, appeared to find him a little ludicrous, and this was strange, considering the misery in his gray eyes. The smiling and the faint laughter were all about the lips only. Dr. Manz made large gestures to compensate for his size, and he had a larger voice which filled all the corridors. The doctor felt defensive for several hours, until he discovered that the Sisters and the staff and the nurses had only kindness and respect for him, and no disgust or aversion for him as a ‘murderous’ German.

He lost considerable of his pomposity. Finally, as this was a very warm October day, he took off his coat, which hung to his knees, and he was a physician face to face with a desperate emergency. He had found that many of the Sisters had been born in Germany, and he conversed with them. He had been told that Americans were completely barbarous, but he found the medical staff very competent and serious. They did not speak of the war, not even once. Dr. Manz expanded. He was a Jew and not always liked, even if always reverenced, and he basked in this atmosphere of goodness and acceptance, this eagerness to help, this anxiety over a patient. It was so — personal. One did not usually encounter this, and it warmed him.

He said to the Reverend Mother, who was also a surgeon and had been born in Germany, “These X rays, Mother. I do not find them superior. I should like more.”

“Of a certainty,
Herr Doktor
. At once. Will you preside?” She added, “This is a great honor to us, for you to be here,
Herr Doktor
.”

He smiled, and he looked like a gentle gnome. “I do not know how it was done, but it was done. I was very astonished. Ah, one does not know what goes on in the world, does one?”

“Very occasionally,” said the Reverend Mother. “But only occasionally.”

“One must trust in God,” said Dr. Manz.

Ames, listening, and thinking this was all like a formal minuet, said in precise German, “I am not merely a specimen,
Herr Doktor
. I am concerned in this also.”

The Reverend Mother and Dr. Manz looked at him with kind severity. “Have we forgotten?” asked Dr. Manz. “Are we not here for you, Herr Sheldon? What else? We were speaking of God. At the last, we must bow before the Great Physician and await His verdict.”

“Of a certainty,” said the Reverend Mother.

“Amen,” said Ames. “I only hope He has not turned His thumb down.”

They ignored this remark.

“I came,” said Dr. Manz, “incognito. I have never before been in America, Reverend Mother, and I have colleagues here with whom I have corresponded. I wished to meet them. It is now impossible. Those were the conditions. I do not understand many things, but I was given an order to come. I am a medical officer; I hold the rank of colonel. Hundreds of poor young men with torn heads need me; it is to break the heart to see them when they are brought to me for operation. They look at me — their eyes. I do not say, ‘Are you a Frenchman or an Englishman or a German?’ I, who am a bachelor, say to them, ‘Do not fear, my son. God is close at hand, and He will help me, for you are His child also’. This war! One does not understand it. One is never told.”

He sighed, and as he was a sentimental man, he wiped his eyes with a flourish, but there was a sternness about his mouth.

“So we shall operate as soon as I have seen the new X rays which we shall take.” He smiled at Ames, who was lying tautly in his narrow bed. “You must not be afraid, young Herr Sheldon. You must have faith.”

Ames began to smile; his face was very pale. Then he said, “If anyone can help me, it is you,
Herr Doktor
.” He seemed surprised at his own words. He continued, “I ask only one thing: if it is malignant and I must go blind, do not let me become conscious again. Let me die.”

The Reverend Mother caught her breath. Dr. Manz said, “I am a doctor, not an executioner.” He pointed to the crucifix on the wall. “Contemplate that. He was a man not much older than you. He could have willed not to hang there, but He chose it, it is said. For you. Contemplate it.”

The new X rays were taken, and only the awe of the staff kept them from expressing human exasperation, for Dr. Manz was meticulous and excessively thorough. “This angle, ah. And that. Just a little, two millimeters; careful. And now it must be this. Lift. Drop.” He did not wait for the plates to dry; he held them, dripping, up to a strong light and studied them, and the staff exchanged glances. Then he said briskly, “Prepare the patient for operation. Immediately. It is a tumor.”

It was as if a death sentence had been given. A deep silence stood over the staff while Ames was being wheeled from the room. Then one of the doctors raised his voice and started to speak slowly and carefully. “I speak the English also,” said Dr. Manz with a noble gesture. “I am no illiterate. You were saying? Ah. Is there a possibility the patient will survive?” He touched the left side of his head, near his ear. “It is there, too close to the centers of speech. Another week, another month — No, I do not know if it is benign or malignant, but I have studied the blood. The potassium is not above normal, so there is a good possibility that it is benign, that ugly tumor. I have done much research on this. The optic nerves are in great difficulty, but the patient is young. Of a certainty, if it is benign and there has not been too much injury to the delicate tissues, the patient will survive and he will not be blind.”

“The whole staff of surgeons and neurologists will be present,
Herr Doktor
,” said the Reverend Mother. “Do not be alarmed; we will be discreet, though they all know you are here.”

“How was it possible to see the tumor, Doctor?” asked a surgeon.

“It is a matter of instinct, of recognizing the faintest of shadows. I cannot explain it,” said Dr. Manz with large simplicity. “But I am not wrong often. I am in the process of preparing a dye to be injected in the carotid artery and have done interesting experimentation on animals. If it had not been for this war, when one must do gross work! There is a matter, too, of a certain gas with which I am experimenting. The dye and the gas will outline a tumor so it can be seen clearly on the plates. Until I have them, I must move by instinct. I must consider objective symptoms, few though they are, from the history, from the eye examinations.”

He went into the large and sunlit living room of the suite where Caroline was waiting for him. He had met her briefly on his arrival. He took her hands in his own little fat ones and pressed them warmly, bending over her. He thought her magnificent; there were older ladies at Court like this, stern and still and plain. One could always recognize aristocracy. He bent over her and said, “Dear lady, this is an occasion of courage for you. I have decided to operate as soon as your son is prepared.”

“He has the tumor?” Caroline spoke quietly in her impeccable German.

“Unfortunately, yes. A little longer and he should have been blind, or he should have had a stroke from the squeezing of the blood vessels. I can promise you I shall do my best. More, I cannot promise.”

“Is it malignant, do you think?”

He admired her great calm, but he saw how alive and brilliant her eyes were, so purely hazel streaked with gold. What young eyes, what a soul!

“Ah, dear lady, that I do not know until I have opened the skull and see with my two eyes.”

“But, so young, if it is cancer.” Caroline bent her head a little.

“Frau Sheldon, it is not something which others care to face. Cancer is no respecter of persons or age. Many children have that evil thing, but the people do not want to know it. At this time, one person in thirty-five will have it and possibly die of it. Twenty years ago it was one in fifty or less. It is increasing. One day, I am afraid, the ratio will increase. We conquer one destroyer to see the rise of another, perhaps more deadly. Why this is so is inscrutable. Nature, too, is no respecter of persons. We can only struggle with her for our survival, which at the end is not in her hands but in God’s. I have always considered that we live in a vortex of mysteries.”

“If it is cancer?”

“Then he will not only be blinded but will be paralyzed, and he will die. Mercifully, it does not take long. On the other hand, if it is benign he will be perfect again after removal. He is being prepared; before he subsides under drugs, you will wish to see him.”

Caroline stood up, and the doctor ceremoniously offered her his arm. But she shook her head. “I must see him alone.”

Nurses were already shaving Ames’ pale fine hair when his mother entered his room. He hardly seemed aware of them; he was looking straight before him, and his white face had a dwindled appearance, tight and small and hard. Caroline said, “I should like to see my son alone for a few moments, if you please.” Ames did not look up or turn to her even when the nurses had left the room.

Caroline stood beside his bed. She said, “All that can be done shall be done, Ames. The rest — ”

“I know,” he said in a cramped and vicious tone, “is in the hands of God.”

Very slowly he turned his suffering head on his long thin neck and looked at her, and he smiled his cold and mocking smile. “Really, Mama! Is this really you?”

“Yes. It is I.”

“Astonishing,” he said. “I’d not have believed it.”

“Believe it,” said his mother.

“But why this simple piety? If I remember correctly, you used to sneer at my father’s unsophistication, as you called it. You would not permit him to take us to church.”

“I was a fool, and I was stupid,” said Caroline. “I don’t expect to be forgiven for it, not by God, and not by you. I can only confess it.”

Ames narrowed his lilting eyes at her, and then he stopped smiling.

“Mama, you’ve changed. I don’t know what it is, but you’re not the same. Astonishing. Have you been ‘born again’, as old Beth used to call it?”

“I don’t know,” said Caroline heavily. “Laugh at me if it amuses you. I deserve it.”

Ames pursed his lips judiciously and looked solemn, and Caroline sighed. What had she hoped for: that she might reach him? He was laughing inwardly at her, and she knew it. He rubbed his tortured left temple reflectively.

“Is this sermon supposed to give me ‘courage’?” He leaned back on his pillows. His senses began to float as the drugs acted upon him.

“I was a fool to think it might. But I do want you to know this: The blindness that threatened you opened my own eyes. I was blind; I am beginning to see again.”

“Because of — this?”

“Yes. Because of many other things too.”

“It couldn’t just be approaching old age, could it?”

“I think not,” said Caroline wearily. Ames yawned. The drugs were bemusing him, but his inner mirth still chuckled silently. Caroline said, “I’d like to kiss you, Ames.”

“Kiss me?” He began to laugh a little. “Why?”

“Because,” said Caroline, “I love you. I didn’t love you before, but I do now.”

The slate-gray eyes fixed themselves in real surprise on her. “Could it be detestable pity?”

“No. I don’t know. I think it is just — love.”

“An interesting emotion, I’ve heard. Well, if you’d like, kiss me then.”

Caroline bent stiffly. Her dry lips touched his forehead; it was cold with sweat, and she knew how afraid he was, and all at once she was stabbed with pain. She took his face in her hands and she kissed his cheek. “It will be all right!” she cried, and her eyes were wet. “Believe it. It will be all right! I’m here, Ames.”

He started to say something, and then he stared at her. She could not understand that narrowed and thoughtful look. He said, really gently, “I hope so. I think you hope so too.”

“I’d give you my life if I could,” said his mother, and left the room. The waiting nurses returned. She looked at them helplessly. When she went back to the sitting room Dr. Manz was not there. And now she must wait. She had such a fortune, and she could do nothing but wait in this pleasant room where all the furniture had taken on the distorted shapes and shadows of anguish. She heard them wheel Ames out; she heard his voice, humorous and light. A nurse answered with respectful laughter.

Caroline had called John that morning. He had pretended great concern and solicitude. She knew he felt neither. He said he would come up that night or the next day. But Ames might be dead by then, she had thought. She could only wait in loneliness and torment, as she had waited all her life. All that waiting, in barrenness and emptiness, and without a point. At least she had a reason now. How did one pray? How did one ask God for mercy, for intimate compassion? What were the words, the always difficult words? She could only say in herself: Please let it be well. Please. I don’t even know how to ask You to be kind to my son, when I was never kind to him and never told him anything at all of importance.

There was no one in all the world who would come to her, who would comfort her. She was absolutely alone. There was none she could call who would care about this, not one. She had no friends anywhere in the world. Nor, she thought, had Ames. Word about the children of Caroline Ames, or anything in connection with Caroline Ames, automatically flew about the world. But no one had called; no one had cared about Ames Sheldon or his mother.

Caroline sat upright, thinking. But what of all Ames’ ‘friends’ in Boston, the members of his club, the First Families who knew him, and their sons and daughters? He was part of the ‘gay’ set, as they called themselves, and went ‘everywhere’. Yet none had called, none had cared. I can understand about myself, thought Caroline, for I have never pretended to be other than what I was; I was always indifferent to the thoughts or feelings or lives of others. Yet my son Ames, so popular everywhere — and now I see what an enormous effort he must have made! — is no more cherished than I. Who, then, has friends? Is that part of our tragedy, knowing that in reality no one really cares about us and that the hubbub of friendship is only a pathetic make-believe? A fantasy out of our eternal loneliness, a busy hurrah! In the eternal emptiness? There were magnificent stories told of undying friendships. Were this a common phenomenon, there would be no such tales, for legends are not made of the commonplace but only of the rare and unique, the very extraordinary.

I have come to this place, thought Caroline, where I am alone and my son is alone. No doubt all men come to this place eventually. There was no one and nothing to wait for. That, Caroline said to herself, is everyone’s final epitaph, no matter the number of his ‘friends’. This is the end of all the watching and the hoping and the working and the fearing and the crying in the darkness: there is nothing to wait for. We can share nothing with anyone else, for no one will wait with us.