Doctors (34 page)

Laura spoke her thoughts aloud. “I should have noticed, I mean, in all those conversations we had. I should have noticed how driven she was.”

“Please, Laura,” Dean Holmes said gently. “You couldn’t possibly have guessed what was on her mind. I mean, it even escaped an experienced practitioner.”

As Barney returned the notebook to him, the dean added half to himself, “And now it is my unhappy task to confront the young lady’s parents.” He sighed. “That’s the hardest part. You can be a doctor for a hundred years and still not be able to face the next of kin.”

Barney watched the dean walk slowly off and thought,
That’s the only time I’ve ever seen him off balance. And if
he
can’t absorb all the shocks of medicine, who can?

Which led him to wonder what Alison’s shrink might be thinking at the moment. Was he—or she—torn by guilt, crushed by a sense of failure?

And then he asked himself: Why are you thinking about other people’s worries? Are you trying to avoid your own emotions?

No, he told this inner voice, I
feel
for Alison. And, curiously perhaps, I don’t just wish I had been more of a friend. I actually wish I had been her psychiatrist.

The news of Alison’s death electrified the school. Still, for self-preservation, they discussed it as if it had been an event on a distant planet.

Dean Holmes had personally offered to represent the school at the funeral, but her parents had refused.

“I wonder why?” Laura asked a group of fellow students at lunch.

“My honest opinion,” said Barney, trying to lower his voice so his hypothesis would carry more authority, “is that they probably viewed her suicide as some kind of failure—flunking out of life, so to speak.”

“And what brings you to such a definitive conclusion, Doctor, when you haven’t even met the parents?” Hank Dwyer asked.

“Because, Hank, neuroses aren’t like viruses, they aren’t identifiable things that float around in the air. They come from a definite place and that place is a four-letter word called
home.
”

“My, my, we are pontifical today,” said Peter Wyman from far down the table. “What about me? What would you deduce about my parents?”

Barney looked, considered, and pronounced, “Well, Peter, I’d say they were extremely unlucky.”

Trying to appear unfazed, Peter turned his back on his detractors and walked off.

“Now,” said Bennett, “that’s a guy I would have tabbed to put a razor to his wrists.”

“Don’t worry,” Barney said with gravity, “you may still be right. After all, statistics say they lose between three and five from every class that way.”

“You know what that means,” Hank Dwyer offered. “That
means statistically one person sitting at this table right now will be six feet under before we graduate.”

They exchanged glances.

“Don’t look at me.” Bennett smiled. “I refuse to die until I’m given written assurance that Heaven isn’t segregated.”

“Laura, you’re going back on your word,” Palmer said angrily, as they were sitting in an alcove on the ground floor of Vanderbilt Hall.

“I am not, dammit—I said I would marry you, but not until I graduate.”

Suddenly Palmer glared at her and said sternly, “Listen to me, Laura, it’s got to be
now.
”

She had never heard him so imperious. “Why the sudden urgency?” she asked.

“Dammit, Laura, this is no time for joking.” He took a deep breath to compose himself, then said, “I’ve got my notice from the Draft Board.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve got sixty days, Laura, and I want us to be married before I go. I need that reassurance.”

“Palmer, you’re putting unfair pressure on me.”

Now he pleaded, “For God’s sake, Laura, you know I love you.”

Yes, she confessed to herself, I know you love me, Palmer. But I still need time to learn if I can love you back—if I can love any man enough to marry him.

Painfully conscious she was being unkind, she went on, “And just look at the time you pick to deliver your ultimatum—I’ve got four finals in the next five days. Couldn’t you have waited another week to hit me with this emotional extortion?”

She could see from his expression that her anger had upset him—and she felt immediately contrite.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” she said gently. “I guess I went too far. You can’t imagine the pressure we’re all under—especially after Alison.”

He nodded. “I’m the one who should apologize. I picked a bloody awful time to bring this up.” Then he added like a humble suitor, cap in hand, “Uh, do you have any plans for Friday evening after your last examination?”

“Well, it’s kind of a tradition that everyone breaks out a keg of beer and gets smashed.” To which she added quickly,
“You know I don’t go for that sort of thing. Why don’t we have a quiet dinner?”

“Yes, that’d be fine. Will you come spend the weekend at my place?”

“Sure. Maybe. I mean … fine.”

He kissed her on the forehead, fearing anything more passionate might destroy the frayed and slender thread that bound them still.

It was after midnight when Laura stood outside Barney’s room. From the sound of heavy breathing within she concluded that Barney was otherwise engaged. Dammit, she thought, I really needed to talk to him.

Now between each labored breath she could distinguish Barney’s voice gasping, “Keep it up—don’t stop—c’mon, you’re almost there.”

Embarrassed, she disappeared down the hall.

In the interim Barney was puffing, “… forty-eight … forty-nine … fifty …”

He then stood up, thinking to himself, two days without sleep and you can still bang out fifty pushups. Not bad, Livingston, you’re still in some kind of shape.

Very few of his classmates could have made that claim.

“Pregnant?”

“Yeah, I can’t believe it, Cheryl is with child!”

Hank had flagged Barney from across the Quadrangle to convey the good news.

“Congratulations, Hank, when is she due?”

“Sometime in August—maybe last week in July. You can’t be sure about your first baby.”

As soon as Hank had turned to walk away, Barney counted on his fingers and smiled.

He broke the news to Laura during lunchtime.

She was delighted.

“And not only that,” Barney continued, “but Hank is going to be a great obstetrician.”

“What makes you say that, Barn?”

“He can tell six months in advance that a baby’s going to be four weeks premature.”

A
nd so they took their examinations. Common knowledge proved correct: only four classmates did badly enough to flunk. Three of them were invited to repeat their freshman year, the fourth to take a breather and begin again in twenty-four months.

Most of the others spent the summer trying to expel the useless memorized minutiae from their brains and preparing their thinking apparatus for more important things. For now there was light—albeit tiny as the ray of an ophthalmoscope—vaguely visible at the end of the tunnel of textbooks, shining on a sick patient waiting to be treated.

Many took jobs as lab assistants, scrutinizing slides of blood, urine, and other substances—for microorganisms, so that their superiors in rank could then exploit their efforts and announce the diagnosis.

Some had more exalted laboratory posts, like Peter Wyman, who was actually engaged in original
research
under the aegis of Professor Pfeifer.

Seth Lazarus was going home to a position of responsibility in the Pathology Department at the University of Chicago Med School, where he had already worked for two summers.

As usual, Bennett Landsmann had conspicuously different plans. His original intention, as he had told Barney in confidence (“I don’t want the rest of the class to think I’m a playboy”), had been to ski in the mountains of Chile. But unfortunately his Achilles tendon still had not repaired sufficiently to risk so hazardous an enterprise. And so, instead, he had arranged to join his parents for a tour of the Aegean islands. And while they examined the ruins, he would scuba-dive to explore the deep.

Hank Dwyer got a job as an orderly in a private sanitorium. It was near their Boston apartment so he could spend as much time as possible with Cheryl, who was now very pregnant.

Laura had both the good fortune and the bad luck to be
asked to do research for Pfeifer. For along with the honor went the fact that the wretched Wyman would be her boss.

At first Barney was puzzled by the eminent biochemist’s second choice.

“No offense, Castellano, but why the hell did Pfeifer pick you?”

She merely shrugged. “I have no idea. I’m just glad I don’t have to go back home.”

But it all came clear the moment the grades were published. Laura Castellano had achieved an astounding A-minus average. It was especially incredible to Barney, who had thought he had done brilliantly in securing a B-plus.

But now the truth was out and he confronted Laura with the evidence.

“Don’t deny it, Castellano, you were one of those two ninety-eights in Biochem. Right?”

“Okay, Inspector, I confess, you’ve got me dead to rights.”

“Then why the hell did you keep it such a secret?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. At first I thought it might be just dumb luck, and afterwards I …”

But she had no need to finish her last thought, for Barney read her mind. She did not want him to feel uncomfortable.

Barney did not have the luxury of working even in the suburbs of the scientific world. When it was announced that the Med School would be raising its tuition fees, he knew he would have to take a job that paid more money.

So he became a hackie, taking the night shift for Mr. Koplowitz down the block, who owned his own cab.

Barney lived at home for sentimental as much as economic reasons. That autumn there would be a
FOR SALE
sign in front and someone strange would move into the room that housed so many thousands of his childhood dreams.

Estelle, having officially retired at the end of June, spent the summer in the backyard, sipping tea with Inez Castellano, chatting with her when Inez felt able to communicate, and simply keeping her company when she drifted off into her private world. Then Estelle would gaze around the garden and dream, remembering the days when the three kids had shared their games.

She had breakfast with her sons—Barney just home, Warren about to go off. He was already preparing for his legal career by working as a gofer in a law firm.

Most nights the boys were out—Barney at the wheel and
Warren with yet another romantic rendezvous. And with increasing frequency Inez would come over, not merely for company, but for refuge.

By now Luis had progressed from quiet inebriation to loud and rowdy drunkenness. By 9
P.M.
he was a raging lion. And lately a lion in triumph. For his idol, Fidel Castro, had just succeeded in toppling Batista to free the Cuban people. Did this call for a Cuba Libre? Or two? Or ten?

Moreover, these sentiments did not endear him to the more patriotic Brooklynites, for Castro had expropriated the U.S. sugar mills. “
¡Viva el pueblo cubano!
” was not exactly on everyone’s lips.

The neighbors were beginning to mutter complaints. One or two even approached Estelle to intercede on the community’s behalf and get Luis to sober up. Or, at least, shut up.

The once dedicated doctor was getting worse each day. He had already been fined for drunken driving. Another incident would probably deprive him of his license to drive. And perhaps even to practice.

“Can’t you do anything to help him?” Estelle asked her friend.

Inez nodded. “I have prayed,” she mumbled. “I have asked Our Lady to deliver him from all his suffering.”

“Oh,” said Estelle, “isn’t there anyone—uh—closer who might perhaps speak to him?”

“Father Francisco Xavier has also tried to intercede.”

“You mean you actually got Luis to walk into a church?”

“No,” Inez replied, “I invited Father to the house last Sunday afternoon.”

“And what happened?”

“
¡Ay! No me pregunta.
Luis was like a madman, yelling at the Father, curses on the Church and all the Spanish bishops who banded around Franco. Father did not even stay for tea.”

I’m not surprised, Estelle thought to herself.

Inez suddenly lapsed into prayer. And Estelle was alone to wonder, Why didn’t Laura help? How could she ignore her family when they needed her?

She broached it with Barney over breakfast the next morning.

“I think Laura’s shirking her responsibility,” Estelle declared.

“She’s tried, Ma. I assure you she’s really tried. But Luis said something unforgivable to her the last time they spoke.”

“Like what?” Warren asked.

“Well,” said Barney slowly, “among other things, he shouted, ‘Don’t lecture me as if you were my
son
!”

There was a sudden silence at the breakfast table, then Estelle said, “Poor little girl.”

“That’s really a bum rap,” Warren agreed. “Both her parents alive, yet she’s all alone. I’ll bet you anything she’s gonna marry Palmer whatsisname out of desperation.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Barney cautioned. “Palmer’s going in the Army, and they’ve both called a kind of time-out in their relationship.”

Estelle was dismayed. “I wonder what will become of her?”

So do I, Barney wondered inwardly.

At 6
A.M.
on a steamy August morning, Laura accompanied Palmer to the induction center at the Boston Army Base.

“I’ll write to you, Laura. Please drop me a postcard now and then to say I’ve gotten through—”

“Come on, you know I’ll do better than that. But are you sure you want to go through with your plans for OCS? Why spend an even longer stretch in uniform?”

“Laura, if I’m going to lose you, the extra time won’t make any difference. And at least I’ll be able to drown my sorrows in the Officers’ Club.”

“You won’t lose me, Palmer. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well, I promise I’ll be faithful to you.”

“Please don’t be silly. I don’t expect you to become a monk. I mean, it wouldn’t be natural.”