Plague (3 page)

Esther made big
blue eyes at him. ‘Isn’t that what clinical assistants are for?’

He patted her
shoulder. ‘I sometimes wonder’, he said. ‘If you feel like making me some very
strong black coffee, you may even find out’.

‘Sure thing’.
said
Esther, and
stood up. ‘Just remember, though, that a girl can’t wait for ever. Not even for
Prince Valiant, M.D’.

Dr. Petrie went
through to his clinic. It was built on the east side of the house – a large
split-level room with one wide glass wall that overlooked a stone-flagged patio
and Dr. Petrie’s glittering blue swimming pool. The room was richly carpeted in
cool deep green, and there were calm, mathematical modern paintings on every
wall.

By the fine gauzy drapes of the window stood a pale marble statue
of a running horse.

Dr. Petrie sat
in his big revolving armchair and picked at the mail on his desk.

Usually, he
went through it fast and systematically, but today his mind was thrown off. He
sipped his orange juice and tried not to think about David Kelly’s flour-white face,
and the anguished shivers of his grieving father.

There wasn’t
much mail, anyway. A couple of drug samples, a medical journal, and a letter
from his attorney telling him that Margaret, his ex-wife, was declining to
return his favorite landscape painting from the one-time marital home. He
hadn’t expected to get it back, anyway. Margaret considered that the
home, and all of its contents, were
fair pickings.

Esther came
teetering in with his coffee. The way her breasts bounced and swayed under her
white jacket, she couldn’t be wearing a bra. Dr. Petrie wondered what she’d
look like nude; but then decided that the real thing would probably spoil his
fantasy.

She set the
coffee down on his desk, and stared at him carefully. ‘You don’t seem yourself
this morning.’

‘Who do I seem
like? Richard Chamberlain?’

‘No, I don’t
mean that. I mean you don’t look well.’

Dr. Petrie
stirred Sweet ‘n’ Low into his coffee, and tapped the spoon carefully on the
side of the cup.

‘I’m worried.’
he said. ‘That’s all.’

Esther looked
at him seriously. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

He raised his
eyes. He gave a half smile, and then shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. It was
what happened this morning. I was called out to help a young kid downtown. His
father came all the way up here because I was recommended. He wanted the best,
he said. But it was too late. The kid died on the way to hospital. He was only
nine.’

‘That’s awful.’

Dr. Petrie
rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. ‘I know. It’s awful. And that’s all that I
can say about it or do about it. I don’t often feel inadequate, Esther, but I
do right now.’

She gently laid
her hand on him. ‘If it helps any,’ she said, ‘you ought to think about the
people you’ve saved.’ Just then, the phone bleeped. Esther picked it up, and
said, ‘Dr. Petrie’s clinic – can I help you?’ She listened, and nodded, and
then handed the phone over. ‘It’s for you,’ she said. ‘It’s Miss Murry.’

Dr. Petrie took
the receiver. ‘You don’t have to look so disapproving,’ he told Esther.

‘You and me,
we’re like the dynamic duo – Batman and Robin. Inseparable.’

Esther
collected his empty orange-juice glass and tidied up his mail. ‘How can we be
inseparable, if we’ve never been together?’ she asked provocatively teasing
him, and teetered back to her desk.

Adelaide Murry
sounded out of breath. Dr. Petrie said, ‘Hi. You sound breathless.’

‘I
am
.’ said the sweet little voice on the other end of the
phone. ‘I’ve just played three sets with the new pro.’

‘Is he good?’

‘He’s not
exactly Bjorn Borg, but he’s better than his late unlamented predecessor. A bit
heavy with the forearm smashes. Proving his virility, I shouldn’t wonder.’

Dr. Petrie
laughed. ‘I used to like his late unlamented predecessor. He was the only
tennis club pro I could ever beat.’

‘Darling,’ said
Adelaide, ‘the club dog could beat his late unlamented predecessor.’

‘Well,’
retorted Dr. Petrie, ‘what’s wrong with that? Listen – do you want me to pick
you up at the club tonight?’

‘Are you coming
this way?’

‘I have to pick
up Priscilla.’

‘Tonight?
I thought it was tomorrow!
Oh,
darling – what about our elegant intelligent dinner-for-two on the Starlight
Roof?’

Dr. Petrie took
a deep breath. He knew that Adelaide wasn’t crazy about Priscilla – maybe
because Adelaide, at nineteen, was still just a little girl herself.

‘We can eat at
home,’ said Dr. Petrie. ‘That Polynesian place delivers.
And
champagne, too.
How about that?’

Adelaide was
sulking. ‘It’s hardly romantic. I feel like doing something romantic.

Eating at home
is so ghoulish. You have to wash your own dishes.’

Dr. Petrie ran
his hands through his hair. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I’ll buy two candles, a single
red rose, and a new Leonard Bernstein record. Is that romantic enough for you?’

Adelaide gave a
deep mock sigh. ‘I should have dated my Uncle Charlie. At least he knows how to
twist. All right, darling. I surrender, as usual. What time will you get here?’

‘Six-thirty.
And listen – I love you.’

‘I love you
too. I just hope this phone isn’t tapped. They’d report you to the medical
council for suggestive conduct.’

Dr. Petrie
shook his head in exasperation, and laid the phone down.

Esther was
helping Mrs. Fairfax into the clinic. Mrs. Fairfax was the sole survivor of the
Fairfax food family, who had made their millions out of early freeze-drying
techniques. She was a slender old lady with a sharp, penetrating face and a
violet rinse. She walked on two sticks, but she held herself upright, and Dr.
Petrie knew from uncomfortable experience that she had a sharp tongue.

‘Good morning,
Mrs. Fairfax,’ he said smoothly. ‘Are you feeling well?’

Mrs. Fairfax
sat herself laboriously down in one of Dr. Petrie’s two white Italian
armchairs. She propped her sticks against the glass-topped coffee table, and
spread her elegant blue-flowered dress around her.

‘If I were well,
Dr. Petrie,’ she said icily, ‘I should not be here.’

Dr. Petrie left
his desk and went to sit beside her in another armchair. He always preferred
the informal touch. It made patients feel easier; it even made them feel
healthier.

‘Is your hip
bothering you again?’ he asked sympathetically.

Mrs. Fairfax
gave a histrionic sigh. ‘My dear doctor, there is absolutely nothing wrong with
my hip. But there is a great deal wrong with my beach.’

Dr. Petrie
frowned. He could see himself frowning in the large smokey mirror opposite his
chair. He wondered if, despite his looks, he was beginning to get old.

‘Your beach?
he
enquired politely.
He was used to the eccentricities of wealthy old widows.

‘It’s
absolutely disgusting,’ she said coldly. She brushed back her violet hair with
a tanned, elegant claw. Today, her fingers were encrusted with sapphires, but Dr.
Petrie knew that she had as many rings for every color of dress she ever wore.

‘What’s wrong
with it?’

‘What’s wrong with
it? I don’t know how you can ask! Haven’t you read the newspapers?’

Dr. Petrie
shook his head. ‘I haven’t had much time recently for the Miami Herald.’

‘Well you
should make time,’ said Mrs. Fairfax imperiously. ‘It’s been happening all
along the South Beach. And now it’s turned up on mine.’

Dr. Petrie
tried to smile. ‘I hate to appear ignorant,’ he said. ‘But what has turned up
on yours?’

Mrs. Fairfax
lifted her sharp, haughty profile in obvious distaste. In a quiet, cold voice,
she said, ‘Faeces.’ Dr. Petrie leaned forward, ‘I beg your pardon?’ Mrs.
Fairfax turned his way with a look of frozen disdain. ‘You’re a doctor. You
know what that means. I went down to my beach yesterday morning for a swim and
I found it was soiled with faeces.’ Dr. Petrie rubbed his chin. ‘Was it –
much?’

‘The whole
shoreline,’ said Mrs. Fairfax.
‘And the beaches next to mine,
on both sides.
I can’t tell you – the smell is abominable.’

‘Have you
complained to the health people?’

‘Of course I
have. I spent most of yesterday on the telephone. I got through to some very
junior official who told me that they were doing everything they could, and
that they were going to try and clear the beaches with detergent. But it’s
really not good enough. It’s there now, it smells revolting, and I want you to
do something about it.’

Dr. Petrie
stood up and went to the window. He felt sticky and tired, and the glittering
pool outside looked very inviting.

‘Mrs. Fairfax,’
he said, ‘I don’t think there’s very much I can do, apart from call City Hall,
like you did. It’s probably treated sewage brought in by the sea. I know it
doesn’t look or smell too good, but it’s pretty harmless.’

Mrs. Fairfax
snorted. ‘You’re absolutely right it doesn’t look too good. I have a beach
party planned for tomorrow evening. What am I going to say to my guests – my
doctor says it’s harmless? I pay very high taxes to live on the ocean, Dr.
Petrie, and I don’t expect to have to swim in excrement.’

Dr. Petrie
turned around and smiled. ‘All right, Mrs. Fairfax. I promise that I’ll call
the health department this morning for you. I’m sure that it’s one of those
rare accidents, and if they say they’re going to clear the beach with
detergent, they probably will.

They’re pretty
hot on things like that in Miami.’

Mrs. Fairfax
shook her head. ‘First it was oil and now it’s sewage,’ she said tetchily. ‘I
don’t know whether I’m renting a beach or a city dump.’

Dr. Petrie
helped her out of her armchair and gave her back her sticks. ‘I promise I’ll
call this morning,’ he repeated. ‘If you hold on one moment, I’ll get Esther to
help you out.’

After Mrs.
Fairfaix, he saw three more patients.
Mrs. Vicincki, with her
sprained ankle; old Mr. Dunlop, with his kidney complaint; and the younger of
the two elderly Miss Grays, who was suffering from sunburn.
As usual, he
tried to be calm, comforting, and reassuringly efficient.

Just before one
o’clock, he pressed the intercom for Esther. ‘Yes, doctor?’

‘Esther,’ he
said. ‘What are you doing for lunch?’

‘Nothing special.
I was thinking of a diet cola and a cream
cheese on rye.’

Dr. Petrie
coughed. ‘That sounds revolting. How about coming down to Mason’s Bar with me
and sinking a steak-and-lobster grill?’

‘But doctor, my
figure...’

‘Your figure,
Esther, is one of the natural wonders of the world. Now, do you want to come,
or don’t you?’

There was a
bleep. Esther said, ‘Hold on a moment, doctor. It’s the outside phone.’

He waited for a
few moments. Then Esther came back to him and said, ‘It’s Dr. Selmer, from the
hospital.’

‘Okay. First
tell me whether you’re coming to lunch,
then
put him
on.’

‘Dr. Selmer
says it’s urgent.’

‘Lunch is
urgent. Are you coming?’ Esther sighed.
‘All right.
If you insist on twisting my arm like that.’

Dr. Petrie picked
up the outside phone and leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on the
edge of his desk. He picked at a stray thread on his cotton slacks.

‘Anton?’

‘Oh, hi,
Leonard,’ said Dr. Selmer. ‘I was just calling you about that kid you brought
in this morning.’

‘Did you find
out what it was?’

‘Well, we’re
not too sure yet. The blood and sputum tests haven’t been completed, although
there’s obviously some kind of bacillus infection there. I had his parents in
for a check-up this morning, and they seem okay, but I’ve asked their
permission for a post-mortem.’

Dr. Petrie
snapped the thread from his slacks. ‘Have you any ideas what you’re looking
for?’ he asked.

Dr. Selmer
sounded uncertain. ‘It could be tularemia. Did you notice any pet rabbits
around the kid’s place?’

‘I don’t think
so. You really think it’s that?’

‘Dr. Bushart
thinks so. He had a couple of cases out in California.’

‘Sure, but
that’s California,’ Dr. Petrie said. ‘California has every weird bug and
bacillus going. This is healthy, swamp-infested Florida.’

‘We’re checking
up anyway.’ said Dr. Selmer. ‘Meanwhile, I shouldn’t worry too much. If it was
tularemia, the chances that you’ve picked it up are pretty remote. Just to be
safe, though, I should give
yourself
a couple of shots
of streptomycin.’

‘Are you
playing golf this weekend?’ asked Dr. Petrie. ‘I’m still short of a partner.’

‘Why don’t you
teach that assistant of yours – what’s her name – Esther. I’d sure like to see
her swing!’

‘Anton,’ said
Dr. Petrie, ‘you have a very impure mind.’

There was a
laugh from the other end of the phone. ‘It’s only because I never get to do
anything impure with my body.’

Esther came
into the room, signaling elaborately that she was ready for lunch.

Dr. Petrie
said, ‘Okay, Anton – I have to leave now. But let me know what you find out
about the kid, will you?
As soon as you know.’

‘Sure thing,’
said Dr. Selmer. ‘And don’t forget the shots. All I want right now is a golf
partner down with rabbit disease.’

Dr. Petrie
laughed. ‘Who do you think I am?
Bugs Bunny?’

It was a cool,
cloudless evening. A fresh wind was blowing in from the Atlantic Ocean, and
ruffling the dark blue surface of Biscayne Bay. As they drove across the North
Bay Causeway over Treasure Island, a large red motor-launch furrowed the water,
and seagulls twisted and spun in its wake.