The Americans (59 page)

Mrs. Grimaldi. Her husband's a patient of yours. She knew English." Drew laughed. "Signora Grimaldi's got a spine like a ramrod and a will as strong as my dear sister's. Now that she's in America, she's determined to become an American. But a lot of these people are just too timid or too ground down by poverty. It's the same in every slum. A few strong ones fight their way out. There are thousands more who can't-but I'm chattering too much. Trying to tell you everything in ten minutes. My partner'll be wondering what happened to me." "I know his name's Clem. But your letters never said whether that's his first name or his last." "It's his nickname. His real name's Vlandingham." Will blinked. "Vlandingham?" "That's right. Clement Chase Vlandingham. Do you know him?" Will's thoughts turned back to the interview at Sherry's Restaurant. The fat society doctor had mentioned an older brother whose altruism-and whose slum practice-he regarded with contempt. Surely this must be the same man- "No, I don't know him. But I'm anxious to meet him." Drew led him toward a closed door on the far side of the reception room. "Then come on." * *v I CHAPTER IV Warning THE WHITEWASHED SURGERY was three times the size of the waiting room. On four homemade shelves on the wall to Will's left stood twelve kerosene lamps. To provide light for surgical procedures, he supposed. At the moment only two of the lamps were lit. The current patient was a middle-aged man, stooped and sallow. He stood beside an old examination table, fastening the buttons of his trousers. He turned red and whirled away as Jo entered the room a step behind the two young men. On a stool beside the examination table sat Drew's partner, a stringy fellow with a stern air. He was in his mid- sixties at the very least. His cold gray eyes briefly examined Will before returning to the embarrassed patient: "Signor Abruzzo, you come back and see me Tuesday, all right?" Another nervous glance at Jo. Then the old man nodded. "Martedi. Si, dottore." "Meantime-was The white-haired doctor picked up a small cardboard box which he handed to Signor Abruzzo. "comuse one of these whenever you have bad pain. I've explained what you're supposed to do with them. You understand, don't you?" "I understand, dottore" Eyeing the box apprehensively, the old man shuffled out. When the door clicked, the white-haired man said to Drew, "He'll throw them out. I don't know how I'm going caret to persuade him to go up to Bellevue for surgery. His wife practically had to put a knife to his throat just to get him here. Actually, I think it's too late for an operation to do much good." Drew grimaced. "Is it what you thought? Rectal cancer?" The white-haired man nodded: "Goddamn it." Jo looked close to tears as she walked toward the wall on Will's right. There, curtains of cheap red gingham hung between a pair of ancient equipment cabinets. The curtains decorated what at first appeared to be a regular window opening onto an airshaft. A second look showed the window to be merely a ragged hole knocked through plaster, lath and brick. Between the curtains a pot of crimson geraniums was visible. The pot rested on a sill improvised from a piece of rough lumber. Drew's partner rubbed his eyes a moment, then stood up. He looked at Will again. His apology for his profanity was a terse, "Sorry." He extended his hand, firm and brown. "Clem Vlandingham." His voice was that of a born New Englander. "Will Kent, sir." Vlandingham's next remark caught him off guard: "I know something about your background, but I don't know why you're here." It was Drew who answered: "I invited him, Dr. Clem. Will graduates from Harvard next year. I thought he might be interested in seeing the need for doctors in this part of New York. Maybe he'll be interested in joining our practice." Will was irritated with his friend for presenting him under false colors. "Drew-was he began, but Vlandingham cut in: "Well, we certainly have a lot to offer, Kent. We treat two entirely different and distinct populations here. The first is the permanent one. People who live in these firetraps, renting rooms for seven to ten dollars a month- twice what it costs for decent quarters in a good neighborhood. Then there's our transient population. That consists chiefly of tramps who live in the streets and alleys. They survive by stealing. Neither group can afford to pay us a red cent, though a few people try. And they suffer all the maladies ever conceived by God and perpetuated by man. On top of that, we work amid the constant presence of typhoid and smallpox, and the constant fear of cholera. We make house calls in rooms where a thermometer registers a hundred and fifteen degrees this time of year." He gestured to the furnishings. "Most of our equipment was donated and, as you can see, it's old. We save what little we earn in fees and use it for supplies. Lately, income's been lean. We have to buy drugs soon. That will take all the money that's left. In every respect, we offer a splendid opportunity-was Once more the gray eyes raked him. Vlandingham's contempt angered Will, as did his next remark: "I'd say you're the type who wouldn't be interested. Maybe I should send you to my younger brother who practices uptown." In a level voice, Will said, "That's where I intend to practice." "Then what the devil are you doing in the Bend?" "Honoring a promise I made to Drew." "What kind of promise? A promise to come down here and sneer at our primitive methods?" With a sympathetic glance at Will, Jo tried to intervene: "Dr. Clem, people are still waiting-was "Let them wait," Will said. "Why are you so angry with me, Doctor? I wasn't aware that I'd sneered at anyone or anything. I certainly don't know what the hell I've done to offend you. But I'll be damned if I. have to stand here and be insulted." Will's words produced a look of grudging respect from Vlandingham. He put his palms on the cracked leather top of the examination table and leaned forward, obviously tired. "You've done nothing, Kent. I apologize for my bad 3 manners. I'm taking my anger out on you because I'm powerless to save the life of that poor old man who was just here-and yet I have to keep trying. We'll be glad to have you spend a week with us. We'll happily accept what- 's I ever help you can offer. That was all the time he gave to making amends. He turned to Jo: "Let's have the next one. It's Saturday, after all, and it might be nice to get out of here by six or seven o'clock." "I'll walk Will over to his room, then come right back," Drew said. Vlandingham's answer was no more than a mutter. Passing Will on her way to the reception room, Jo accidentally brushed against him. The curve of her breast touched his forearm, reminding him again of how much she'd grown and changed. But there was no excitement in the brief contact. He was still too upset with his friend.

"Deacon Drew!" he finally exploded when they were by themselves. "Reforming the world and everyone in it! What gave you the right even to suggest I might want to practice down here?" They were moving east on Bayard Street, a block past the Bowery. Signs in Hebrew hung on the telegraph poles, and Hebrew characters were painted in gilt on the windows of shops closed for the Jewish Sabbath. Hands in the pockets of his white duck trousers, Drew kept his eyes on the ground as he replied, "I don't think the idea's so ridiculous. I don't believe you really want to spend the rest of your life prescribing headache powders up and down Fifth Avenue." "You seem to know a hell of a lot about me!" His friend gave him a penetrating stare. "More than you know about yourself, maybe. Look-was He faced Will on a corner. Two bearded men in long black twill coats and broad-brimmed hats passed them, speaking an unfamiliar language. "comI realize I haven't much chance of weaning you away from the future you've planned so meticulously. But Clem Vlandingham's sixty-four. Thinking of retiring. You can't blame me if I'd like to have my best friend come in as my partner. You can't blame me if I try to persuade you." Less angry, Will said, "No, I guess I can't." He even managed a smile. "Given your missionary temperament." "I'll ignore that. I'm not the only one pleased that you're here. Jo is, too. She's still quite enamored of you, or didn't you notice?" He evaded by shaking his head and saying, "I was too busy noticing that she's grown up." "Grown up and still rebellious. I'm afraid she won't stay at the store in Hartford forever. She means to have a career as a nurse. By the way-I've told her all about the Fennels. She knows you're taken." Will didn't smile. Presently Drew asked, "How is Laura these days?" "Fine. We hope to be married by this time next summer." "I see. Are congratulations officially in order?" "Not until I've spoken to her father." An image of Jo's eyes drifted into his thoughts. For no very clear reason, he added, "I wish you wouldn't mention an engagement just yet." "Whatever you say. We should clear up one thing, though. As Dr. Clem said, we'll be grateful for your help at the office. But it's voluntary. You don't have to earn your keep. You're here as a guest." "And possible convert." "Don't sound so cynical. You could do worse." Will didn't voice his doubt of that. Drew went on: "In any case, I want to show you around the neighborhood. By day and at night too. I'll introduce you to a couple of interesting acquaintances I've made. One is a police sergeant named Banks. He's an expert on the Bend, and so is his friend Jake Riis. Riis does police reporting for the Evening Sun. He's going to have a book published soon, about the tenement districts. He prowls around after dark taking flashlight pictures of them." "Sounds like it could be dangerous." A wry laugh. "On occasion-though the danger isn't always the sort you'd expect. Once Jake arranged a picture in a room occupied by some blind beggars. The quarters were just too crowded. Jake almost set himself and the whole tenement on fire with his flash powder." Will looked dubious. "I don't know whether I need any slum tours, Drew. I've already met my quota of unsavory types." "What do you mean? Have you had some trouble?" "Yes, on the way to your sumptuous office. That's how I met Mrs. Grimaldi," "What happened?" "A couple of the local unemployed tried to relieve me of this." He touched his watch chain. "Mrs. Grimaldi came along and helped me get rid of them. She knew them both." "Did you hear their names?" Drew said, stopping at the foot of a cement stoop so well scrubbed and swept, it fairly shone. Will was struck by the note of concern in his friend's voice. "Why? Is it important?" "Might be. There are some bad actors in the Bend." Will thought a moment. "One of the men was named Amato." "Rocco Amato?" "Yes, that's it." "He's harmless." "The other was Giuseppe Corso." "He isn't. He holds grudges. Last week we treated his wife for cuts and contusions. She said he beat her because she didn't buy a bottle of Fiano for him to drink with supper. Of course he hadn't brought any money home. But she got the beating. Tells you what sort he is, eh? Might be better if you didn't walk around the Bend by yourself too much." "You're exaggerating." "No. I've worked here a month and a half. You start hearing things in a fraction of that time. The Bend may be grim, but it's still a neighborhood, and a small neighborhood at that. The people seem pretty much like people everywhere. Some of them scoundrels, most of them decent- and a few, like Mrs. Grimaldi, nothing short of wonderful. And everyone's acquainted with everyone else. That's how I know Corso's no good. I've heard he does roughneck work for a couple of the padrones who control the trimming of the garbage scows-not to mention a fair amount of crime in the area. While you're here, you'd be wise to keep your eyes open and your wits about you," was Drew's final, unsettling opinion on the matter. T CHAPTER V The Policeman THE BAYARD COURT MEDICAL office was open seven days a week, from eight in the morning until six at night; later if the case load made it necessary. Unless there was an emergency, the hour from noon till one was set aside for the main meal of the day. On the Sunday following Will's arrival, Drew, Jo, and Will took that meal in a small restaurant near the corner of Bayard and the Bowery. They paid thirteen cents apiece for beef soup, beef stew, fresh bread, peach pie, and a big bowl of pickles. The price also included a small schooner of beer. The two men drained theirs and split Jo's. The restaurant was crowded with cheerful, gregarious Jews. The neighborhood had come back to life after the Jewish Sabbath. Pushcharts lined both sides of Bayard Street, and peddlers shouted their wares. Outdoors or in, most of the men wore black silk skull caps. Many of those eating in the restaurant had brought their work with them. They carried bundles of unfinished pieces that would be stitched together in a tenement sweatshop. A few had stacks of finished garments-mainly boys" jackets, gentlemen's cloaks, and knickerbockers-or knee pants, as Drew said they were called. Fascinated, Will watched the men laughing and gossiping in Yiddish, their hands moving frequently to the pickle bowls or the bread baskets. "Did you notice all the bakeries close by?" Drew asked. "The Jews have a passion for fresh bread. It's good for you, and it's cheap-was He drank some beer, flicked foam from his upper lip and smiled. "You look like you don't quite believe all this is real." "I don't," Will admitted. "I've been to New York dozens of times, but I've never seen this part of the city. It might as well be a thousand miles from the Fifth Avenue Hotel." Jo's blue-green eyes fixed on him. "Or Newport?" Drew frowned, making sure his sister saw. Will didn't notice; he was recalling the studied ostentation of the cottages along Bellevue Avenue; the museum-like formality so different from the noisy, hectic yet somehow vital spirit of the lower East Side. "You're right," he said to her presently. "It's hard to believe Newport and this neighborhood are both part of America." "But which part's yours?" she asked. Drew drained his beer. He was only half joking when he said, "I've tried to discover that for years." He thumped his schooner on the tablecloth. "It's time we got back." That ended the conversation-for which Will was grateful. ii They strolled back to Bayard Court in the hot summer sunshine. When they'd gone half a block, they came upon two boys of fifteen or sixteen punching one another while a small crowd looked on. Will stopped to watch, but Drew motioned him away: "Those two belong to the same neighborhood gang. They aren't mad. They stage a fight like that every few days." "Stage a fight? Why?" Drew pointed, and Will saw what he hadn't noticed before comother boys, about the same age as the fighters, standing behind the adults in the crowd. One of the boys slipped his hand under the coattails of a well-dressed man in front of him. The man was obviously not a resident of the area. A moment later, Will saw the boy bide a fat wallet under his shirt. "You mean it's just a diversion so the others in the gang can pick pockets?" he asked. Drew nodded. "That's what it is." Will laughed, shook his head, and the three walked on. Soon they crossed Mulberry Street. Will felt a prickle on the back of his neck. He glanced to the right; saw nothing suspicious. He looked the other way, and stiffened- A few doors down, a man on a brownstone stoop was watching him. The man stood motionless among cronies with whom he'd been talking. Even though the brim of a derby kept his face shadowed, Will recognized him. It was Giuseppe Corso. A shiver chased down.will's back. Fortunately Drew was talking to his sister; neither noticed. Once across Mulberry Street, Will didn't look back. But he felt Corso's eyes following him until the three of them were out of sight on Bayard Street. Drew began to explain some things about the practice: "We've worked the schedule out so that Dr. Clem always takes Sunday off to relax and attend to personal business. He also takes every other Saturday. I take Tuesdays. We plan to add a third person, though that isn't absolutely definite yet." "He means me," Jo said. "If I can't pay for nursing school, I can at least learn by apprenticing myself to a couple of exceptional doctors. I've decided to tell Father I won't stay in Hartford past the end of this year." That confirmed a prediction Drew had made only yesterday. "How will your father take it?" Will asked. Drew laughed in a humorless way. "He'll squeal like a gored bull." "But my mind's made up," Jo added. "Ultimately, Pa will give in," Drew went on. "He won't like the decision, but hell understand it." She sighed. "I hope you're right. Still-was She glanced at the tenements simmering in the sunshine. "I'd come work here even if he didn't. Life's very short. I refuse to squander mine standing behind a counter when there are so many people who need what little help I can give." By God, they're still trying to convert me! Will thought. But he didn't utter a protest. Jo's dedication, like Drew's, had a strong appeal to a certain part of his nature. So all he did was smile and say: "Spoken like a true disciple of Julia Kent." Jo laughed. "Right you are, sir." Without embarrassment, she linked her arm with his. Drew looked a bit unhappy about his sister's forward behavior, but Jo ignored him. She and Will strolled arm in arm for half a block. A most enjoyable half block, Will thought as they separated to walk single file through the passage leading to Bayard Court. "I'm co@fused about one thing, Drew," he said. "What's that?" "The place we're going. Which is it, your office or the free clinic?" Drew laughed again. "All depends. If a patient can pay us a few cents, it's the office. If he can't, it's the clinic. You don't imagine we earn enough to cover two rents, do you? Now I'll ask you something. Supposing we get busy this afternoon. May I put you to work?" "I wish you would." He didn't expect the office would receive many patients the rest of the day. There had been none during the morning, as the Bend had come slowly to life while church bells rang the summons to mass at regular intervals. But two young men were already waiting outside the tenement. Both looked groggy; both were covered with blood that attracted a great many big black flies. The men were brothers, explained the one who knew a little English. After church, he went on, they had retired to their fire escape and started drinking and playing cards. There'd been an argument; knives were drawn. Each brother suffered a wound- An embarrassed shrug ended the story. With no warning, the brother who'd been speaking fell forward against Will, his eyes rolling up into his head. "Get 'em inside," Drew ordered. After a brief examination of the unconscious man, Will dragged him through the waiting room to the surgery, covering himself with blood in the process. That was the start of work that didn't let up until after five. Will soon came to appreciate why Drew derived such satisfaction from his work. The people who came to the office didn't come with trivial complaints. It took pain, and attendant fear, to overcome their natural unwillingness to visit a doctor. The language barrier compounded their difficulties. When they walked into the surgery, they were in need, and terrified. Will's first patient was a weeping mother with a four- year-old girl in her arms. Three rat bites marked the child's legs. In broken English, the mother explained The youngster had been playing in the alley when she was bitten. The explanation brought on more sobbing. Will managed to calm the woman, who was far more upset than her child. The little girl bore the experience stoically, as if rats were an accepted part of life in the Bend. He cleaned the wounds and told the woman to bring the girl back if fever or other symptoms developed. Next Jo brought him a burly young man who was weak and in severe pain. Will diagnosed acute enteritis, administered opium, then turned the patient over to Jo for fomentation. The young man stretched out on the examination table, blushing as she applied the warm water poultices to his belly. When he left, he took along a little vial of opium tincture. Will hoped the patient had understood the directions Drew had given in slow, halting Italian. The young man probably couldn't do what would be most beneficial for his condition-stick to a bland diet. People in the Bend didn't have the luxury of choosing the foods they ate. Most of their energy was consumed in an effort to find any food at all. He felt helpless when he realized that; helpless and not a little angry. He experienced the same sense of helplessness with a seventy-year-old woman suffering from subacute rheumatisffl made even more painful by the humidity. How could he tell her of the remedies enumerated in his textbooks? How could he urge her to eat better food? Get more rest? Move to a milder, drier climate? The thought was ludicrous. All he could do was spoon out some tincture of guaiacum mixed with sarsaparilla and ask Jo to prepare a tepid alkaline bath behind a folding screen. After much balking, the woman was persuaded to step behind the screen where Jo helped her bathe. All this went on while Drew examined a portly, well-dressed padrone with a rasping cough. The padrone accepted a bottle of medicine and paid nothing. After her bath, the rheumatic woman smiled and acted a bit more spry. She shook Jo's hand, pressed a dime into Will's, and impulsively kissed his cheek. r Will thought a moment, then handed the dime back. Drew didn't object. The final patient Will saw that afternoon raised a ghost that had troubled him only once in recent months-the night of his last quarrel