Doctors

  Luis could not keep himself from whispering sardonically to Laura, ‘Let’s hope he’s right. Because the Lord certainly wasn’t with him when he was mugged three months ago and I had to sew five sutures in his cheek.’

  Now that the cleric had departed, Laura turned to accost her mother for abandoning her.

  But Inez had disappeared. Didn’t she even want to talk to me?

  ‘Mama goes up early,’ Luis explained. ‘She spends some time in prayer, and then she goes to sleep. Come to my study and have a drink, niña.’ He then added quickly, ‘I mean a Coca-Cola or something.’

  Laura nodded and followed her father into his private domain. She could not help noticing how neat it had become. The journals that had once been strewn like so many autumn leaves were now arranged on shelves.

  Seeing his daughter’s reaction, Luis explained, ‘Estelle showed me how to catalogue the books and journals. This way they will be much easier to pack. Coke, ginger ale, or club soda?’

  ‘Anything,’ she replied distractedly.

  Luis pried open a bottle of Canada Dry, poured it into a glass, and handed it to his daughter.

  ‘Sit down. You’re acting like a stranger here.’

  ‘I feel like one,’ she confirmed bitterly. ‘I mean, what the hell is going on in this family?’

  Luis sat behind his desk, tilted his chair back, and lit up a cigar. ‘You heard most of it at dinner. I am going to Cuba—’

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘I am going to live in Cuba,’ he explained. ‘You know my greatest dream is to go back to a free Spain – but who knows if I will live long enough to see Franco dead? I admire Fidel, and Guevara is an intellectual with all the right ideas …’

  Laura listened in silence.

  ‘Besides, as a doctor nowadays I spend more time with insurance documents than with patients. In Cuba medicine is free, and I can treat anyone who needs me.’

  He hesitated and she broke in, ‘And you’re just leaving Mama in that – that nunnery?’

  He raised his palms to the sky in a gesture of helplessness and answered, ‘It was her decision, Laurita.’

  He shifted forward, leaning his bulky frame on the desk.

  ‘Once upon a time your mother and I were married,’ he began, ‘married in every way – the same ideals, the same beliefs, the same concerns about how we should raise our children. You cannot believe the hell we went through when we first were married. She had barely recovered from the bullet wounds when you came along and gave us joy – something to compensate for going into exile from a land we loved. Then Isobel …’

  He paused and took a weary breath. ‘After everything else, that was the blow that brought your mother to her knees. Yes, you could say that was no metaphor. She was forever in the church at prayer. We never talked – I mean, of anything substantial. There was no hatred, no dissension, but what there was was worse – a wall of silence. Suddenly a marriage that had everything had nothing …

  ‘So we lived on as strangers. All her conversations were with God. It was as if she had left me all alone. I started drinking heavily. Yes, I know you noticed. But niña, there was nothing left I could believe in …’

  Laura felt a pang of hurt. Wasn’t I any consolation at all – to either of you?

  ‘Then there was Fidel. I saw him as my final chance to live my life out as a verdadero hombre. To be useful. Can you understand that?’

  She simply nodded.

  ‘When the Cuban Ministry of Health accepted me, I threw every goddamn bottle in the garbage and I haven’t even had a drop of Jerez since. I have a purpose once again—’

  Laura sat, her eyes unfocused, her mind trying to take it all in. ‘So you two are … separating?’

  ‘I’m sorry, querida. This is the result of many years. But then, I somehow thought you sensed where things were going.’

  ‘And how did you originally plan to announce this to me – in a little postcard from downtown Havana?’

  Her voice betrayed not merely fury but hurt as well.

  ‘Everything was not certain until a few days ago,’ Luis replied by way of apology. ‘Besides, the only thing we both agreed on was that you were strong enough to take care of yourself. You always have been.’

  Laura did not know how to react. In all his meditations with himself, in all his grand planning, did her father ever once consider when – or if – or how they’d see each other again?

  She did not know whether to shout in anger or break down – but she found herself sobbing.

  In a moment Luis was there, his arm around her shoulder. ‘Please forgive me, Laurita. I know it was my fault. You see, I was afraid to tell you.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked tearfully. ‘What gave either of you the idea that because I’m grown up I don’t still need parents?’

  ‘Querida,’ he whispered soothingly, ‘soon you’ll be married. You will be a parent. And you can all come visit with your papacito on the Veradero beach.’

  Laura stood up and shouted, ‘What makes you so damn sure I’ll get married anyway?’

  ‘This Palmer is a wonderful young man—’

  ‘So marry him yourself!’ she shouted. ‘Doctor Castellano, I know damn well you wouldn’t do this if I were your son.’

  ‘That isn’t fair,’ he protested.

  ‘No, you’re goddamn right, it isn’t fair. Okay, you can read your Marx and Engels, I’m going to bed. I’ll leave tomorrow on the first train, so don’t look for me at breakfast. And tell my mother not to wait for me to write her.’

  Laura turned on her heels and walked to the door, but before leaving, whirled around to say, ‘You might do me the favor of sending my clothes and stuff to Vanderbilt Hall.’

  She turned again and slammed the door.

  Luis Castellano stood thunderstruck. Had he now lost two daughters?

  When Laura finally staggered into Vanderbilt Hall, it was as cold and empty as a tomb. She was greeted by the only other person pathetic enough to be around on a night like this.

  ‘Hi, Laura. I’m amazed to see you here.’

  ‘Frankly, I’m amazed to be here.’

  ‘Wanna have Christmas dinner together?’

  ‘Sure – what do you have in mind?’

  ‘How about pizza?’

  ‘Sure. Anything. Just wait till I lug my stuff up to the Deanery.’

  Fifteen minutes later she was wading through the snow toward Jacopo’s Pizzeria with the class charmer – Peter Wyman.

  Joy to the world!

  Barney protracted his personal winter carnival as long as possible. In fact, he and Suzie didn’t leave New Hampshire until after dinner on the last day and hence arrived at Vanderbilt just before midnight.

  When they kissed and separated, it was to sleep on their own for the first time in more than a week. On the way to his room, Barney emptied his bulging mailbox. There were the usual bills and a few Christmas cards. Nothing really important. That is, until his eyes lit on an official-looking envelope from someone called ‘Esterhazy’ at – The Morgue, City of New York.

  Holy shit, he thought, does somebody want me to identify a body? What the hell can this be?

  The moment he entered his room, he tore open the envelope and began to read a carefully typed letter.

  Dear Barney,

  I learned the ropes. What really happens in the loony bin is not that you get cured (that is a word even a fully analyzed psychiatrist would never pronounce), but, like an actor studying a role, you develop a characterization of a ‘normal’ person. And when you finally get your act together, they’re so delighted that they send you off into the world and put another notch in their couches.

  Along the way, Dr Cunningham turned out to be a really good guy – especially when he stopped taking my father’s phone calls. He helped me figure out a lot of things for myself.

  I still intend to be a doctor – not at Harvard – but somewhere where the rat race is more like a mouse jog. The important thing
is going the distance. I’ve never known a patient to ask a doctor what his Basic Science grades were.

  Did Sigmund Freud know Biochem?

  Anyway, as you can see from this letterhead, I’ve conquered my neurotic fears of the viscera of dead bodies by doing the most counterphobic thing imaginable. Deep down, I’m still afraid, but at least I can deal with it – which is the name of the game, as I learned from Dr Cunningham.

  On the other hand, I have ceased to feel guilty about hating my father. He deserves it.

  As of this writing he not only doesn’t know where I am, he is unaware of who I am, since I have taken the original family name of Esterhazy. Which, I’m sure, he has totally suppressed.

  If you are still reading this boring letter I’ll close by saying that I will always think of you fondly as a friend and remain grateful for your kindness at a time when I most needed it.

  I wish you a Merry Christmas and hope by now you’ve married that terrific Laura Castellano.

  Yours,

  Maury Esterhazy (né Eastman)

  Wow, Barney thought to himself, ‘God bless us every one!’ Good for Maury. They didn’t Zap the fire out of him.

  This looked like it was going to be a helluva New Year, especially if the letter he was about to write got a favorable response.

  He had just pulled out pen and paper when he thought he heard the phone ring down the hall. Never mind, it can’t be for me. Then there was a knock on his door and the sleepy (and slightly annoyed) voice of Lance Mortimer hoarsely announced, ‘Phone, Livingston. Don’t your admirers ever sleep?’

  Barney dropped his pen and sprinted to the phone. Good old Suzie, she misses me already. In a matter of seconds the receiver was in his hand, and he gasped out, ‘Hi, baby.’

  The voice at the other end was timidly apologetic. ‘Barney, I’m really sorry to disturb you so late—’

  It was Laura.

  ‘Actually,’ she continued, ‘I’ve been trying to reach you for the past hour and a half. Hope I didn’t wake you.’

  ‘That’s okay, Castellano. What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing monumental. Just my whole world falling apart. I suppose it could wait till morning.’

  ‘Nothing doing. I’ll meet you in the lobby right away.’

  ‘Are you sure it’s okay?’ she asked forlornly.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot. I’ll be there in a sec.’

  Barney hung up and went back to his room.

  He bent over and began to lace up his sneakers. A second later, as he stood up ready to rush off, he remembered that all-important letter he had been writing.

  He went over to his desk and looked at it.

  Dearest Susan,

  I have two questions to ask you:

  1. Will you be my Valentine?

  2. Will you marry me?

  Everything was there but the signature.

  Should he sign it and drop it in her mailbox on the way?

  No, it no longer seemed the proper time. He picked up the paper, crunched it into a ball and tossed it with an expert hook shot into the wastebasket.

  And walked down to see Laura.

  21

  ‘Castellano, are you sure you haven’t taken LSD?’

  They were the only two people sitting in the lobby at that hour and their whispers echoed in the dome.

  ‘Believe me, Barn, I wish I had. I’d like nothing better than to block out the reality of what I’ve just told you. I mean, who ever heard of a mother becoming a nun?’

  ‘Well, she’s not exactly taking Holy Orders. Didn’t you say she’ll only be a kind of lay sister?’

  ‘What the hell’s the difference? The point is my whole family’s suddenly vanishing. I’m gonna be the only orphan in the world with two living parents.’ Her despair was palpable. How well Barney understood. For he himself had been grieving at the imminent loss of the beloved house of his youth. But at least he had the comfort of knowing his family would still be within reach. She had no place to go except a lousy little room in the Deanery.

  ‘Laura,’ he said softly, ‘listen to me. First of all your mother’s convent is just a few hours’ drive from the city. And even Cuba’s only ninety miles off the coast of Florida. If you get in shape you could practically swim there …’

  The absurd image of herself flailing through the ocean waves made her smile – but just for an instant.

  ‘Anyway,’ Barney continued with quiet fervor, ‘remember you’ve still got me. And you’ll always have a place to come home to. I mean, Estelle just bought this great big apartment in Miami.’

  She lowered her head and began to whimper.

  ‘Listen, kiddo. I’m gonna take over the role of parent and give you a strict order. I want you to go up to your room, drink a glass of warm milk, and go right to bed. Now will you do what I say?’

  She nodded and stood up. Barney also rose. And for a moment they both stood there motionless, inches from each other.

  ‘Oh God, Barney,’ she murmured fondly, ‘what would I ever do without you?’

  ‘Castellano, that’s one problem you’ll never have to face.’

  ‘Cheryl, dammit, can’t you keep those kids quiet?’

  ‘They may be twins, but they’re separate people, Hank. They wake up at different times, they get hungry at different times, they get wet—’

  ‘You don’t have to tell me, for God’s sake. How the hell am I supposed to study with this infernal racket?’

  ‘And you don’t have to shout, Hank.’

  ‘Oh, wonderful,’ he replied sardonically, ‘you can tell me to shut up, but you can’t quiet two lousy little babies.’

  ‘Is that a way to refer to your children?’

  ‘Oh, get off my back, willya?’ He stood up, clapped his book shut, picked up his notes, and grabbed his coat.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Cheryl pleaded.

  ‘Someplace quiet – the library. I’ve gotta learn every tiny detail of Physical Examination by tomorrow.’

  ‘Try examining your head while you’re at it,’ she called after him. But her words were drowned out by the slamming of the door.

  Let it not be said that Harward Medical School was all work and no play. For, to be precise, it was all work and one play: the traditional second-year show. It was the uncensored product of exhausted, regressed, vengeful minds and a masterpiece of transcendental vulgarity.

  It afforded a dramatic experience unique since Aristophanes. For the students knew that the targets of their wit (if you could call it that) were actually sitting in the theater as they were insulted.

  This year’s offering, entitled ‘Public Relations,’ marked a new high for low blows.

  As in the rhapsody to their Anatomy teacher:

  Lubar is a necro-phi-li-ac

  He loves to hump cadavers in the sack

  We ask him why he lives this kind of life

  He says that it reminds him of his wife.

  The triumph was due in large measure to the creative talents of Lance Mortimer. As soon as the curtain fell, Dean Holmes rushed over to compliment the author.

  ‘Mortimer, you’ve got a truly amazing gift for filth. I think you should become a pornographer, not a doctor.’

  ‘I may have to, sir, if I don’t pass Biochem.’ As he proceeded to the reception, Lance congratulated himself on his instinct. Tonight’s scatological extravaganza had won the hearts and dirty minds of the guys that count.

  To help them put their studies in a proper context, the students were offered a brief series of lectures under the generic title Social Medicine. Those expecting spiritual uplift were disappointed when the first speaker, a representative of the American Medical Association, inveighed against socialized medicine. ‘Let us not forget that Lenin declared that “socialized medicine is the keystone to the arch of the socialist state.”’

  And he went on to denounce disability insurance as ‘another step toward wholesale nationalization of medical care.’

  ‘What do you think?’
Barney asked Lance as they shuffled out of the room after the passionate harangue.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, he had some interesting things to say.’

  Laura arrived just in time to hear Lance’s comment.

  ‘Lance, it’s a fact that poor people get sicker and have shorter lifespans than rich people. Do you think that’s fair? That guy was preaching a sort of elitist medicine: “pay now, live later”. I only wish I’d have eggs to throw at that bastard.’

  Barney smiled at her outburst, while Lance meekly countered, ‘Well, Laura, different strokes for different folks.’

  ‘No, Lance, the same strokes for the same folks. And I hope you notice we’ve not heard anything from the opposition. I mean, they should have had somebody here from the Committee for the Nation’s Health. They’re good guys – only they’re practically as poor as the people they’re fighting for. The AMA spends millions of dollars every year just to undercut any kind of national health insurance.’

  ‘Well,’ Lance allowed liberally, ‘it’s a free country, Laura.’

  ‘No, it isn’t, Lance, in the world of health care it’s a very expensive country.’

  ‘Oh, come on, get off your soapbox, willya?’

  Laura did not deign to answer. She merely turned and walked off.

  ‘Is she some kind of Communist?’ Lance asked Barney.

  ‘No, old buddy, she’s just a sensitive human being with a real social conscience.’

  ‘Well, if that’s the case,’ Mortimer quipped, ‘she’s certainly come to the wrong place.’

  None of the men could sleep the night before the next class exercise. What, they asked themselves – and sometimes each other – were they so afraid of?

  ‘After all,’ Barney reasoned, ‘we’re acting as if we’re going into uncharted territory. But the vagina is really one part of the body we’ve actually been on both sides of. In one way we could look at it as sort of a homecoming.’

  ‘That is first class bullshit,’ Bennett countered as he distributed bottles of Heineken to the coterie that had gathered in his room to share – and hopefully exorcise – their anxieties about having to perform their first pelvic exam on the morrow.

  ‘Yeah.’ Lance agreed, ‘why don’t you admit it, Livingston, you’re scared. We all are.’