‘Come on, Landsmann,’ Laura urged, ‘I’m getting soaked from these towels.’
Bennett tore open the bronze snap at the front of the Levis, unzipped the fly, and began to pull down her trousers. The jeans were so tight that he was dragging off her underpants as well. An instant more and she was entirely naked. Her abdomen was firm and flat, her coffee-toned thighs beautifully shaped.
Before he could chastise himself for unprofessional thoughts, Laura dropped several towels in his hands and ordered, ‘Okay, Ben, finish looking, then make sure she’s covered. I’ve got half a dozen hyperthermics I haven’t even started on.’
Before Bennett could reply, Laura was out of earshot. He knelt down by the Sleeping Beauty and reviewed the procedures for treating heatstroke he had memorized in Med School.
The important measures had been taken but he knew there was still a chance – depending on the gravity of her condition – that she might start convulsing. He checked her I.V., for she needed both salt and liquid badly. Then he knelt again and started to massage the only uncovered parts of her body, her feet and hands.
After several minutes the first aid began to work. The young woman started to shake her head as if trying to pull herself from unconsciousness, and then she awoke.
‘Where am I?’ she muttered groggily. ‘What’s all this stuff wrapped around me? I’m cold.’
‘Good,’ said Bennett, ‘that’s a good sign.’
‘Who are you?’
‘Don’t be frightened, you’re in a Red Cross tent. What’s the last thing you remember?’
‘Dr King … “I have a dream” … What happened after that?’ she asked.
‘Well,’ Bennett said, smiling, ‘I guess you had a dream, too.’
‘In other words I fainted, huh?’
He nodded. ‘You had one helluva case of hyperthermia. You still do, so lie back down. Think you can take liquids orally?’
‘How the hell else do people take them?’ she retorted with a little smile.
‘Ah,’ Bennett replied, ‘take a look at your arm, it’s been drinking for the past half-hour. But you’re starting to act sassy so I guess you must be getting better. By the way, what’s your name?’
‘Anita – and I would like that glass of water. What’s your name?’
‘Right now it’s Gunga Din. Stay loose while I go fetch the H2O.’
He dashed off and in a second returned with a cup. ‘Here, drink this,’ he said, propping her up with his right hand, ‘it’s got electrolytes.’
‘It’s got what?’
‘All kinds of ions to replace the minerals you’ve lost.’
‘You talk just like a doctor,’ she remarked.
‘Well, maybe I am one,’ he joked.
‘How much longer do I have to stay here like a mummy?’
‘Just till we’re sure you’re okay. In the meantime I’d better to try to get you some clothes.’
‘Clothes? Shoot – what happened to what I was wearing?’
‘I’m sorry, I had to tear it off – in the performance of my clinical duties.’
‘Come on,’ she teased, ‘I bet you had a nice long look.’
‘Whatever you say,’ he added with a grin. ‘I did manage to salvage your jeans though. Are you here with anybody else?’
She nodded. ‘A group of us came up from Spelman College in Atlanta.’
‘Good, then I think they’re right nearby. I saw a bunch of girls waving a school pennant. I’ll go see if one of them’s got a shirt you can wear.’
Outside the tent, the afternoon heat had at last begun to abate. Bennett found a covey of Anita’s friends, one of whom had retrieved her knapsack when she fainted and now handed it to him.
‘Aha,’ he said as he approached her cot again, ‘you really came prepared. Did you maybe think you’d get invited to the White House?’
‘Don’t jive me, brother. By the time The Movement gets itself together, there’ll be someone with a lot of soul right up there in the Oval Office. And I don’t mean vacuuming the floor.’
‘You actually think we’ll live to see that?’ he asked sincerely.
‘Brother, I won’t die till I do – even if I have to hang around a hundred years before I croak. What’s your dream?’
‘Well, at this stage in my medical career I’d say it was to get a night’s sleep.’
‘That’s all, Doc?’
‘My name is Bennett. And yeah, if I really want to go all the way in surgery I’ll be lucky to sleep twenty hours a week for the next five years. Matter of fact, I’m supposed to be on duty at this very minute. But I conned one of the more liberal residents into taking my shift – which means when I get back tonight I’ll have to work for maybe fifty hours straight.’
He stood up.
‘Which reminds me – I’ve got to hustle to make my seven-thirty plane. Can I drop you anywhere, Anita?’
‘You mean from the plane?’
‘Are you smoking, or are you always this kooky?’
‘Except when I conk out from heatstroke, I’m a barrel of fun.’
Bennett looked at his watch. And then he looked again at Anita, quickly weighing the possible alternatives. If he caught the flight he would lose the girl, but if he stayed, the hospital might ‘lose’ him.
He watched as two of her college friends helped Anita into a fresh T-shirt. She was some woman.
Oh, what the hell, he thought, I may not ever get another chance like this.
‘Uh, Anita, might I have the pleasure of inviting you – and your friends, of course – for a little farewell meal before we go our separate ways? I think I should keep an eye on you and be sure you’re forcing liquids.’
Anita said yes. Her fellow co-eds were even more enthusiastic.
‘Great,’ he responded, ‘just let me sign off with one of my colleagues.’
Bennett dashed inside and found Laura starting yet another saline I.V.
‘Thank God the sun’s going down,’ she said as she saw him approach. ‘Can you wait awhile so we can have a drink, Ben?’
‘Sorry,’ he replied with frustration. ‘I’ve just made a previous commitment.’
‘Okay.’ Laura smiled knowingly. ‘I realize how serious your commitments are. Some other time, huh?’
‘Sure, sure. By the way, how’s Palmer?’
She sensed he was anxious to leave so she simply uttered, ‘Fine. I’ll give him your regards.’
As he hurried off, Laura thought to herself, Palmer is fine, and I’m fine for that matter. It’s just our marriage that’s sick.
During dinner at a nearby Sloppy Joe’s, Bennett could not help wondering why Anita had insisted that her friends sit next to him while she sat across the table.
Except for this enigma, all of them had fun. The afternoon’s demonstration had been powerful. They had something to be proud of. Bennett checked his watch again. The final shuttle was now airborne. He would have to stay the night in Washington.
Alone?
The other Spelman girls dropped graceful hints that they would gladly mitigate his loneliness. But Anita remained aloof.
He decided to make a final try as he accompanied the girls to their bus. He managed to maneuver himself to Anita’s side and told her several steps behind.
‘Hey,’ he chided, ‘remember me? I saved your life this afternoon. Don’t I even get your phone number in gratitude?’
For the first time she was ill at ease. ‘Hey, Bennett, you’re a cool guy and I’m grateful. But I’ve got a fiancé.’
‘Oh,’ Bennett said, trying to conceal his disappointment. ‘What does the lucky man do?’
‘He’s in the Marine Corps – just about to start Officers’ Candidate School. We’re getting married when he graduates.’
‘Oh, well, maybe you’ll invite me to your wedding.’
‘Sure,’ Anita said, smiling. But both of them knew it was just idle chatter.
As soon as the girls’ bus pulled away from the curb, Bennett headed f
or Union Station and bought a ticket for the milk train to New Heaven. During the long, slow journey he tried to catch up on some much-needed shut-eye, yet found himself unable to sleep.
Barney had been up all night. He was still haunted by the sight of that last inmate in the Blenheim Ward. Tomorrow at eleven there would be a meeting of the ward staff under the general director. Perhaps he would learn then who the guy was.
He stayed in bed as long as possible, but by 5:30 A.M. he had to find out. He got up, pulled on his clothes and walked, yawning and bedraggled, to the ‘Land of the Incurables.’
The security man scrutinized him with curiosity. Barney then realized that he had not bothered to comb his chair or tuck in his shirt. How would he convince this guy that he was legit?
‘Good morning, Doctor,’ said the guard in friendly greeting.
Barney could not keep himself from asking, ‘How can you tell I’m a doctor? I mean, I look like such a slob.’ As he spoke he was hastily putting his shirt in his pants.
‘You forgot your fly, Doctor,’ the guard replied amiably, ‘but the fact is all you doctors look the same after the night shift. It’s the patients who get medication to keep them snug as a bug in a rug.’
Barney entered the ward and walked as softly as possible across the vast hollow ‘Activities Room’ toward the nurses’ station where a young, pretty Puerto Rican woman whose nameplate read n. valdez was seated. Even though Barney knocked politely, she was startled. No one ever came in at that hour in the gray zone between night and morning except for an emergency heralded by the ringing of alarms.
‘Can I help you, Doctor?’ she asked.
‘Yes, I’d like to see the file on one of the patients.’
‘Now?’ she asked, looking at her watch. ‘I mean, doesn’t the committee—’
‘I’m the new resident,’ he replied. ‘I’m anxious to get an early start.’
‘Certainly, sir,’ she replied, still unsure of Barney’s precise motives. ‘Which one of the patients are you referring to?’
‘Uh, I don’t exactly know. But if we can go to the dormitory I can point him out.’
Nurse Valdez complied. After seven years on the psycho wards, no behavior by patients or staff surprised her.
The patients were all still asleep when Barney and the nurse entered the huge dormitory, their snores, mumblings, and groans forming a kind of nightmarish symphony. She began to shine a flashlight on the faces on each pillow. Barney suddenly touched her arm.
‘Him! That guy – what’s the name?’
She directed her beam to the foot of the bed where the patient’s chart was hanging. Barney bent over and read ‘CASSIDY, Kenneth. Date of birth: 17 July 1932.’
Barney was staggered. That wraith? Could it actually be Ken Cassidy, the boy-scoutish basketball coach at Columbia?
He knew that it had to be.
‘Thank you,’ he whispered, trying to keep his composure. ‘I’d like to see his records now, please.’
Barney sat in the nurses’ office drinking cups of brackish coffee laced with too much sugar, reading the report of Ken Cassidy.
The patient had been admitted two years earlier, after going violently berserk. Though he had exhibited no prior symptoms of psychological degeneration, he had suddenly begun to destroy his house with an axe, while his wife and daughters cowered in the kitchen. Had not the police – alerted by the neighbors – arrived in time, he would most certainly have massacred them. He was originally seen by a resident whose initials, VM, Barney did not recognize and was assigned to Blenheim by Professor Stanley Avery, the general director.
‘Good morning, Doctor Livingston, you are up early!’
It was Nurse Herridge reporting for duty so that she and Valdez in tandem could rouse the patients two by two.
A few seconds later, their multifaceted orderly appeared.
‘Good morning, Mr Johnson,’ said Barney.
A gloomy look crossed the big man’s face. ‘Mr President,’ he said, ‘I feel terrible at having let you down.’
‘How so?’
‘As Supreme Commander U.S. Army of the Pacific I should have held on to Okinawa. But believe me, sir, I shall return.’
‘I am sure you will, General MacArthur,’ Barney replied. ‘What say we all go rouse the troops?’
Johnson stood to attention and saluted his commander in chief. ‘Yessir, right away, sir!’
Barney observed the ritual awakening, helping out where he could (he really did not know quite what to do). As soon as Cassidy had been coaxed to wash his face and brush his teeth (no shave today; that was done for them by Mr Johnson on a rotating basis), Barney took him by the arm and led him to a quiet corner.
‘Mr Cassidy, yesterday it seemed like you recognized me. You do remember me, don’t you? I was the dirty player – the guy who was the pain in your ass on the Columbia basketball team. You still like basketball, don’t you, Ken?’
Cassidy stood like a granite statue, eyes unfocused, his expression giving no indication as to whether he understood any of what his interrogator was saying. Barney grabbed the man by the shoulders as if trying to wake him.
‘Basketball, Ken,’ he repeated, ‘throwing the ball through the hoop, slam dunk!’
He was getting nowhere. He raised his voice as if the sheer intensity of decibels would penetrate this sick man’s skull. ‘Roar, Lion, Roar! Go Columbia!’
Barney’s intemperate shaking took effect. Cassidy suddenly lashed out, landing both hands against Barney’s chest and knocking him halfway across the corridor.
Ever on the alert, Mr Johnson came bounding up to protect a staff member. He grabbed the flailing Cassidy in an overwhelming bear hug, cautioning him.
‘You watch what you’re doin’, Mr Cassidy. I may be retired from the ring, but ole Joe Louis still has plenty of fight in him. Don’t forget the number of bouts I went without a defeat!’
Cassidy continued to kick and punch even as ‘Joe Louis’ increased his grip. Johnson looked solicitously at Barney, who was picking himself up off the floor.
‘You okay, Doc?’ he asked.
‘Yeah,’ Barney replied, ‘thanks. Thanks for saving me, Mr … Louis.’
‘That’s all right,’ Johnson replied, ‘he’s no Max Schmeling. Should I get the nurse to give him a shot?’
‘Yeah, I guess so,’ Barney answered, feeling responsible for the poor man’s paroxysm.
Twenty minutes later Ken Cassidy lay heavily sedated on his bed as Barney, Johnson, and Mrs Herridge looked on.
‘He missed breakfast,’ Barney observed guiltily.
‘Don’t worry, Doctor,’ the nurse assured him, ‘I’ll see that he’s fed as soon as he wakes up.’
‘When do you think he’ll be coming around?’
‘I’d say he will be conscious but tranquil in less than an hour.’
‘Good,’ Barney commented. ‘I’ll go down to the cafeteria and come back.’
‘You do remember there’s a staff meeting at eleven o’clock, Doctor,’ Nurse Herridge reminded him.
‘That’s why I want to be back before ten,’ Barney answered.
He returned in an hour, shaven, kempt, and presentable for the conference with his colleagues. But meanwhile, he had some professional research to perform. With the head nurse at his side, he went to Cassidy’s bed.
As she had predicted, the patient was now marginally awake. Barney withdrew an ophthalmoscope from his jacket and began to look into Cassidy’s eyes. He checked his left eye routinely. But when he gazed into the right, he remained motionless for several minutes.
‘May I ask what you think you are doing, Dr Livingston?’ Mrs Herridge asked, a trifle impatiently. ‘This man has been given a thorough physical examination.’
‘How long ago?’ Barney asked.
She handed him a folder. ‘See for yourself.’
Barney scoured the pages, looking for the relevant information, and then found it. ‘Eighteen months ago. Christ, no wonder!’
/> ‘I beg your pardon, Doctor?’
He stood up. ‘Thank you, Mrs Herridge, you’ve been great. I’ll see you at the staff meeting.’
There were seven of them: Barney; Joseph Leder, the second-year resident; Vera Mihalic, a straight-backed, intense young woman with thick granny glasses, who was chief resident; Professor Avery; and three nurses. Mr Johnson was not deemed qualified to attend these sessions, even though for nearly a month the previous year he had been Sigmund Freud.
Avery introduced Barney to his colleagues and they proceeded to discuss the new admissions – a brace of paranoid schizophrenics – both of whom were desperately in need of hospitalization and for whom they just had to find two extra beds.
Nurse Herridge objected. ‘With due respect, Professor, we’re overcrowded already. If we keep squeezing in extra beds, we’ll end up like the Black Hole of Calcutta.’
‘Point taken, Jane,’ Avery replied. ‘Is there anybody we could possibly move?’
Barney’s hand shot up.
‘Yes, Barney?’
‘I think we could give Mr Cassidy’s bed to someone else, sir.’
There was mild consternation in the room, since everyone had already been informed of that morning’s fracas.
‘Are you serious?’ Avery protested. ‘Wasn’t his behavior today ample testimony to the severity of his condition?’
‘Yes, sir,’ Barney replied. ‘But he’s not psychotic.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Avery asked in the voice of a man whose professional toe had been stepped on. ‘And just what ward do you suggest is appropriate for that coiled spring of physical violence?’
‘Neurology, sir,’ Barney replied. ‘I think his antisocial behavior is the result of intracranial pressure.’
‘Surely that would have been picked up at his physical, Dr Livingston – or do you happen to possess x-ray eyes?’
‘No, sir,’ Barney answered, ‘but I checked him with an ophthalmoscope a little while ago.’
‘Well,’ said Avery, ‘so did Dr Mihalic and I when he was admitted, and I believe she checked him again a little more than a year ago. What new data are you offering us?’
‘Sir,’ Barney continued confidently, ‘the meningioma in his right eye might not have been as apparent then.’