One

by David Karp

  8

  They were, Burden observed, quite polite but equally firm.

  “But I don’t need any medical examination,” Burden protested.

  “I’m very sorry, but it’s part of our routine,” the clerk said, and he accompanied a severe-looking nurse to the elevator. They got off at the eighth floor where the corridors seemed a little quieter, the paint a little brighter, and there was the faint but unmistakable blend of medicinal and antiseptic odors.

  The clerk and the nurse took him into a small room which contained a bed, a night stand, and a small couch with a low table in front of it. It was quite a pleasant room, with a small glass vase filled with thick, creamy-looking chrysanthemums and fall leaves. Cheap prints were neatly hung on the walls and the floor was carpeted with an unusually thick and springy monotone gray rug. A small window facing the brick wall of the next building in the ring was the only depressing note.

  “Please take all your clothes off and put these on,” the nurse said, going to a closet that Burden hadn’t noticed and bringing out a pair of wrinkled and faded blue pajamas. Burden saw at a glance that they would be much too large on him. He hesitated for a moment, but the clerk sat down on the bed with his clip board in front of him and the nurse waited pointedly for him to undress.

  “I don’t understand the purpose of this medical examination,” Burden said once again.

  “It’s part of our routine, Professor Burden,” the clerk said. He produced a large manila envelope. “This is for your valuables. You’ll get a receipt for them.”

  “I only have a wallet, a wrist watch, my wedding band, my fountain pen, and some loose change—can’t I keep that with me?”

  “You may keep your wedding band but I’m afraid you’ll have to give up the other things, Professor,” the clerk said patiently.

  “You happen to realize that this is very pointless, I hope?”

  “Routine,” the clerk said with a half apologetic smile.

  “It’s ridiculous routine,” Burden grumbled, putting his wallet, pen, change, and watch into the envelope. “I didn’t come here for a medical examination. I was here for a hearing. I was told to keep myself ready for further questions. No one suggested that I would be medically examined. Are you sure you have the right person?”

  “Professor Burden of Templar College, a correspondent for the Department,” the clerk repeated calmly. “You’re not suggesting that there are two such people, Professor, are you?”

  “No, I guess not,” Burden finally sighed, and then began to undress. The nurse would not budge from the room so Burden had to remove his underwear in the closet. It was cramped and smelled strongly of camphor and cedar and Burden came out with his eyes stinging. The pajamas were ludicrously large and he felt as if the trousers would slip off his hips with the slightest motion so he came out of the closet holding them bunched safely with one hand.

  “Thank you,” the nurse said dryly, and stuffed Burden’s underwear into a pillow slip with the rest of his clothes.

  “Your receipt, Professor Burden,” the clerk said efficiently, handing him a printed slip of paper. While Burden was looking at it both the nurse and the clerk went out of the room. Burden put the slip on the top of the night stand and realized that he was barefooted. He was tempted to open the door and call after the nurse but decided to look under the bed for a pair of slippers. There were no slippers under the bed, or in the closet, or in the drawers of the night stand—not, in fact, in the entire room. Burden was annoyed and looked about for a bell or a push button with which to call the nurse but there was none.

  The whole situation, of course, was completely ridiculous. Somehow his name had become involved in red tape and he was being held for a medical examination. It was typical of large organizations—the misreading of a notation on a slip of paper, the misdirection of a memorandum. And he had always thought the Department was so efficient. Apparently, like all huge organizations, it had its moments of lunacy when its gears were thrown into improbable positions and things like this happened—the condemnation of his reports, his forthcoming medical examination. Obviously someone had made a mistake and it was now being compounded. Burden sighed as he sat down on the bed, letting his legs dangle. It would be as useless to protest now as it would be to complain later. He would simply have to wait until they discovered their error. That, he had no doubt, would not take too long. He was grateful that Emma was not expecting him back until the end of the week. It might frighten her if he did not call her and she was expecting him home the following day. Burden sighed again. Well, thanks were due for small comforts like that.

  Bored with sitting on the bed, Burden began to explore the room. The view from the small window was bleak. Only if he craned his neck and stooped a bit could he see the sky, which was now deepening from a sullen gray to black. It must be nearly four-thirty now, Burden judged by the sky and by the elapsed time since he had last looked at his wrist watch. Ridiculous.

  Curious about the last occupant of the room—a monster, if he were to judge by the size of the pajamas and the height to which the bed had been raised from the floor, Burden looked through the drawers of the night stand. They were empty. In his curiosity and boredom he even turned over the pillows of the couch and groped down between the arm rests and the ticking over the springs for something that might have been dropped there—a newspaper, a magazine, anything that might divert him for a few moments or satisfy his curiosity as to the last inhabitant. There was nothing but some stale wool ravelings, dust, and tobacco crumbs. Disgusted, Burden flopped down on the couch, propped his bare feet up on the low table, and sank his face against his cupped hand to wait.

  His eyes traveled unhappily about the room. Plain, painted beige walls, a ceiling lined with squares of perforated cork or composition material, a chipped, brown, painted iron bed with adjustment arms and springs painted silver. The pictures on the wall were ordinary, cheap lithographed copies of idyllic country scenes—a hazy afternoon near a grist mill, a farmer leading a horse home from the fields after a day of plowing, with the sky hung between twilight and darkness. Perhaps they were chosen for their restful quality, Burden thought. The fall flowers and leaves attracted his attention. Whoever had last occupied the room had left the bouquet behind. Evidently he had had visitors. Deciding that perhaps there might be a card among the leaves and flowers, Burden pulled the vase toward him and began to grope between the leaves when he was struck by something strange. The leaves were too dry. Burden touched the chrysanthemums. A little oath of surprise came from him involuntarily. The bouquet was made of paper. The leaves, the flowers, the ferns were all paper or rubber. Burden looked at the fraud with indignant eyes. How could he have been taken in so badly? Well, perhaps it was the water in the vase. Now, why on earth should anyone want to put paper flowers and leaves in water? It made no sense. Unless, of course, they intended to fool others. Burden pushed away the vase angrily. It was such a petty, stupid thing to do—to put artificial flowers and leaves into a vase filled with water. His anger flared unreasonably. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he had been made a fool of. It was so unnecessarily cruel to cheat and defraud someone that way. For the first time Burden despised the Department. Of course, he thought, checking himself, it would be silly to blame the whole Department for this one minor deception. Probably some nitwitted supervising nurse thought flowers would cheer patients and some equally nitwitted budget director decided that paper flowers and rubber ferns would be cheaper in the long run. But why put water in the vase? That was the criminally deceptive thing. And fresh water at that. The water was clear and looked as if it had come from a tap no more than twenty minutes ago. What was more irritating, someone must have gone to all the trouble of changing the water and dusting the paper and rubber flowers, leaves, and ferns. They had time for that, but not time to leave fresh pajamas and slippers for the next occupant of the room. There was time for that silly, vain little trick, but no time for someone to check his records more carefully so
that this whole silly medical examination could have been avoided. There was time to add touches to this little forgery and no time for anyone to read his reports carefully, or send him some helpful hints about his work. No, all that was ignored.

  “By God,” Burden said aloud, rising from the sofa angry, flushed, feeling bilked and humiliated, ready to vent his anger upon someone or something when the door opened and a young man with a short white coat and a stethoscope dangling from his neck entered.

  “Are you in charge here?” Burden demanded loudly, realizing even as he spoke that this young man was nothing more than an interne.

  “Why, what’s wrong?” the young doctor asked.

  “I resent the entire stupidity of this examination!”

  “Don’t you think a medical examination can be helpful?” the doctor said, putting down his long black leather case on the night stand.

  “It can be helpful but it so happens I have not come to the Department for that reason. I came here for a hearing. In some typically stupid bureaucratic manner my name has been confused with another name and here I am, without slippers, wearing pajamas too large for me, about to take an examination which is not meant for me and which I do not want. Now, you march right out of here, young man, and bring in someone who has access to the records and we’ll straighten this out.”

  “Suppose you march over here and take off the top of your pajamas,” the doctor said calmly, indicating the door side of the bed.

  “I’m telling you that you’re examining the wrong person,” Burden said loudly.

  “Professor Burden, Templar College?” the doctor asked, reading from a slip he brought out of his pocket.

  “Yes, I’m he. But the fact of the matter is, the error still exists and your slip has derived from that error. Now I want to see someone who has some authority around here.”

  “If you don’t mind,” the doctor said, putting the stethoscope to his ears, “the top of your pajamas, sir.”

  “I will not,” Burden said stubbornly.

  The doctor, who had not heard him, waited another moment. He flicked his finger impatiently. “The pajamas, Professor.”

  Burden folded his arms across his chest and shook his head stubbornly. He would insist upon his rights. He could not be forced to take a medical examination against his own wishes. After all, it was such a private, personal thing.

  The young doctor looked at Burden for a moment and took the ear pieces out. “Don’t you wish to be examined?”

  “I am not the person whose examination you want,” Burden said, trying to be patient. Evidently it was not the interne’s fault. The stupidity arose somewhere else. Probably with that self-­satisfied clerk. Or perhaps with the person who operated the public address system. Anyway, someone had made a mistake.

  “Professor Burden, you are the person. The correct person. Now, will you allow me to examine you?”

  “No,” Burden said, although a quiet inner voice nagged at him to give up fighting back, that it would be simpler to do what was asked of him.

  The young doctor picked up the narrow black leather case and without a word walked to the door, opened it, and left. For an instant Burden felt the impulse to call him back. He didn’t want to be difficult and he didn’t want to hurt the young man’s feelings, but all the same they had made the mistake, not he.

  He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, a sense of guilt nagging at him. He shouldn’t have kicked up such a fuss. There was no need for it. After all, a medical examination was not a painful thing and perhaps, in the long run, it might be good for him. Certainly it would have cost him nothing but some good-natured forbearance. Burden was about to decide that if the doctor came back he would be willing to submit to examination when his eye fell on the false bouquet resting in the perfectly honest vase with its perfectly respectable clear water. That was intolerable. His anger came back. It was dishonest and cheap and sly and he resented it as an insult to his intelligence, his judgment. If he submitted now to any of their other mistaken orders he would be compromising his intelligence and personal integrity still further. No, there had to come a time when a man declared an error was an error and stood for the truth. They had made an error with his reports, had they not? Conger had made an error. True, the hearing examiners made up for Conger’s obtuseness and stupidity. But now, this ridiculous error. Someone would make up for it. The Department had a reputation for scrupulous honesty and fairness. But he would certainly not permit it to go any farther. He had stood up to Conger and all indications were that he was right for standing up to the investigator and demanding a hearing. There are people who will try to intimidate others, Burden knew, and he also knew that the answer to intimidation was the refusal to flinch or to show fear. That was precisely what he would do. He sat down on the couch, his legs crossed, his arms folded, righteously waiting.

  It was quite some time before the door opened again. Burden had lost track of the time entirely and he felt hungry and headachy. His bare feet had fallen asleep from chill and his back ached from his position on the couch. A few times he was tempted to rest on the bed but decided against it lest he fall asleep. He wanted to be awake if anyone should enter.

  A stocky man in an ordinary business suit came into the room. He had thick, curly hair and a heavy-featured face that was a cross between a Botticelli cherub and a cheap gangster, pictures of which Burden had seen in history books of the middle-twentieth century.

  “Are you the man in charge?” Burden asked uncertainly. He was too hungry and tired to quarrel.

  “Yes, in a manner of speaking,” the stocky man said, closing the door behind him and pulling over a chair in front of the low table. “My name is Richard,” the man said with a brief smile as he sat down without offering his hand.

  Burden straightened up a bit on the couch, doubting that Richard (was it his last name or his first?) had anything to do with the medical staff of the Department. “Well, I’m afraid that there’s been an error made, Mr. Richard. I was asked here to attend a hearing and some damned fool has had me sent here mistakenly for a medical examination.”

  “I know, Professor Burden,” Richard said calmly.

  “Well,” Burden straightened up still further, expectantly, “then you do understand an error has been made. I’d like to have my clothes back and hear the results of my hearing so that I can get home sometime this evening.”

  “Oh, but you must have the medical examination, Professor Burden,” Richard said mildly. “That wasn’t a mistake. That examination was as much for our protection as it was for yours.”

  “Protection?”

  “Why, yes. Of course, it is an old ordinance of the Department and very probably one of these days it will be superseded. But for the present we have to observe it as long as it is in effect. You see, in the old days, oh, probably forty years ago when the Department was first founded, members of the Legislature feared that the Department might resort to physical violence in its investigations. Don’t look so surprised. The police methods prevailing some fifty years ago were quite barbaric. A man might quite easily be beaten in order to make him speak. Well, as I said, members of the Legislature, being rather apprehensive of the broad powers of the Department, explicitly appended to the Department’s codes the ordinance that all persons who shall be under investigation within the physical limits of the Department’s buildings shall, before discharge, be given a physical examination by an officially approved medical officer to determine whether the suspect has been subjected to physical violence. As you may have guessed, I’m quoting the ordinance almost word for word. So, you see, before you leave you must be examined to satisfy that ordinance.”

  “How curious,” Burden said, seeing at once how all the baffling events that went before now neatly and easily fitted into place. No mistake had been made after all. And he had kicked up such a fuss.

  “Of course,” Richard said, “someone should have told you this before. But sometimes our people get so absorbed in the routine of th
eir jobs they quite forget that other people don’t see the sense of what’s being done.”

  “Now it certainly does make sense. It is an archaic ordinance, isn’t it?

  “As I said, Professor, it’s been on the Department’s code since its founding. We’ve never appealed to the Legislature for its repeal because, frankly, we’d rather have it in force so that not the slightest question of doubt can be cast on the Department’s methods.”

  “I didn’t think you’d worry about that, Mr. Richard,” Burden said with a smile, “not with the reputation the Department enjoys.”

  “Thank you, Professor Burden.”

  “Well, then, I assume that my hearing is over? I mean, no further questions?”

  “Oh, just a few routine ones. I would have been here sooner if you had taken your physical examination. You see, the physical is almost the last thing. You can see why, I trust?”

  “Oh, yes, yes, of course. Well, could I have the physical this evening?”

  “Well, I’m afraid it’s past the dinner hour now and it might be a little difficult. But let me see what I can do after I leave.”

  “Oh, yes,” Burden said, remembering, “you did say you had a few questions to ask. Well, let’s get on with them, Mr. Richard.”

  “Fine,” Richard said, producing a small pad and a pencil. “Professor Burden, you said that you had never received any communication from your superior in your ten years?”

  “That’s right. That’s what I told the hearing examiners and Mr. Conger.”

  Richard made a note on his pad. “And because of this you presumed that your reports were satisfactory?”

  “Of course. Wouldn’t you?”

  “To tell you the truth, yes,” Richard said with a sudden laugh. Burden nodded pleasantly. He was beginning to warm to this young man. He was certainly more human than the literal-minded Mr. Conger. “Would you like to continue in your capacity­ as correspondent for the Department, Professor?”