by Linda Wolfe
“All right,” he agreed, sorry to give up his recreational plans but flattered by Neville’s wish to involve him in his research. “Okay. I’ll just call down to the hotel and let them know I may not be there ’til late.”
Naomi was uncomplaining. “Fine. Maybe I’ll take Petey into town. Show him the way the rest of the world down here lives. Not just the tourist scene.”
After Ben hung up, Neville’s nurse brought him a tray of deviled land crab and some unfamiliar, profoundly sweet fruits. Nibbling, he settled himself as comfortably as he could in the straightbacked wooden desk chair, reached for Neville’s notes and began reading.
The material surprised him by its thoroughness. Neville had kept remarkable records, managing to follow his sample of eighty women even though some of them had moved to different parts of the mountainous island and, in several instances, even to other islands in the region. He had tracked down each of the women, had examined their infants and the women themselves, had gotten detailed information on the women’s medical histories and the course of their pregnancies, and, notoriously difficult in the islands, located and taken family histories from the fathers of a majority of the defective children. When the subjects of his study would not or could not come to him, he had himself traveled, and at his own expense, to examine and question them in their home villages.
Neville’s records were painstaking, the work of a man devoted to research. Like Sidney himself, Ben thought, and imagined for a moment that Sidney would be pleased to learn he had hired, in Neville, a scientist with standards as rigorous as his own. Then he read on, although after a while his eyes and even his forehead began to ache. The birth defects Neville had found had occurred, for the most part, in the hearts, tracheae and esophagi of the infants he had examined. But there were also two cases of limblessness. Reading, he rubbed at his temples. They were throbbing. Still, he went on and, concentrating, paid careful attention to the questions Neville had asked in his lengthy interviews.
His argument against the pill rested on the fact that the defective children had consistently been born into families with normal parents and siblings and that, in every case, the mothers of the afflicted infants had reported that they had taken no other drug but Sidney’s prior to their pregnancies. At least superficially, Ben thought, it looked as if Neville’s suspicion of the Zauber pill was based on sound theory. But he was sure he would find a question Neville hadn’t asked, a line of reasoning he hadn’t pursued. He didn’t believe it was possible that the Zauber pill could in actual fact be harmful. Neville simply didn’t know Sidney and his renowned infallibility.
Reading, he began to take copious notes, and all the while he wondered to himself at the audacity of a provincial doctor like Neville trying to play David to Sidney’s Goliath.
It had grown dark by the time Neville swung open the door to the big, steamy office and shouted, “Come on. She’s started!” Ben, poring over his notes, sprang upright and ran after Neville, who was himself racing up the central staircase behind the miniskirted nurse. “I was just about to invite you for some dinner,” Neville called out. “I was afraid it might be several hours more.”
“I was just getting hungry,” Ben admitted, his long legs carrying him rapidly up the stairs so that he was right behind Neville. The nurse, already inside, held the door open for them and Neville spoke soothingly to the hotel housekeeper, whose face was strained now, her hands on her belly. And then, so quickly it was almost instantaneous, the fetus slipped from between her quivering legs into Neville’s palms.
It was a tiny, kitten-sized creature that cried as soon as Neville caught it. Ben averted his eyes. He disliked prostaglandin abortions with their all-too-frequent record of producing live fetuses incapable of sustaining life. Too bad he couldn’t shield his ears. Neville had placed the fetus on a wheeled instrument cart the nurse had rolled to the side of the bed and from its direction he could hear it as it continued to moan, its cry a shallow, muted, barely human lament.
It would die within minutes, he knew, and waited, still not looking at it, concentrating instead on Neville’s swift movements as he delivered the placenta. Then at last, the fetus ceased crying and Ben turned to look at it.
Its chest was heaving mercilessly, its skinny legs were raised skyward, and it had no arms. Beneath miniature, beautifully formed shoulders jutted knobs of bulging, twisted flesh. He reached out a hand to explore them but as he did, a revulsion he thought he had conquered years ago in medical school swept over him, making him gag. By the time he had gained control over himself, the fetus had given one last, tortured pant and, legs no longer twitching, was lying absolutely still.
“Take it to the lab,” Ben heard himself commanding the nurse. “Don’t let the mother see it!”
Later that night, after examining the fetus with Neville, he got into his car and drove thoughtfully back down the twisting mountain road. He had been deeply affected by the sight of the armless fetus and in view of it, and in view of Neville’s undeniably excellent research, it seemed to him now that there was indeed a strong likelihood that the Zauber pill was fallible. Of course, whether it was or wasn’t, only further study would tell. But in the meantime Sidney ought to cancel all further testing of the pill until the dropouts from the other island clinics could be located and questioned. Of course, he’d be devastated. Poor Sidney. For a moment he experienced the unfamiliar emotion, a feeling of pity for Sidney. But to go ahead with further testing of the pill was out of the question. Driving through a field of tall trees whose bulbous roots stood sculpturelike above the earth, he stepped on the gas pedal and began to speed.
It was after midnight when he reached the hotel and Naomi, sun reddened, let him quietly into their cottage. He embraced her and then moved immediately to the telephone. He’d best call Sidney at once. Most likely he would be asleep, worn out from his hectic one-day excursion to Chicago and an afternoon of exhausting meetings and panels. The phone would wake him, scattering his dreams, shattering them. Dialing the hotel operator and asking her to connect him with Sidney’s number in New York, he resolved to break his news as gently as possible.
Naomi, hovering over him, asked him what happened and while he waited to be connected he told her a little of the day’s revelations. “That goddamn Sidney,” Naomi exclaimed, outraged by his brief account. He looked at her reprovingly and said, “Ssh.” The phone was already ringing on the other end of the wire and Sidney was picking it up.
“Ben? Yeah. G’head.”
Sidney answered so promptly that Ben realized he hadn’t been asleep at all, but must have been sitting right beside the phone, awake and anxious. “G’head. What’d you find?” Despite its staccato, Sidney’s voice sounded tired, slurred, and once again Ben resolved to be as considerate as he could.
“Well, Neville’s an interesting fellow,” he began. “Runs the only women’s clinic this side of the island. Works incredibly hard.”
“I know all about his clinic,” Sidney broke in. “What about his stuff?” Ben could hear impatience make Sidney begin to speak more loudly.
“He runs the clinic with government money. I guess that’s common down here.”
“For Christ’s sake, Ben,” Sidney exploded. “Just tell me whether the pill is sour or not.”
He hesitated a moment longer and then he said, “Yeah. It’s sour. Really sour.”
Sidney was silent. Alarmed, Ben nevertheless launched into a summary of Neville’s findings, mentioning that Neville had until tonight spotted only eight problematic births but that the figure had just gone up to nine. Still, Sidney kept quiet. Ben talked on, and was about to tell Sidney that in his considered opinion it was essential that further research on the pill be suspended until the drop outs on all the islands could be investigated, when he suddenly realized that he had been talking into a dead phone. Sidney had hung up so silently that he hadn’t even heard the click.
CHAPTER FIVE
MAY
Emily, struggling back into g
len-plaid maternity slacks after her monthly examination by Ben Zauber, looked into the dressing-cubicle mirror, pulled the drawstring of the baggy pants disdainfully, and decided that she would, after all, use the rest of her time off from work this morning to buy herself a few maternity clothes of her own. The slacks had been given to her by her cousin Dorothy, along with a bulging cartonful of ill-fitting polyester blouses and skirts that Dorothy had worn while carrying her own child several years before. Emily had accepted the hand-me-downs eagerly, telling Philip she really didn’t want to buy her own things because she didn’t think it wise to spend money on so transitory a need as maternity clothes.
But there was more to her refusal to go shopping than mere thriftiness. She had been feeling unattractive lately, feeling so heavy and unfashionable in figure that she had hated the prospect of seeing herself in the impertinent lights and revealing three-way mirrors of department stores. But she had discussed her feelings with Dr. Zauber during her checkup and, as always, he had made her feel better about herself.
“I don’t find you unattractive,” he had said. And then he had mused, “There’s no intrinsic reason to associate pregnancy with loss of sexual appeal. There are lots of cultures that idealize the pregnant woman.” He had gestured to an African wood carving that had newly appeared on his wall and added, “You have to fight the culture.”
“How?” she had asked. “I don’t think you can.” Their conversations these days always excited her, made her remember how she had felt in college when her professors spurred her to be thoughtful and to question.
“Act as if you feel attractive,” he had said. “Sometimes acting as if we feel something makes us feel it.”
Emily had been cheered by his challenge, even though she didn’t quite believe she could effect the change in herself he was urging on her. But she had promised to try to listen to him and to come in for her next appointment looking more attractive even if she didn’t quite feel it. Remembering, she slipped Dorothy’s blouse over her hair, which had long since outgrown the chic trim her hairdresser had given her in February, stepped into her flat-heeled shoes, and started down the corridor to the receptionist’s desk to make her next appointment. If she skipped lunch, she’d have plenty of time for a long look in Bloomingdale’s before she was due at the neighborhood center.
She was almost at the receptionist’s desk when she heard loud voices behind her in the corridor. A woman’s voice was pleading, “Sign! Please, just sign! All I need is your signature.” And a man’s voice was shouting, “Get out of here! Get out now. Right now.” Turning, Emily saw a tall, white-coated man she thought must be Ben Zauber’s brother, the doctor who shared the office suite with him, and an elderly heavyset woman in an unstylish pillbox hat. The woman was waving a sheaf of papers at the man, whose craggy face was glowering with anger. “Sign!” the woman pleaded again, thrusting the papers at the man’s chest.
“Get out or I’ll call the police,” the man boomed back.
“You’ll call the police!” The woman was indignant. She stepped closer to the man. Her pillbox hat came as high as his neck. “I’ll call the police. The DA.”
“I’m a surgeon, not a bookkeeper,” the man intoned.
“The nurse said I had to see you,” the woman shrilled.
The man clenched both his hands into fists and Emily saw his entire body shudder in a paroxysm of fury. Then he slowly raised one of his fists. The woman didn’t see it. She was glaring up at him. Emily froze, sure that the man was about to smash his fist into the woman’s upturned mouth, and too terrified to intervene. Just then the red-faced nurse who sometimes sat at the reception desk darted down the corridor past Emily and, racing up to the embroiled couple, grabbed the woman, spinning her out of the man’s reach. His arm sank heavily to his side and a moment later he disappeared down the corridor and out across the waiting room. In the distance a door slammed shatteringly.
“Who was that? What was that all about?” Emily said, approaching the nurse. The heavyset woman was still holding her papers clutched in one hand, although now she was crying and blotting her eyes with the other.
The nurse didn’t answer but turned her full attention to the sobbing woman, saying, “Ssh. Calm down. Calm down now.”
“But I don’t know what to do anymore,” the woman moaned. “I’ve written to him. I’ve called him. I thought if I came down personally, it would work.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” The nurse purposely ignored Emily. The older woman was too upset to pay attention to her.
“I’m going to call the county medical society,” the woman wept. “I am. This time I really am.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do that, honey. Really I wouldn’t. He’ll come ’round. Just give him time.”
“Am I the only one?” the woman asked suspiciously.
“The only one who what?” Emily asked.
The nurse responded to Emily at last, turning from the older woman to give Emily a professional smile and saying, “Mrs. Harper, I know you want to make your next appointment and I’ll be with you in a moment if you’ll wait outside in the front.”
Emily stood her ground. “You might give me the courtesy of an answer.”
Emily’s obstinate insistence made the nurse more reasonable. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “It was just, well, a private matter between this woman and her doctor. We’re all entitled to privacy, aren’t we?”
It mollified Emily. She confided, “I thought the doctor was about to hit her.”
“You’re imagining things,” the nurse said, her wide-pored cheeks flooding with color. “What an idea! That was Dr. Sidney Zauber. You’ve heard of him, haven’t you?”
Emily nodded. “Dr. Ben Zauber’s brother. He was in the newspapers.”
“Well, there you are,” the nurse said, as if she had settled the whole matter.
“You’re sure it was nothing serious?” Emily asked hesitantly.
“Yes. Of course.”
At last Emily nodded again, thinking that perhaps she had mistaken the craggy-faced doctor’s intentions. Perhaps she had simply interpreted intense argument as intended assault. She didn’t want to be considered a troublemaker. Still, she lingered a moment longer, wondering if the elderly woman would ask for her support. But although the woman had stopped crying, she still took no interest in Emily. Instead, she began leafing through her papers, checking each one anxiously and looking up at the nurse occasionally as she did so. “Could you try it for me?” she said to the nurse when she had finished her perusal. “Maybe that would work.”
The nurse sighed, then nodded, and said, “Okay. I’ll try. Do you want to come back for the form or have me mail it on to you?”
“I’ll come back.” The woman handed the sheaf of papers to the nurse.
Embarrassed, Emily moved away. Clearly she was making a nuisance of herself. The other woman didn’t need her assistance. Convinced that she had misperceived the situation, Emily headed for the waiting room and as she walked away the nurse called out quite sweetly, “If you’ll just give me a moment to finish up here, I’ll be out at the desk right away and we’ll make your next appointment pronto.”
Emily shrugged and decided not to wait. She’d already wasted ten minutes of her shopping time and made a fool of herself to boot. “That’s okay,” she apologized to the nurse. “Take your time. I’m sorry I interrupted. I’ll call in for my appointment this afternoon.”
In the waiting room, she retrieved her raincoat from the pink-striped loveseat where she had draped it and hurried off to Bloomingdale’s. The nurse was still talking in the corridor with the elderly woman.
Ben waited out the commotion in the corridor, loath to tangle with Sidney when he was in the middle of a tantrum. But he knew he ought to say something. Sidney had never taken placidly to filling out or signing medical insurance forms but lately, what had once been a mere dislike had blossomed into sheer hatred. When patients mailed the forms to him, he tossed them into his wastebasket. When the
y telephoned to inquire about why they hadn’t received them back yet, he claimed the forms had never reached him. And when they brought them down to the office personally, he raged at them and withdrew.
It was as if Sidney had become phobic about signing his name, Ben thought, sitting worriedly at his desk. All month he had not only declined to fill out a single insurance form, but he had even refused to sign any letters or checks. Cora had complained to him that Sidney, who normally oversaw the financial end of the practice and paid all the suppliers’ bills, had not once this month agreed to sit down and go over monetary matters with her. Nor would he let her take charge and replicate his signature. Her sense of order and efficiency offended, she had urged Ben to have a talk with Sidney about delegating some of the office responsibilities.
He had put it off. To his extreme shock and annoyance, he was already engaged in a constant dispute with Sidney about his research. In this, Sidney had been as inactive as he had been about financial concerns. He had refused to cancel the Caribbean project or even to consider altering its direction to study the dropouts. Nor had he communicated with Neville, although Neville had left messages for him several times, and had even taken to calling Ben, too.
The noise in the corridor had at last subsided. Ben rose. Sidney’s outburst was over. He might as well have another go at the matter of the research. And while he was at it he could mention to Sidney that signing the damn insurance forms would cause less hassle and time loss than refusing to sign them was doing.
Sidney was on the phone. He signaled to Ben to take a seat and he started for the chair alongside the desk, only to notice that it was piled high with unopened bills. He sat down on the leather couch opposite the desk instead. But even here there was an immense scattering of wrapped journals and unopened letters and manila envelopes. As he sat, the pile shifted, some of the mail slipping down behind the couch cushions. He pulled it out and saw in his hand a thick envelope from Keith Neville. He knew what it contained. Neville had told him on the phone several days before that he had almost completed an article on his findings about the Zauber pill and was about to offer it to one of the most prestigious American medical journals. A publication where he had a good contact on the board of editors. He had promised Ben he would send a copy of the manuscript to Sidney.