by Erich Segal
And neither, it was clear, did Anya.
The barrel-chested Russian rose and his wife slowly followed him.
“I am sorry not to bring you good business,” she said to Adam with a wan smile.
“I beg your pardon?” Adam asked.
“I speak as one genekolog to another. I shall have no babies for you to deliver.”
“In any case, Professor Coopersmith,” Dmitri interrupted manfully, “let me congratulate you on thorough work of diagnosis.” He began to lead his wife toward the door.
“Wait,” Adam protested. “You two should have some counseling. I’d like to—”
“With great respect, Professor,” Dmitri cut him off, “I do not think such measures are indicated. We are scientists—all of us. We deal with facts and we accept them as they are.” Then, turning to his wife, he declared, “We should go.”
After they had left his office, Adam slumped back in his chair and began to brood about all the things that had been left unsaid.
And found himself whispering half aloud, “You arrogant shit, you don’t deserve a woman like that.”
15
ISABEL
Raymond da Costa was still on the floor of the restaurant when the paramedics arrived. The now-remorseful hippie whose taunts had been the cause of Raymond’s agitation and collapse had placed his own leather jacket under the victim’s head, while the restaurant owner had produced two tablecloths to cover him and keep him warm.
A police car had also responded to the call, and the officer volunteered to take Isabel to the hospital, but he did not press the matter when she insisted on riding in the ambulance with her father.
Trembling with fright, Isabel watched as they lifted Raymond onto a stretcher and began to carry him out. Suddenly, she felt a garment fall around her shoulders. It was the same coat that had provided her father with a pillow.
“Listen,” the frightened young man pleaded. “I was only joking, I swear. You do believe me, don’t you?”
“What difference would it make?” Isabel yelled at him.
Just then a calming male voice interrupted her. “Excuse me, miss, we want to get your Dad to the hospital as soon as we can.”
Isabel nodded and quickly followed the paramedic out the door. Her shock was all the greater since she had temporarily lost the very person who had always cosseted and protected her from the harsh realities of ordinary life.
As the ambulance sped across the city, swerving wildly around corners, Raymond tried desperately to speak to her, but the attendants urged him not to upset himself any further and to breathe deeply of the oxygen they were administering.
Isabel tried hard to hold back her sobs, but the sight of her father, disabled, and now disfigured by the oxygen mask, brought her to the verge of panic.
The ambulance shrieked to a halt in front of the battered doors of the emergency room of Alta Bates Hospital on Ashley. From every direction disembodied hands reached out to transfer the ailing man onto a gurney and wheel him off.
Inside, the chief resident of the “Pit” rapidly fired orders to his staff. It was only when they were about to speed Raymond to Intensive Care that the doctor noticed Isabel, standing frozen and mute.
“Who’s she?” he asked gruffly.
“The guy’s daughter,” the paramedic explained as he dashed out toward yet another emergency.
“Isn’t there anyone to look after her?”
“Send her to Pediatrics and let her sit in the Outpatient Clinic,” the resident commanded.
“No, no,” Isabel protested, “I want to stay with my father.”
Trying to restrain his own frayed emotions, the young doctor spoke as gently as possible. “Listen, kid, I’ve got my hands full running the Pit, and I wanna be able to concentrate on your old man. So please let someone take you up to Pediatrics, and I’ll phone them when it’s okay for you to come down. Now, let the nurse—”
“I can find my own way,” Isabel asserted.
Though she did not realize it, this was the first time in her life she had expressed that conviction.
For nearly three hours, Isabel sat motionless in a whirlwind of coughing, squealing, and crying youngsters.
At last the chief resident appeared.
The moment she caught sight of him, Isabel lost her breath—preparing herself for the worst.
He walked over slowly and said gently, “Your dad’s okay. I mean, he’s had a cardiac incident—”
“ ‘Incident’?” she echoed angrily. “I’m not familiar with that term, Doctor. Can you be a bit more specific?”
“Look,” he responded, “you’re a little girl. I can’t exactly go over the cardiogram with you. Let me just give you the salient, I mean, the main—”
“I know what ‘salient’ means,” she shot back. “And I think I could even understand the cardiogram if you would deign to show it to me. But get to the important part—will he live?”
“Hell yeah,” the doctor answered wearily. “He’s had a mild cardiac infarct, and at first glance there doesn’t appear to be serious damage. Please forgive my temper, sweetie, but I’ve just finished a forty-eight-hour stint and I’ve got woodpeckers in my brain and cotton balls in my mouth—I’m really zonked. The cardiologist—lucky bastard who actually gets to sleep at night—will tell you everything you need to know.”
In the elevator both were silent. He, speechless with fatigue, she with worry.
“I know how you must feel,” she said at last, to fill the vacuum. “I mean, how can you tolerate what you’re doing?”
He looked at her with a tiny smile. “Do you want to know something funny? I bitch a lot, but I actually like it. There’s no greater high in the world than saving a person’s life. Maybe you’ll be a doctor when you grow up, huh?”
Isabel was too moved by the young man’s kindness to retort that she already was grown up.
And yet had today’s events not called that into doubt?
Though the doctors had assured her that her father was heavily sedated and would sleep for the next several hours, Isabel nonetheless remained by Ray’s bedside and tried to comfort him with words he could not hear.
It was more than four hours later that he half woke and called out, “Isabel, where’s Isabel?”
“I’m here, Dad,” she whispered, taking his hand.
“Darling, I can’t tell you how bad I feel about doing this to you.”
“But, Dad, you were trying to protect me.”
“Look at the mess I’ve made. What’s gonna happen to you, Isabel?” Raymond said plaintively.
“I’ll be all right, Dad.”
“They say they want to keep me in for observation. Who’s gonna look after you? Who’ll cook—”
“Come on,” she interrupted, “I’m not that out of touch with reality. And if I’m too nerdish to defrost a dinner, it won’t exactly be torture to eat pizza.”
“No,” Raymond suddenly exclaimed, terrified by what might occur in his absence. Namely, that by going into, say, a pizzeria, Isabel might strike up conversations with other customers. Or they with her.
She was too young, too inexperienced. Danger lurked at every corner.
And then he continued out loud, “Listen, darling, it’s absolutely vital that you don’t neglect your courses. I’m sure if I called Dean Kendall, he’d find a senior coed to take you to classes and back. And maybe I can talk them into letting you sleep here.”
“That won’t be necessary, Raymond,” a female voice interposed.
Instantly, both turned their gaze toward the door.
Ray frowned but said nothing as Isabel leaped excitedly to her feet and rushed to embrace her mother.
“Gosh it’s great to see you, Mom.”
From Muriel’s expression, the joy was clearly reciprocated. She then addressed her husband.
“How are you, Raymond?”
“I’ll survive,” he answered sullenly.
“I’ve sent Peter to Aunt Edna and rearrang
ed my schedule so I can stay here as long as necessary.” Then, gazing at her daughter, she remarked, “I’m really looking forward to it.”
Raymond was too weak to protest. In truth, that part of him that loved Isabel unselfishly was glad she would be in safe hands.
“I called her, Dad,” Isabel asserted, and then, anticipating a hostile response, continued, “Whatever you two feel about each other, it was the right thing to do.” She precluded further altercation by adding, “I mean, for me.”
The next morning, the cardiologist who had examined Raymond expressed optimism.
“I’m happy to say that the damage was only minimal. But it’s a warning that should be heeded. I can tell from our conversation that Mr. da Costa’s a classic self-driven type A personality. But from now on he’s got to avoid stress, cut his cholesterol, and add three forty-minute sessions of aerobic exercise every week.”
“How much longer will he have to stay in here?” Isabel asked.
“Well, I want him in for two or three more days of relaxation, even if I have to tie him to the bed.”
One compensation for Raymond’s illness was that Muriel would be living with Isabel till his release from the hospital.
Mother and daughter had so much to catch up on that they chatted endlessly.
“Are you enjoying your studies, sweetheart?”
“Yeah, it’s really exciting. The Physics faculty has a lot of live wires.”
“I’m glad,” Muriel replied, masking her disappointment at having her worst fears confirmed. “I suppose you’re too young to make friends with the undergraduates.”
“Frankly,” Isabel complained, “I’m really bugged by this age thing. I mean, on the one hand, according to my birth certificate I’m thirteen, and on the other, I’m taking a graduate seminar in astrophysics with people twice as old as I. Everyone on campus can drive, and I’ve still got to wait three years.”
“Don’t worry, darling, Nature has a way of making time catch up to you.”
At which point Muriel’s gaze was inexorably drawn to her daughter’s budding breasts. There was no need to exchange words.
“Yes, Mom,” Isabel confessed with relief, “and I’ve started having periods too.”
“Were you frightened at first?” Muriel asked as she embraced her. “I remember I was.”
“Yes,” Isabel replied, enormously relieved at the opportunity to discuss her secret feelings and confusions.
“You should have told me on the phone.”
“I wanted to, but Dad was in the room—and I was embarrassed.”
Her mother’s expression grew somber. “You mean, when we speak he’s always there?”
“Well, it’s a small apartment, Mom.”
“But does he really have to come to every class with you?”
“How do you know that?”
“Isabel,” Muriel replied, “there are always little snippets about you in the local paper. And if I don’t see them myself, the other teachers at school keep me up-to-date.”
She hesitated for a moment, and then added grimly, “They mean well, but their attitude is kind of one-dimensional. They think I should be proud.”
“You mean you aren’t?” Isabel asked with undisguised disappointment.
“Honey, to tell you the honest truth, I wish I could rewrite history. Then I’d still be driving you to junior high school instead of visiting you at college. Anyway, your dad and I had an understanding that we would spend all the vacations together as a family. But somehow, the two of you always seem to find reasons why you—”
“It’s not me, Mom.”
“Well, don’t you miss me?” her mother persevered, beginning to reveal her hurt. “God knows my heart aches for you.”
“Me too. Maybe we could try speaking to Dad together.”
Sick at heart, Muriel looked at her daughter and said sadly, “I don’t really think that would help.”
She sat down, buried her face in her hands and began to sob quietly.
Isabel walked over and put her arms around her, murmuring, “Please don’t, Mommy.”
“I’m sorry, it’s just that I miss you so much.”
They hugged each other tightly.
Finally, knowing she had to regain control, Muriel said as convincingly as possible, “Everything will be all right.” At which point she rose and went off to splash cold water on her face. When she returned, they both escaped into innocuous gossip.
“Tell me all about Peter,” Isabel asked, attempting to sound lighthearted. “All he does is grunt when I try to talk to him.”
“Well, he’s a typical teenager—for better or for worse. He plays on the soccer team, doesn’t do his homework, and talks endlessly to his pals on the phone about sexual conquests, real or imagined. But I know he carries condoms in his wallet.”
“Mom, you don’t mean you searched?”
“Of course not,” she answered. “But we’ve talked about it.”
Isabel could not suppress a pang of jealousy. Peter had the luxury of living at home, even confiding in a parent—and, most of all, enjoying friends and having fun.
Yet she did not want to give the impression that in its own way her life was less happy than Peter’s.
“Berkeley’s a neat place, Mom. I’ll give you a tour tomorrow.”
“I’d like that very much, darling.”
“I’ve got courses till noon and a lab at two-thirty. But we could have a quick bite and I’ll show you around.”
“I guess it’ll be a funny feeling,” Muriel remarked. “I mean, going to classes on your own, without Dad to explain things.”
“Well, he doesn’t really have to explain—” She pulled herself up short. “I mean, you’re right, I guess I will miss him.”
Muriel read her daughter’s face and saw profound ambivalence.
But sensing that she might be pressing too hard on this delicate subject, she switched gears. “I’ve got a surprise for you,” she said cheerily, bounding from the chair.
She hurried into Raymond’s room, which she had temporarily appropriated for herself, and came back with—
“My fiddle!” Isabel cried with delight. “Thanks, Mom, I’ve really missed it.”
“And I’ve brought you lots of music.” Her mother smiled. “Actually, you’ll discover, as I did, that being good at an instrument can improve your social life.”
“Meaning?”
“Well, besides going to orchestra practice, I’ve been taking advanced classes with Edmundo. And when the Physics Quartet needed a second violin, they stretched a point and asked me to join. It’s been wonderful—traveling, meeting new people. I even enjoy the squabbles we have about tempo. Why aren’t you playing with the Berkeley orchestra?”
“When would I find time?” Isabel grinned mischievously. “I mean, I am only thirteen years old.”
“That means you’ll really like my other surprise,” Muriel responded. She reached into her handbag and pulled out an audio casette.
“This is from a fun series called Music Minus One. They give you a concerto with only the orchestral backing, so anybody can play the solo part with a genuine philharmonic.”
“That’s neat!” Isabel enthused.
Muriel was pleased. “I thought you might like to start with the Mendelssohn E-Minor. If you like, we can attack it together, and I’ll try to help you over some of the rough bits.”
“That would be great, Mom. There’s only one problem.…”
“I can’t believe it,” Muriel uttered. “You don’t have a cassette player?”
Isabel shook her head.
Muriel winced. “But you always loved working to music.”
“Yeah, only Dad thinks it’s bad for my concentration.”
“Do you do everything he tells you?” she asked, trying to make light of what she inwardly regarded as a serious matter. “At your age, you should be rebelling like mad.”
“Okay, Mom,” Isabel joked, “I’ll join a few street marches. Now
, can I ask you a question—what’s gonna happen to you and Dad?”
“I can’t answer that,” Muriel replied in a muted voice.
“Why not?”
“I don’t know how I feel anymore.”
“About what?”
“Ray.” Before her daughter could react to this bombshell, Muriel deftly shifted gears. “Now, can I make us something to eat?”
“Great.” Her daughter’s face brightened. “Dad’s a terrible cook.”
Thank God for that, Muriel thought to herself.
Shopping for ingredients liberated them from the tense atmosphere of the apartment, as well as giving Muriel the chance to engage in another activity for which her husband was unsuited.
She broached the subject as delicately as possible.
“I know the Berkeley fashion is for women to let it all hang out, so to speak. But don’t you think you could do with a training bra?”
“Sure, Mom. Thanks for asking.”
After helping Isabel to locate the appropriate item, Muriel left her trying on some bright new spring blouses and darted across the street to buy an inexpensive cassette player. When she returned, she was delighted at the change in her daughter’s mood. The two of them began to giggle, and Isabel was in absolutely no hurry to leave the store.
Unfortunately, when they returned home, Ray’s spirit was still hovering in every corner. Yet the conversations earlier in the day had equipped Muriel with an inner radar that kept her from striking shoals of dangerous topics.
After dinner, they went back to the hospital. Raymond had now been moved out of Intensive Care. Mother and daughter spent an hour making small talk, competing for his attention with a basketball game on television. When they had come to the mutual conclusion that Raymond would be just as happy on his own watching the college hoopsters slam dunk, Isabel kissed him good night and they returned to the apartment.
It was a rare moment of equilibrium for Isabel. She seemed to be resting precisely at the midpoint of the magnetic force between her father and mother. Muriel knew this was a propitious time to produce the cassette player, which Isabel greeted with excitement.
“Oh, Mom, you should visit more often.”
