by Ian Fox
“Making an effort? That doesn’t sound particularly encouraging. So you’re having problems?”
He took a few deep breaths. “Yes, in fact we are—but I’m sure your time is much too valuable for me to go into how my wife and I aren’t getting along so well these days.”
“Not at all. People say I’m a good listener.”
His eyes darted back and forth. “To tell you the truth … I really don’t know if I can complain. It’s probably the same with all marriages. The only thing that really gets to me is that things aren’t like they used to be. Do you know what I mean?”
“You’re trying to say that the love between you has sort of cooled off?”
He wanted to say no, but he nodded. “I guess you could put it that way. Things used to be different. We used to enjoy each other’s company every day. We were so much in love. But recently …”
“People are all very different,” she said sympathetically.
“What if we really don’t want to stay together anymore? We get into so many fights, and what’s most ridiculous is that it’s always about something trivial.” He spoke in a low voice, almost a whisper.
“Instead of looking forward to going home,” she said, “it seems like torture.”
He pointed his finger at her. “Exactly. How’d you know?”
“I know the feeling. I’ve gone through this before and don’t intend to repeat the experience.” She raised her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. What I wanted to say was that I would rather live alone than force myself to put up with a certain kind of relationship. Of course, each person has to know what’s right for him or her.”
“You may have a point. Maybe I really should think about getting a divorce—we seem to be beyond help.”
“Well, whatever you do, Simon, don’t rush into anything. There’s no real hurry, is there? Try talking with your wife. Maybe the smart thing would be for you both to go to a marriage counselor or someone like that. Who knows?”
He rested his chin on his fist and gazed through the window at one of the glowing stars. “I certainly don’t know. I have no idea anymore what to do. I try so hard, but nothing seems to work.” This last statement was spoken in a tone of deep frustration.
“Everything will be fine, you’ll see. You shouldn’t worry so much about it. It’ll work out.” She waited for him to rest his hand on the table and then covered it with hers.
Their eyes met. An unusual warmth rose to his cheeks. He wanted to remove his hand, but then changed his mind, not wanting to offend her. He lowered his eyes, cleared his throat, and said, “Life can take strange turns, can’t it?”
She smiled at him sweetly.
“And there’s nothing we can do about it.” He stared down at her hand, which seemed glued to his skin. He raised his eyes sadly and again met her glass-like gaze. He reminded himself that this was not what it seemed to be and began to say whatever came into his head. He told her that Helen really was not so bad, that it was probably his fault too, and that we all have our little peculiarities. He kept on talking and hoped she would take her hand away.
Then, at last, she spoke. “Did you ever think that maybe the two of us could possibly …? I don’t really know the best way to say it. … I’ve always liked you a lot, Simon. Maybe we could get together sometime outside of work, for dinner or something.”
He swallowed, almost choking on his saliva. “You mean just the two of us?” He looked directly at her for a moment. Anita Carter was a beautiful woman with a face that was completely adorable. He had often wondered why she used such heavy makeup, since it didn’t suit her. But he was bothered by her eyes, which had a hazy translucence. He could never tell what was going on with her, what she was thinking. He was afraid of those eyes.
He pulled his hand closer to his body, but only succeeded in shifting it a fraction of an inch. Her hand only intensified its pressure on his.
“Simon, you have no idea how attractive you are. What if we went to your office? No one will bother us there. What do you say?”
For a second he thought he might do it. Anita Carter, after all, was an extremely beautiful woman. An opportunity like this didn’t come along every day. He was almost about to nod when he looked into her eyes again. An unpleasant feeling ran down his back. He pulled his hand away sharply and moved off the barstool. “I don’t think that would be wise. Considering that we work together.”
Her lips got thinner, her eyes even glassier. “You really think we couldn’t make it work?”
Now that he had freed himself from her touch he could be more decisive. “Yes, Anita. I think we should just be good friends. That would be best.”
A beeping noise came from his pocket. His pager displayed a number he had to call. This was almost certainly something urgent. The pager in Anita’s pocket was also beeping.
Five minutes later they found themselves together in the same operating room. A woman had been in a car accident and because she had not been wearing a seat belt, her head had gone through the windshield. An operation was needed immediately or there could be long-term consequences. She might even die. The woman, who was fully conscious, was crying.
“We need a CT scan immediately,” Dr. Patterson called out to the staff.
The duty nurse helped move the patient onto another table and guided her into a special apparatus.
A few minutes later, the doctor slowly shook his head as he examined the scans of the cranial cross-sections. It won’t be an easy operation.
When the patient was on the operating table, Dr. Anita Carter started the anesthesia. She monitored the patient’s heart rate and blood pressure. “The patient will be ready in two minutes.”
Dr. Patterson could still feel the pressure of Anita’s hand on his, and did not even want to look at her. He said only, “Fine. Jerry will be here in twenty minutes. The poor guy was sound asleep. I think we can go ahead and start.”
The operation at first went smoothly, without complications. Anita Carter kept her eye on various monitors; the duty instrument nurse handed out the instruments; and Dr. Patterson operated.
The first trouble appeared just as Dr. Jerry Duncan was coming through the door. Dr. Patterson had removed a large piece of the cranium that had dug itself into the brain tissue. The heart rate monitor started beeping loudly, which meant the patient’s heart had stopped.
“Quick! Resuscitate!” Dr. Patterson shouted.
Jerry Duncan, who a little while earlier had been sleeping soundly, looked around in confusion to see what was going on. He wanted to go over to the resuscitation apparatus, but the duty nurse got there first. She placed the defibrillator electrodes in Dr. Patterson’s hands.
After the patient’s body momentarily rose into the air, all eyes shifted to the heart rate monitor. It still showed a flat line. Dr. Patterson waited another moment and then placed the electrodes once more on the patient. Again, nothing. After the woman had been tossed into the air a third time, cardiac activity resumed. The room echoed with sighs of relief.
The whole of the next part of the operation took place in an electrified atmosphere. Dr. Patterson was as tense as a bowstring. He yelled once at the nurse when she gave him the wrong instrument, and twice at Jerry Duncan for not removing the aspirator at the right time.
Anita Carter knew she was partly to blame for his irritability. Many times before, when an operation did not run smoothly, Dr. Patterson had always stayed calm. He had never spoken harshly to anyone. But she didn’t care. She was upset with him for having turned her down. This had never happened to her. She considered how she might get revenge. Angrily, she glanced at the monitor that showed the oscillating curve of the patient’s cardiac activity. She hoped everything would be alright since she’d had enough of dealing with this patient. Anita yawned furtively and looked at the clock. It showed a few minutes past two.
After the operation, Dr. Patterson apologized to everyone for his sharp words. “I was really afraid we would lose her. I apolog
ize.”
Everyone nodded except Anita, whose thin lips were drawn in a straight line. She knew how she’d get her revenge.
Chapter 9
_______________________
The short woman crawled beneath the big wooden kitchen table on her knees and started wiping the floor. She had already cleaned the bedroom, the hallway, and the bathroom. The kitchen was the only thing she had left to do. She worked as fast as she could; it was getting close to five, and Dr. Patterson would be home in half an hour.
Edna Weiss had the appearance of a good-natured woman, full of energy and vitality for less than fifty years old. She wore her brown hair tamed into a neat French bun. Twice a week she came to help with the housework.
Hearing the sound of a car in the gravel driveway, she got up quickly and went to the window. She brightened when she saw the familiar figure and hurried to open the door.
“Oh, it’s you, Dr. Patterson. You’re home early today.” She was relieved to see him because she had been afraid it might be Helen. She didn’t like that woman.
“Good afternoon, Edna. Yes, you’re right. I am early, aren’t I?” He glanced at his watch. “If you want to put it that way.” It was one of those rare days when he had finished work by four thirty.
“Can I fix you some tea?” she offered.
“Thanks, that’s very nice of you. First I’d like to take a shower, but I’d be glad to have some tea later.”
She watched him go upstairs and admired his elegant walk. She had a deep respect for the doctor and liked him because he was always so kind and friendly toward her.
Edna loaded the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and pressed the start button. She said to herself, I’ll wipe down the cabinets and then I’m done.
She heard the water running as Dr. Patterson had his shower. She knew he’d soon be ready and then would go sit on the patio. She quickly ran outside to make sure the patio table was tidy and everything clean. She sighed with relief when she saw it was all in the best possible order.
He almost always invited her to have a cup of tea with him and then they would talk about all sorts of things. The other day he told her that he and Helen were not getting along that well, but that he thought everything would work out. He said Helen was often under a lot of stress at work because she had so many clients.
He came downstairs while she was still cleaning the window. He was wearing casual blue pants and a red polo shirt. She tried to imagine him in his white work clothes; she had never seen him dressed that way.
“I’ll fix your tea right away, Dr. Patterson.” She closed the window and put the kettle on the burner.
Dr. Patterson thanked her, picked up the newspaper, and went outside. He obliquely watched the sun as it hid intermittently behind blue-shadowed clouds, and when it came out again its bright rays bathed everything in an amber glow. Sitting on the patio always calmed his nerves.
“Here you go, Doctor. The tea’s ready.”
He put down the newspaper and was cheered by the sight of the cloud of steam twisting above the porcelain teacup. He tried to guess which tea she had made this time and fairly soon recognized the smell of cinnamon and dried apple. “But where’s your cup? You must join me, Edna.”
Out of politeness she never brought out a cup for herself, although she always knew he’d invite her to join him. She had brewed a full pot so there would be enough for the both of them.
The table where they sat rested on two concrete legs. A roof of gray corrugated plastic sheltered them from any possible rain or too much sun. The yard they were looking at stretched out before them in a well-tended lawn. In front of the fence, not far off, the rosebushes bloomed fully for the season. The roses clustered so abundantly that one had to wonder how the thin stems could bear the weight of all these blossoms without breaking. Behind the wooden fence, young trees stood in solid rows, their branches curving thickly above the road.
Every time Edna Weiss got ready to leave, Dr. Patterson reminded her to take some flowers home with her. At first she would decline, but he always insisted that they had far too many.
“Roses are the most beautiful flowers,” he said, looking in the direction of the wooden fence.
“I don’t know how you manage to get them to bloom so beautifully, Doctor. What do you water them with?”
Dr. Patterson smiled and said, “I water them with love, Edna.”
She responded with a big, warm smile.
“By the way, you know I’ve never asked you, what is it you’re researching in that lab of yours down in the basement?” She instantly regretted the question. She felt she was intruding too much into his private life.
He looked pensively toward the sun, shading his eyes with his right hand. “You won’t believe it when I tell you I’m researching plant fertilizers.” It was a deliberate lie. What point was there in explaining to her what he was really doing?
“Oh,” she exclaimed. “That’s why you have such beautiful roses! Incredible!” What a genius, she thought. All day at work he does brain surgery and at home he does research on flower fertilizers.
“When the roses start blooming, it’s the loveliest time of the year, don’t you think so, Edna?” He said this to her with a half-concealed smile.
Edna Weiss picked up her cup of tea and lifted it slowly to her mouth, afraid of scorching herself.
They had been chatting for over half an hour when Edna stood up and wished Dr. Patterson a nice evening. She knew his wife would be getting home soon and preferred not to see her.
Simon sat outside a little longer, enjoying the quiet late afternoon which was slowly changing into evening. A gentle breeze blew through the yard, making the small leaves on the rosebushes rotate on their axes. He watched a black bumblebee light on a rose and insert its proboscis inside the blossom; the bee’s little legs were covered in yellow pollen.
His right hand brushed his wristwatch. As if he had been jabbed in the ribs, he leaped up and dashed into the house. Realizing that Helen would be home at any moment, he hurried down to the basement. Simon was ashamed of what he was doing but it was the only way to avoid a fight. Helen, he knew, was most irritable right after work. She was constantly complaining about how stressful it was working with her clients. In this regard Simon had it easy; his clients were always unconscious.
He sat on his favorite revolving chair and gave Dorothy a worried look. The rabbit was jumping up and down in her cage to show how happy she was to see him. Delighted, he brought out a fresh carrot and offered it to her. When he saw how eagerly she took it, he was visibly relieved.
“Clearly, those vitamins helped you,” he said. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better.”
He looked with satisfaction over at the three rats on which he had first tested his antiaging vaccine. At first glance they appeared healthy. He gave them a little food and changed their water. He had expected one of them to be afraid of him and let out its usual squeaks, but nothing like that happened.
He blew air through his pressed lips, making a kind of burble. “You’re finally getting used to me,” he said to the rat.
Then he opened Dorothy’s cage, gathered her up gently, and pulled her out. As he reviewed his notes, he let her sit in his lap and all the while scratched the back of her neck. He thought about how near he was to his goal and how he’d be able to help others. From then on, he promised himself, everything would be different. People would live a lot longer than ever before. Schoolchildren everywhere would learn about him in history books.
After he put the rabbit back in her cage he was upset to see that his hands were covered in white fur. He closed the door to the cage and washed his hands in a nearby sink.
When Helen heard the water running in the pipes, she knew he was about to come up from the basement. She ran over to the basement door, opened it, and cried out loudly, “Siiimooon!”
Gritting his teeth, he answered, “Yes, dear? Is it suppertime already?”
“No, but I want to talk to you.”
She left the door open so he could hear her rattling the pots in the kitchen. Reluctantly, he climbed the stairs.
In the kitchen, she told him to sit down. “I want to talk to you about our summer vacation.”
For weeks she had been listening to her clients brag about how they were going this summer to Miami, the Bahamas, the Dominican Republic, and other exotic places. All this talk was getting to her.
“You want to talk about our summer vacation? This is why you called me away from my important research? It’s only May.”
“Now listen, Simon. Maybe it’s not important to you. I know you’d just as soon stay home during your vacation and do your precious research. But I have to know where we’re going this summer.”
“Where would you like to go?” he asked. He’d had enough of this.
She was glad he’d finally asked. She took the coffee from the cabinet and put a couple of spoonfuls into the water. Then she turned to face him. “This year I want us to take our vacation at the Burj Al Arab hotel in Dubai. It’s got seven stars. What do you think?”
Frustrated, he let out a high-pitched noise and shook his head. “I’m OK with Dubai, but not with the seven-star hotel. Do you have any idea how much that costs? We don’t have the money—”
“Is this normal? I’m married to a brain surgeon and I can’t even take a decent vacation once a year.” Her tone had noticeably increased a notch in volume.
“Of course it’s normal, honey. I don’t know how many times I’ve told you, but I am still paying off that loan I took out when I bought the microscope. Besides, I’m still paying off the two mortgages. So there’s not much left over from my paycheck. We’ll have to wait until next year when—”
Her dark-blue eyes flashed daggers. “You’re driving me crazy! Again with that microscope! I hate your microscope. What good is that damn thing to me? Can you at least tell me that?”
“Just be patient a little while longer. I’m on the verge of a big discovery …”
She covered her ears with her hands. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. I’m not getting any younger and I’d like to get something out of life.”
