Dean Bowles inhaled sharply, all color having drained from his face. “Robert I need you to rethink this. You’ve been a direct beneficiary of the general’s largesse to this University. Your refusal to help is not appropriate and is, frankly, very disturbing.”
Bobby felt the time was right to excuse himself and everyone appeared relieved when he did. Staring hard into Bobby’s eyes, the general extended his hand as he said, “I’m sure you’ll come round our way once you give this some more thought.”
23
On the entire flight from Boston to Washington D.C., Bobby noticed that Uhlman was peculiarly quiet.
“The Director is ready to see you now,” said Doris, one of Orin Varneys’ two secretaries, both of whom were in their fifties and looked like they put up with a lot for their money.
Doris led Uhlman and Bobby from the large reception room with its ornate gilded paneling through a long marbled hallway lined with a seemingly endless number of portraits of humorless looking men. Probably spooks who died in the line of duty, thought Bobby. Finally, they came to a set of ten foot tall heavily lacquered mahogany doors. Doris opened them with a purposeful flourish and ushered Uhlman and Bobby inside. Of course, Uhlman had been through this drill countless times, but Bobby was enjoying the pomp and circumstance.
Director Varneys’ office was impressive by anyone’s standards, but Varneys radiated such imposing authority and gravitas that he overshadowed it. Orin Varneys stood five feet seven inches tall and appeared to be in his mid forties. Although portly now, his build was still so broad and thick that no one would be surprised to learn that he went through college on a wrestling scholarship. His almost square head was far too large for his body and looked suitable for mounting in a hunting lodge. Thinning black hair was oiled and combed straight back, and his small dark eyes were set wide on his head, almost like a fish. His mouth was a long lateral slit with no discernible lips and his ears were large, swollen looking items. While his teeth were peculiarly small, he appeared to have many more than was usual and they were badly stained, probably from too much cigar smoking.
Varneys rose from the chair behind his ebony Louis XVI desk and motioned perfunctorily to Uhlman and Bobby to take the two seats in front of him. They sat down, as he did, and Varneys proceeded to just stare at Bobby. He said nothing to him. He just kept staring intently at him with his shiny dark eyes. He propped his left elbow on the desk, rested his chin in his left hand and then stared some more. When a seemingly inordinate amount of time had passed, Varneys said, “So, finally, I meet Robert James Austin. John, why didn’t you let Austin and me get together years ago? Shame on you.” Varneys laughed. Uhlman managed a mechanical smile.
“You know, director, on the trip to D.C., I was thinking how strange it is,” Bobby said. “You’re a person whose had such a major influence on my life, and yet we’ve never met or even spoken with each other. You came into my life at age five and now I’m twenty. All these years have passed. That’s quite extraordinary when you think about it.”
“I prefer to be behind the camera. That’s where I perform best.”
“I see. You’re the wizard behind the curtain. The puppet master.”
“I don’t see myself that way. But I understand the analogy. I have a job to do and I try to do it as effectively as possible.”
“I want to thank you, director. You’ve done a great deal for me and I’m cognizant of that and highly appreciative. I want you to know that I don’t take it for granted.”
“All of that is well and good Robert, but the bottom line is that there’s no free lunch. I’m not running a charity or an altruistic organization. I have a boss. It’s the American people. They’ve made an expensive investment in your education and room and board. They’re entitled to a return on that investment. ”
“Before we get into that subject director, there’s something I have to ask you. I think you know where I come from –what my background is—who my birth parents were. My foster parents told me that they took me in when I was only a few weeks old and that they didn’t know anything. I wager to say, director, that you do know. I feel I’m entitled to this information.”
“Austin—sometimes ignorance is a good thing. I suggest that you just leave this subject alone. I had your background files delivered to me when your foster parents died and I sealed them for confidentiality reasons. Your background should never become fodder for the media—it’s nobody’s business.”
“But that confidentiality shouldn’t extend to me.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree. Leave it alone.”
“Thanks for the concern, director, but I want the information.”
“You’re making a mistake digging this up, Austin. But if you’re intent on this, I won’t fight you. We have bigger problems than your curiosity. I’ll let you see the first volume of your files. That’s the one that has what you want to know.” Varneys pressed the intercom buzzer on his phone. “Doris, bring in volume one of the Austin files.”
Within a minute, Doris knocked on the door and then entered the office holding a file that was at least six inches thick and handed it to Varneys who placed it on the desk in front of him.
“When we’ve finished what we need to discuss, I’ll let you take this file into my conference room and you can read it there. But don’t pull anything out of it. Now let’s get on with what we need to talk about. I heard about the meeting with Bowles and General Aeurbach. What the hell is going on with you Austin?”
“Director, do you know the expression ‘all the time in the world’? That’s exactly what I don’t have. I’ve been given a gift—which is why you’re talking to me now. None of us understands why I have it, where it came from or how ephemeral it may be. And, of course, none of us knows how long any of us will live. Things happen. So, the clock is ticking, and I need to set my priorities on how I’m going to use this resource for as long as I have it. I can’t be distracted or waste any time.”
“Exactly right Austin. And the right way to use it is by helping your country remain the most scientifically advanced and militarily secure nation on earth.”
“But that’s where we differ, director. As I told General Aeurbach, I’ve made the decision to concentrate one hundred percent of my energies on matters related to human health.”
As Varneys’ eyes narrowed, Bobby continued, “There’s been a dearth of progress in the last five decades. If all of the best scientific talent had spent its time and energy to combat disease over that period of time, this world would be unrecognizable. Too much intellect was siphoned away. I’m not going to add to that problem.”
Varneys’ left hand trembled. Rising from his chair, Varneys rasped, “Who filled your head with this polyanna bullshit? Was it Manzini? You used to be cooperative. You never balked at helping. Now you’re ready to move to Africa and become Albert fucking Schweitzer. Someone’s responsible for this.”
Bobby glared at Varneys with an intensity that startled the hardened agent. Standing up abruptly and roughly shoving his chair back, Bobby spat out, “I never want to hear anyone disparage Joseph Manzini. Never. Do we understand each other?”
Realizing his mistake, Varneys sat down and said softly, “I apologize. I know how much Professor Manzini meant to you. I approved of his becoming your mentor. I was shocked by his premature passing and I understand what a devastating loss it was to you. No disrespect intended.”
Taking his seat, but still looking shaky, Bobby said, “Apology accepted. Thank you.”
Varneys forced a smile as he continued. “Robert, maybe I’m not doing a good job explaining my position. In the abstract, I commend your altruistic inclinations. But it is my agency, the OSSIS, that discovered you, nurtured you, virtually raised you, gave you the finest customized education in the world and took care of your every need. We did this, not the CDC, NSF, NIH, or any o
ther health agency. I need some pay-back for the OSSIS agenda. At least give me a portion of your time.”
“What I’m trying to do is a 24/7 job. I can’t give you time I don’t have. I’m sorry.”
Varneys sat silently. He propped the elbows of his stubby arms on the desk and then rested his head wearily atop his fists as if in an effort to support the weight of his responsibility.
“Austin —the bottom-line is that we won’t continue to support you if you have no intention of helping us. We’ll cut you off immediately. The Institute and the two universities will be gone.”
Bobby shook his head in denial. “I have supporters there. They’ll want to stand behind my research.”
Varneys laughed. “Oh you think so? They’ll throw you out on your ear. Trust me.”
Bobby’s face flushed red. “Has it ever occurred to you that one day you might be happy I didn’t listen to you?”
Varneys stood and began to gather some folders on his desk. “Austin, stop dancing. I have an agency to run. For forty-five years, the OSSIS has labored to find and develop someone like you. We finally succeed in doing so, and now you cast us aside. This is a dark day. I have a meeting to go to. Goodbye. ”
“My file, please. You said I could look at it.”
Varneys shoved the tome across his desk over to Bobby. “You have thirty minutes. You’re a fast reader. Go into the conference room through those doors.”
Uhlman, who had been silent throughout the meeting said, “Robert, I’ll wait for you in the reception area.”
24
Bobby sat down and began to read. At first, he didn’t get it, but then it became clear. It was there in full detail: Photographs of a tiny infant whose picture was stamped #2764 with the official imprint of the Bureau of Child Health and Welfare Services; mug shots of a disheveled looking man named Alan Gottschalk and the full transcripts of his police interrogation; pictures of a shanty house made out of cardboard and tarps; a case analysis by the District Attorney; and images of a black plastic garbage bag and a DNA report on its contents.
Bobby read the newspaper headlines that had sensationalized an American tragedy: “DUMPSTER BABY,” “ GARBAGE BAG BOY,” “LEFT TO DIE,” “WHO IS JOHNNY DOE?”
Varneys’ file also contained Dr. Drummond’s examination report on the physical condition of #2764, Natalie Kimball’s own personnel file complete with a photograph of herself (from which Bobby realized why she had approached him at the funeral of his foster parents) and her official explanation for why no one wanted to adopt him:
“Unfortunately, many prospective adoptive parents were scared away by the media vilification of the unknown parents. The popular assumption was that either or both parents were serious substance abusers at the time the child was conceived, or that the mother was drinking heavily, taking drugs or having unprotected sex during the pregnancy. Others thought it likely that either or both parents suffered from mental illness, learning disabilities or retardation. And so, a cloud of uncertainty hung over the infant. People don’t want to adopt a problem, and they know that many problems don’t show themselves until later in a child’s development. Some prospective adoptive parents even voiced their belief that the reason the infant was discarded was because the mother knew that the baby would have serious disabilities of one type or another and she didn’t want to have to deal with the problems incident to raising a child who would be so impaired.”
As Bobby read, he grew smaller and smaller. His shoulders hunched over until they were almost touching the table. Shock gave way to despair, his eyes grew wet, and he began to quietly sob, his body rocking weakly and his hands trembling. He continued to read the file through his tears, as he was cognizant he only had thirty minutes. No doubt, Doris would appear exactly on time. Trash. Left to die alone, in the dark among the stench and vermin.
Doris walked in. Her face paled when she saw the deterioration in Bobby’s appearance. He looked disoriented and disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, and his face stained with tears.
“I have to take this away now. Did the director bully you, young man? He can be so overbearing sometimes.” Obviously Doris had never read Bobby’s file.
“It’s nothing he did, but thank you for asking.”
Doris took the file and left the conference room. Bobby sat motionless, staring at the empty table. Straining to stand, his legs felt weak and his entire body ached. Waves of nausea coursed through him. Bobby made his way back to the reception area. Uhlman was waiting there.
“Doctor, did you know?”
“Yes I did Robert.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“You never asked. I was hoping you never would, because then I wouldn’t have to decide if I should lie to you or not.”
“How long do I have to vacate my dorm at the Institute?”
“The director wants you out within a week.”
Bobby and Uhlman said nothing to each other on the flight back to Boston. Bobby was in a daze. When the SUV finally pulled-up to Bobby’s dormitory, Uhlman got out of the vehicle with Bobby.
“Robert, I just want you to know that I don’t agree with the director. I’ve tried to fight him when it comes to you, but he’s immovable. He’s a very stubborn and resolute man. Unfortunately, he calls the shots, not me.”
Bobby’s eyes were watery as he looked at Uhlman. “I know you’ve always done everything you could for me. We go back a long ways. I was a little kid when we met. Do you remember? My parents would come pick me up every day at your office at the Mayo. Do you remember our lunches together? You held my hand at my parents’ funeral.”
“Of course I remember.”
“I don’t have anybody who has known me as long as you. You’re family to me. You even found Joe for me. Please don’t cut me out just because of Varneys.”
“I won’t, Robert. I promise.” Uhlman grabbed Bobby’s shoulder and pulled him in with a big hug. Bobby wrapped his arms around Uhlman’s back and held him tightly.
“Thanks for everything all these years,” Bobby whispered in his ear.
As Uhlman climbed into the SUV, he turned and looked at Bobby. Bobby stared intensely at him in the probing way that was so unique to him. Uhlman broke the gaze and motioned to Ray to drive him to the airport. Bobby watched until the vehicle disappeared down the road. He knew he would never see Uhlman again.
Once in his dorm room, Bobby collapsed onto the bed fully clothed. He was exhausted. The weight of everything that had happened in Washington crashed down on him. Bobby felt even more alone and isolated than when Edith and Peter had died, because then at least he still had the support of his Institute family. Like a cracked dam that had finally reached its bursting point, Bobby broke down, burying his face in his pillow because he was embarrassed he would be heard by someone in an adjoining dorm room. Why did my parents hate me so much? Why wouldn’t they give me a chance—just one week, or even one day? Just one fucking day to see if I was worth loving.
Eventually, Bobby fell asleep. It didn’t take long for the nightmares to kick-in with full force and now there was new material with which he could be terrorized. It was as if he were there at his own birth watching it all unfold, his newborn cries echoing eerily through an abandoned factory building in which his mother, a teenage drug addict, lay on a blood stained blanket on the cold concrete floor. His cries seemed so small, so inconsequential, so pitiful as they reverberated through the decrepit cavernous structure. There was no welcome for him. No teary eyed parents, filled with gratitude and wonderment. No doctors and nursing staff officiously performing their duties. No incubator to warm its new occupant. There was only silence punctuated by the urgent cries of a tiny human being thrust into a world that didn’t want or need him.
A nursing student, a friend of the mother, he presumed, did her best to clean him with the paper tow
els and bottled water she pulled out of a bag from a convenience store. With difficulty, she cut his umbilical cord with a cheap scissor. She triple-wrapped him from head to toe in a too-big bed sheet she had taken from the hospital where she studied. Only his doll-like face remained visible. His mother didn’t want to hold him or even look at him, and she didn’t seem to be in very good shape after the birth. The father—-well who knew who the father was anyway? The bedraggled young man who was standing there, shifting nervously, perspiration pouring out of his pasty face, wasn’t acting like the baby was his.
Kissing the mom on the top of her sweaty dirty head, the nursing student said her goodbyes quickly and exited. She left a baby bottle, two cans of formula and a few diapers.
The young man opened one of the cans of formula and poured it into the bottle. He held the infant the way the nursing student had told him to, and he gently tried to get the little mouth to open and accept the bottle’s nipple. Eventually, some of the liquid made its way into the baby. He looked at the tiny boy’s face trying to discern if he saw any resemblance to himself. He put the infant down on the concrete floor. He removed from the pocket of his rain slicker, a neatly folded 30 gallon triple-mil black plastic garbage bag. He opened the bag, shook it, and rotated his arms inside the bag to open it fully. He dropped the diapers, the half consumed bottle, and the other can of formula into the bottom of the bag. Hands trembling, he then picked the infant up, still wrapped like a mummy in the bed sheets the nursing student had affixed to him, and delicately placed him in the bag. It had only been a few hours since the child had been born.
“I’m going now,” he said to the mother, who lay motionless on her side. She didn’t reply.
Struggling to breathe in the stifling darkness of the garbage bag, a paralyzing sense of helplessness overwhelmed the infant. As the putrid odor of decay in the dumpster permeated the air, Bobby was jostled by the bloated bodies of scurrying rats slamming against the garbage bag in their frenetic search for an entrance point. He felt the wind and rain pelt and pull at the bag and threaten to dislodge it from its perilous perch, toppling him into the vermin ridden dumpster. Completely alone, he screamed.
Miracle Man Page 11
