The Prize
Page 83
Garrett flung his cigar aside, and paced a moment.
‘Yes, Farelli, it is possible,’ he resumed. ‘There would be no discomfort. A woman’s pelvic site accommodates a large mass in pregnancy, enough to hold a full-grown human heart in her twelfth week. A man with a stomach tumor suffers greater displacement. Why not an embryonic heart? Then we keep injecting the new growth hormone. In four or five months, the embryonic heart, unrejected, is full-grown. It is ready for a final transplantation. Now we have everything in our favour. We keep Ramstedt alive with the anti-reactives and booster pumps. If Anti-reactive Substance AH works, we let Ramstedt go on with the calf’s heart Öhman put in this morning, plus the secondary human heart in his abdomen-they do not have to be synchronized in their beat-but, if Substance AH fails, we have this new heart-raised from an embryo-of sufficient size to transplant into the chest. It gives us our insurance-and a definitive experiment that can open an entire new avenue in the field of-’
Farelli had his big hands on Garrett’s shoulders, rocking him with love. ‘Dr. Garrett, you are a genius, a genius! When everything is lost, there is nothing more to lose-but now, I can only think of what can be gained. We will work as we have never worked before. I will get hold of Öhman and obtain that embryonic heart tissue from the miscarriage-’
‘And I’ll start preparing the new anti-reactive serum.’
For an instant, Garrett’s mind was not on the serum, but on his recent past. He had the curious feeling that he would never know the end to Mrs. Zane’s amorous dilemma. He was sorry for that-that, and the loss of Dr. Keller, crutch and friend-but suddenly he knew he did not care. For the first time in what seemed eternity, he felt released of the genetic shackles that had bound him to shadowed ancestors. He wanted to sing, but he did not, for he could never carry a tune. So he sang inside, ever so briefly, until Farelli’s musical voice blended in to conduct him back to the present.
‘We will do this wonderful experiment together,’ Farelli was saying, with enthusiasm.
‘Yes,’ said Garrett, smiling at last, ‘for better or for worse.’
It would not be until three hours later that the electric duplicating machine in the clerical office of the Caroline Hospital began to revolve, imprinting Öhman’s official release to the press:
On behalf of His Royal Highness the King, the directors of the Stockholm Caroline Hospital are pleased to announce that a heart transplant has been successfully performed on Count Rolf Ramstedt, seventy-two. The graft was dramatically accomplished by the two current Nobel Prize winners in medicine, Dr. John Garrett, of Pasadena, California, and Dr. Carlo Farelli, of Rome, assisted by Dr. Erik Öhman, of the Caroline staff. Early complications were overcome by the two brilliant visiting laureates, working side by side as a team, through improvisations based on their earlier experiments. As a result of the Ramstedt case, the directors of the Caroline Hospital believe that a new method, to supplement the Garrett-Farelli method that is being honoured in Concert Hall this afternoon, has been found for cases where organ transplantation is rejected by the immunity mechanism which…
It was 11.14 in the morning.
Andrew Craig, one knee pressing his tan, lightweight valise to his bedroom floor, grunted as he tightened and fastened the straps of his luggage. Tired of awaiting Leah’s return from Dalarna, Craig had begun to empty his drawers and cupboard ten minutes before, throwing his effects helter-skelter, without care or economy, into his luggage. Now the necessary task was finished. What remained was to telephone the portier downstairs and request a boy to move his bag, and the formal evening suit he had left out on its hanger for the afternoon Ceremony, to the single room he had arranged to have for his last night in Stockholm. After that, there were two pieces of writing required of him-the curt, decisive note to Leah, and the speech he must create before five o’clock.
He lifted himself off the valise, carried it into the sitting-room, and then started back to his bedroom telephone, when the front door buzzer intercepted him. He expected it to be Leah, at last, and he would be spared writing the note to her. But it was a young page, instead, offering him a sealed envelope on a silver tray.
Somewhat mystified, Craig took the envelope, and told the page to wait a moment. Walking back to his bed, to find a one-krona tip in his sport jacket pocket, he tore open the envelope. On a single sheet of hotel stationery was hastily scrawled a brief message:
DEAR ANDREW, I have been thinking about everything, and I would like to see you once more, if you want to see me. I have something important to tell you. I’ll be in my room at 12.30 sharp. Ring me then. EMILY.
Craig came alive with hope. He read the message again, and then reread it a second time. Why had she put a boundary to their reunion-‘would like to see you once more’? And what was the ‘something important’ she had to tell him? His immediate elation now became earth-bound. Was this to be a courtesy farewell, a more sensible explanation as to why she would never see him after Stockholm? But then, he tried to see the brighter side of it. After an emotional breaking-off, she had reconsidered. She would see him. The message was almost affectionate. She would see him, and that was all that mattered, and after that, it would be up to him.
He remembered the page at the front door, quickly separated a one-krona coin from his copper and silver change, and hurried back to the bearer of good tidings.
Paying the page, he inquired, ‘Who gave you this note to deliver?’
‘A lady, sir.’
‘A pretty lady with dark hair and green eyes?’
‘I did not notice her eyes, sir, but she was very pretty.’
‘Was she coming in or going out?’
‘She was going out, sir.’
‘Thank you.’
Craig closed the door, read the note a fourth time as he returned to his bedroom, and decided that there would be no use in trying to get in touch with Emily earlier than she had suggested. She was out, probably last-minute shopping, and hope would have to be deferred until 12.30. Then he realized that he had forgotten to ask the page to move his valise and evening clothes.
Before he could reach the telephone, he heard the front door slam. He stopped short, listening. He heard footsteps. Someone was in the sitting-room. Was it the chambermaid, or was it-?
He went into the sitting-room.
Leah Decker was removing her hat and coat before the mirror, and when he emerged from the bedroom, she saw the reflection of him join her in the mirror.
‘Andrew-’
She dropped coat and hat in the nearest chair, and turned towards him, her severely bunned hair glistening from dried flakes, and her face pinker and ruddier from the outdoors than he had ever known it to be.
She started towards him. ‘Andrew, it was divine up north. You simply haven’t been to Sweden until you’ve seen Lake Siljan in the winter-everyone ice skating and skiing-and tobogganing-like back home-only so much more fun. I think we should-’
Her eyes had gone past the tan valise, bulging, strapped, travelled back to it, considered it, and then met his own gaze with puzzlement.
‘You packed by yourself. Why the hurry? We aren’t leaving until tomorrow night.’
He knew that he would not be writing the note to her. ‘You are leaving tomorrow night-by yourself. I am leaving when I please-by myself. Starting right now. This is our last time together.’
‘Andrew! Have you been drinking or what?’
‘Get off it, Lee.’
Suddenly she made the pretence of understanding his motive. ‘Oh-I bet I know what’s got into you. You tried to see your German girl friend, and she told you I-’
‘I won’t even bother about that,’ said Craig. ‘God knows, that was bad enough-but the other thing you’ve done is infinitely worse. You’ve behaved like an unbelievable weekend bitch in an old Broadway play. You’ve saddled me with a lie I never deserved. I won’t forgive you for it, and I never want to set eyes on you again.’
Leah was a study in confusion. ‘Andrew, I ha
ven’t the faintest idea what’s-’
‘You haven’t? You really haven’t? You can’t think of one rotten thing you’ve done to me in the last-’
‘No, of course not!’
‘How convenient-Instant Amnesia,’ said Craig bitterly. ‘All right, maybe I can help refresh your memory. Ever since Harriet’s death, you’ve led me to believe I was responsible. I had some drinks, and lost control of the car, and I killed my wife. That’s been the story, hasn’t it?’
Leah’s eyes had widened, and involuntarily her hand had gone to her cheek, elbow extended, as if ready to avert a blow.
Craig went on relentlessly. ‘All that time, you knew the truth. You had the report from the police. About the tie rod breaking under my car, and swerving us into the skid. All that time, you knew it was an accident, and that you were supposed to have reported it to me, and you didn’t. The police thought you had told me-as any normal human being with compassion would-but you did not. You burdened me with a false guilt instead. You lied to Lucius and you lied to me. Why, Leah? Why didn’t you tell me the truth?’
Leah’s face had transformed before his eyes to something lame and hunted. ‘Who says that’s the truth? Where did you hear that cock-and-bull story? It’s not the truth at all. Ask Sheriff Hollinder if you don’t-’
‘Sheriff Hollinder,’ he said savagely, ‘Miller’s Dam-what in the hell does he know? But I know who does know. We cracked up just over the line, in Marquette County. The record of the accident is in the police files in Pikestown. A photocopy of the accident report you kept from me is right here in Stockholm.’
‘I don’t believe you,’ she said, weakening, not believing herself.
‘How could you be so stupid? Couldn’t you know that nothing on earth is ever secret-no truth, no lie-as long as we are born in public, and live and die in public, as long as we are part of a community? And how could you be so vicious? That’s the part I don’t understand. Wasn’t my loss, my grief, enough for one man to bear-without the added guilt you superimposed on these last three years? I might have drunk myself to death, shot myself.’
‘I knew you wouldn’t. You have too much-’ But then she stopped, for she had conceded his truth, and realized it, and had more defence.
‘I think I’ve understood you since I’ve learned the truth, but I’ve hated to face this insight into you. You were willing to sacrifice me for yourself. You wanted me in total servitude, didn’t you? You wanted me entirely beholden to you-a prisoner to your commands and whims-or was it something else? Was it that you wanted security?’
Leah asserted her last claim to self-respect. ‘I didn’t need you. I had Harry Beazley in Chicago all the time, and you know it.’
‘Well, you have him now, Leah, and you latch on to him while you still can. You go back to Chicago and marry that poor bastard, and put a ring in his nose and nag him and try to make him what you want him to be and drive him to drink-make him inadequate you to make yourself-’
The last frame of her composure had crumpled, and she was bared to every thrust. ‘Oh, Andrew, please don’t-’
He had no more stomach for this one-sided carnage. ‘I’ve taken another room. You can stay for the Ceremony. I’m changing our flight tickets. Your plane stops at Chicago. Don’t bother to come to Miller’s Dam. I’ll send you your things.’
‘Andrew-?’
‘I’m getting rid of the place-the house, furniture, guilts-one tidy parcel. I’ll miss Harriet, but she’s in my heart, not in Miller’s Dam, and I’ll miss Lucius-and for the rest, to hell with it.’
‘What are you going to do? You can’t-’
‘I’m going to do what I started to do before I met Harriet. I’m going to find a spot on a high hill over the Pacific-not an artists’ colony, but a place-and I’m going to write.’
‘Write? That’ll be the day. From inside a bottle-’
He stared at her and was sick of the sight of her. ‘Right now, I’m going to ring for a page.’
He strode into his bedroom, and she knew that it was the end, and was right behind him, trembling. ‘Andrew, listen-listen-’
‘Listen?’ He had whirled about to confront her one last time. ‘The way I’ve been listening for three years? The way Emily Stratman listened? You have no talent but for destruction.’
‘Andrew, hear me-don’t be cruel. You’re a writer, you’re supposed to have understanding-try to understand me, let me live by understanding me.’
He hated this, but sensed that he must endure it to be rid of her.
‘You’re wrong,’ she was saying, ‘so wrong about why-why I did what I did. I don’t know why really-or maybe I do now-but it wasn’t to make you my slave, owing me something, or to hold you down or keep you under my thumb. It was-it was something else-’
She choked, and had a spasm of coughing, and he waited.
‘What was it, Leah?’ And he realized that he had ceased to call her Lee. ‘What made you-?’
‘From the beginning-with my father, my mother, the relatives-it was always Harriet-Harriet this, Harriet that-Harriet because she was older, smarter, better-looking, always being praised-when we were kids, when we went to school-and even boy friends and career-Harriet was the one-the shining one. And when she got married, I knew it would be that way again-she with somebody famous and rich-a professional man, a writer-and me scraping along in some hole with an underpaid, nobody schoolteacher-always the one they almost forgot to invite-or write-or think about. It would be poor Leah, let’s not forget Leah, now remember Leah. And then-then-’
Her bosom heaved and settled, and she tried to go on.
‘And then the horrible thing happened to Harriet-to my sister-and I felt shame for all my years of wishing her dead-for all my days of secret envy-and then, almost naturally, because there was an opening that fitted me, and there was no one else, I was there in Miller’s Dam, in her place, in her kitchen and cupboards and garden-and, I don’t know how to explain it, it was like a dream-to be Harriet, have all her advantages, the position, the security, a husband whose name was in the papers-to overnight be Harriet, not poor Leah, it was like a miracle-like God giving me a chance to change my life over-and when you got well, when you recovered, it was like the clock striking midnight, and all my dreams falling away, because then I knew I wasn’t Harriet but poor Leah, and the house wasn’t mine, and Harriet’s husband wasn’t my husband-and I got scared-I was never more scared in my life. You’d leave, I kept thinking, go back to your kind of people, and someday find another Harriet-and I’d have no chance, because I wasn’t in Harriet’s class, I was an impostor, a fake Harriet, and you’d see it-and I couldn’t bear the idea of having tasted what I had, what I’d dreamt of all my life, and then losing it forever.
‘And then some kind of craziness came over me, because you weren’t gone yet, and I began to imagine that maybe I could be Harriet-maybe I could show you-maybe it would work-and so-I don’t know-at first, I didn’t mind your drinking, because it made you depend on me like when you were convalescing and mourning-it made you need me-and then I started to hate the drinking, because it made you not you, not Harriet’s you, and our life wasn’t Harriet’s life, and you didn’t even know I existed as Harriet or Leah-and still, I would not let go-that’s why I couldn’t show you the accident report-I always meant to-but the lie slipped out, and then I couldn’t take it back-maybe didn’t want to-but this is why it all happened the way it did-for no other reason-and I’m sick with remorse-and I admit it-and I want your forgiveness, Andrew-your forgiveness, please, that’s all.’
This had gone beyond a cry for compassion and charity. This had been a plea for clemency of the soul. Craig recognized it as such, and knew that he could not condemn her to a lifetime in purgatory.
‘I’m sorry, Lee, you know I am. I forgive you, of course. If I were a judge, I’d simply say-I sentence you to yourself. There are worse things.’ He paused. ‘You do know who you are now, don’t you, Lee?’
‘Yes, I know.’
‘I want to be friends, Andrew. I’ll need that.’
‘All right, then. We’ll both say farewell to Harriet. She had her time on earth. Let’s enjoy what is left of ours. I don’t know if we can any more, but let’s try. Shall we?’
‘Yes, Andrew.’
‘Good-bye, Lee.’
‘Good-bye.’
She backed off, and ran to her room. Craig sighed, lifted the receiver, and asked for the portier’s desk.
It was 12.26 in the afternoon.
Emily Stratman, invigorated by the sharp, white winter’s day, came back to her uncle’s suite breathless. She had taken a taxi from Kungsgatan, repeatedly consulting her wristwatch. At the portier’s desk, accepting her key, she had been impatient when the clerk delayed her to report that there had been three urgent telephone calls for her uncle in the last half-hour, but no messages. ‘The party was most insistent,’ the portier had said. ‘He wanted to know when you or Professor Stratman would return.’ Emily had hesitated a moment. ‘Are you sure Professor Stratman isn’t in? He intended to be.’ Then she had dismissed it, and started for the elevator, calling back. ‘I suppose something came up. Anyway, I’m here, so put his calls through to me.’ In the elevator, she had chafed at its slowness, then hurried down the corridor, fearful that she would miss Craig’s telephone call.