Читать книгу The Pursuit of Alice Thrift - Elinor Lipman - Страница 13

I KNOW THAT some people are equipped to analyze their failings and to pose leading questions such as “Did I do something wrong?” or “Are you upset?” to the silent person in the seat next to them, but I had neither the vocabulary nor the inclination. As the trolley car negotiated the twists and turns of Commonwealth Avenue, Leo kept his eyes shut until I heard him say, “Just to play devil’s advocate for a minute …”

“About?”

“About your job. Whether you really have no aptitude for surgery, or whether it’s your former A-pluses talking.”

I asked what that meant, and how did he know what my grades were?

“I’m guessing you’re one of those people who moaned and groaned about how badly they did on their organic chemistry exam until it came back with a big red hundred and five on the top of the page because you got everything right including the extra-credit question.”

Calmly I said, “I’m the worst resident they’ve had since the legendary one in the eighties who was asked to leave even though he was engaged to the niece of the head of the hospital.”

Leo said, “You don’t have to be asked to leave. You could decide for yourself.”

I said I didn’t understand.

Leo coughed into his mittened hand. “Have you ever thought of dropping out of the program?”

Only ten times an hour and with every withering look and every truthful evaluation, I thought. “Not really,” I said. “I can’t imagine giving up my goals for something as trivial as professional humiliation. When I start thinking about my shortcomings, I say, ‘You graduated second in your class in medical school. How can you be so bad? If you study harder you’ll get better.’”

“What about the fact that you feel like a failure every minute of the day?”

“I can improve,” I said. “It’s still early in the year. It could all click into place tomorrow.”

“Doctors switch fields,” he said. “Surgeons go into anesthesiology. Internists become allergists. You earned your degree. No one would take that away from you.”

“No,” I said. “I’m no quitter.”

“I’m only being hypothetical,” Leo said. “I’m only thinking of you and what could make you a happier person.”

“In the short run,” I snapped.

“No,” said Leo. “In the long run.”

“I’m no quitter,” I repeated.

RAY WAS WAITING on the stoop when we returned, smoking a cigarette that he snuffed out as soon as I appeared. He was wearing a shiny black quilted parka and a black watch cap that did nothing but suggest burglar and call attention to his nose. He stood up and said, “I paged you, but you didn’t answer.”

“I wasn’t at the hospital.”

“You remember me, I’m sure,” said Leo.

“The nurse,” said Ray. “Of course. How ya doin’?”

I pointed to the streak of ash on the granite step behind him and asked if he’d been smoking.

“First time in a decade,” he said, “which I blame on some very disturbing news I received one hour ago.” He stared at Leo for several long seconds before adding, “It’s kind of personal. I was hoping to talk to Alice in private.”

I said, “Leo’s very easy to talk to. Much better than I am.”

“I hope no one died,” said Leo.

“Nothing like that,” said Ray. “It’s closer to an emotional crisis—some facts that have come to light. And I didn’t have any supper, so I was hoping Alice might keep me company while I grab some nachos grande and a beer.”

Leo checked with me. I nodded once reassuringly, and he trudged inside.

THERE WERE THRONGS of well-dressed people at the bar, businessmen and -women, many drinking from martini glasses; many laughing in that brittle, automatic way that substitutes for meaningful discussion. “Straight ahead,” said Ray, steering me from behind, his hands on my shoulders, his body swaying as if I had agreed to lead a conga line. “The dining room’s in the back,” he instructed.

When we were seated at a small, far-off table, and the dour hostess had left, Ray said, “No people skills. None. Would it have killed her to smile? And why Siberia? There’s a dozen better tables.”

I said, “Don’t make a fuss. It’s quiet back here and we can talk. Let’s just order.”

Ray was suddenly distracted and grinning at some new piece of sociology. He cocked his head toward a smart-looking twosome, smiling tentatively at each other over their menus. “I’d put money on the fact that they just met out front, he bought her a drink, they decided they had a little thing going on, and one of them said, ‘Wanna grab a bite?’”

“You know that from merely looking at them?” I asked.

“Doesn’t take that much,” said Ray. “No offense.”

“How do you know they’re not married, or siblings, or coworkers having a tax-deductible dinner?”

He leaned over and asked, “Doc? Have you ever been to a bar before?”

I said, “Of course.”

“Has anyone ever approached you and asked if you’d like a drink?”

“Other than a waiter?”

Ray patted my hand. “I mean, has anyone ever flirted with you? Asked you to dance? Asked if you’d like to go someplace quiet and talk?”

I knew where this interview was leading: from not terribly personal queries to the carnal questionnaire—if ever, when, with whom, how did I like it, and, worst of all, how did I feel?

By way of answering, I opened my menu. Finally, when I looked up and saw he’d held the same stare of cross-examination, I tried, “Your bad news? Can we discuss that instead?”

He took a sip from his water glass, swallowed, bit his bottom lip. “Stop me at any point if this gets too uncomfortable for you. But my wife, Mary? She had a boyfriend.”

“When?”

“When we were married! For the whole time, in fact. Some guy she worked with.”

I said, “I never asked you what she did.”

“She was assistant manager of the Kinko’s near Northeastern. But you’re missing my point, which is that I’m devastated.”

I asked how he’d found out and he said, “From my former sister-in-law.”

“That doesn’t sound right. Why would anyone besmirch the memory of her dead sister, especially after the fact?”

“Because it was eating away at her all these years—that Mary was cheating on me and thinking she was getting away with it.”

“But why now?”

“Because she has a big mouth and I was talking to her on the phone and I told her I’d met someone—actually I might’ve said I was in love with someone—and out came the whole ugly truth, which I think was her way of encouraging me to move on.”

I said, “Even if it is the truth, what does that change in the here and now?”

“Everything! I visit her grave and I go to church like clockwork. Do I continue in that vein—Mary the saint—or do I get to the bottom of what Bernadette told me?”

“This Bernadette’s no friend of yours,” I said. “Why would you take anything she said at face value?”

Ray leaned toward me, his voice even. “Because it has the ring of truth.”

“Well, just forget about it,” I advised. “Order some food and a glass of beer and we’ll change the subject.”

“I don’t think you get it: This isn’t some little piece of gossip that has no bearing on anything. This is a huge piece of news. Throughout my marriage, for the entire three years we were together—”

Now it was my turn to look up from my menu and stare. “Did you say three years?”

“We knew each other for three years. We were actually married for sixteen months, which I’d always looked back on as one long extended honeymoon.”

I said, “I guess I assumed—”

“Because of how shaken up I was? And how saddened I was for a whole year since her demise?”

I pointed out that sixteen months was hardly a lifetime, so if Mary had been cheating over the course of the entire marriage, it was a relatively short period of infidelity.

Ray took a paper napkin from the dispenser and blew his nose. “I took my marriage vows very seriously and I’m a little surprised that you’re taking Mary’s side.”

I said I most certainly was not taking Mary’s side. I was just trying to examine all facets of the situation. “Maybe she had no choice,” I offered. “Maybe it was sexual harassment.”

“Baloney! Sexual harassment. Mary was as tough as nails. No one messed with Mary if they didn’t want a boot in the groin.”

Another mental adjustment was needed, this time from docile wife and mother of Ray’s future children to extremely tough cookie. I asked how old Mary was when she passed away.

“Twenty-eight,” said Ray. “She liked older men. This guy, Patrick, from work? Would you believe fifty-two? She had a father thing, but I didn’t care. If I had fifteen years on her and that’s what she liked—hey, why not?”

A waitress was finally at our side. “I’m going to have the burger with Muenster and caramelized onions, no lettuce, no tomato,” said Ray. “And whatever you have on draft.”

A dozen breweries and seasonal batches were described before he heard the right name.

I said I’d have nothing now; maybe a piece of pie later.

“Nothing to drink?” asked the waitress.

“She’s a doctor,” said Ray. “No drinking when she’s on call.”

“We get a lot of doctors here,” said the waitress, and cocked her head in the direction of my hospital.

When she’d gone, I said, “I’m not on call. You don’t have to make up excuses.”

“You know why I do that? I’m just so friggin’ proud that you’re a doctor. I guess I look for any occasion to announce it.”

If it weren’t for his previously announced emotional distress, I might have said that I took exception to his use of the adjective proud—that it was a word for parents, for teachers, for mentors; for one’s own self to admit in the privacy of one’s head. “We’ve discussed this before,” I said, “but maybe I need to say it again: I’d prefer that you didn’t lie.”

“Lie?” he repeated. “Because I tell the waitress you’re on call? Isn’t that true? Don’t you work around the clock? Didn’t you work all day today and aren’t you going back there at dawn?”

“Pretty much,” I said.

“Okay. That’s settled: no lie.” He smiled as the waitress delivered his frosted mug. “After the day I’ve had, you wouldn’t believe how good this looks,” he said to her.

She said, “Okay, I’ll bite. What kind of day did you have?”