The Alcoholics Part 8

"Rufus showed a great deal of intelligence there," he said quietly. "He a.n.a.lyzed his problem, realized that it was something requiring outside help. He'd rather have done without it, naturally; he'd made a mistake and wound up in an embarra.s.sing and painful position. But he knew what had to be done, and he did it. If he hadn't-if he'd refused to face the facts, and wait for help-he'd have lost a finger. We might even have found him dead up here, bled to death."

Doc examined the finger and saw that the skin, while deeply tooth-marked, was unbroken. He advised antiseptic and a hot-water immersion, helped Rufus through the door with his tray and serving stand, and turned back to Jeff.

"That Rufus"-be grinned fondly-"I blow my top with him on the average of twice a day, but I wouldn't trade him for any two people I've got. He may screw things up, but he never lets you down. He has so very little, but he pours it all out for you and sc.r.a.pes his insides for more. If you and I did as much with what we have-our opportunities and knowledge and backgrounds-well . . ." Doc shrugged and drew Jeff closer to the table. "This is it," he said. "This is what I wanted to talk to you about."

Jeff's gaze veered away from the expressionless white face, its eyes again wide in an unblinking, unseeing stare. His voice was a barely audible whisper. "W-who is it-he?"

"I think you must have heard of him. He's been out of circulation for some time, but I'm sure you must have heard of him. Humphrey Van Twyne III?"

"Him! But-yeah," said Jeff, his lips curling. "I've heard of that crum!"

"Mmmm. You think he was responsible for what he did then? He was the way he was because he liked it that way. He was just one of the bad guys . . . as a seven-year-old would say of a movie villain?"

"Well, all I know is-" Jeff colored. "I guess maybe he wasn't-"

"He wasn't. Mr. Van Twyne here was simply an alcoholic who refused to admit his malady and who had unlimited funds for indulging it. . . . Ever think how nice it would be, when you had a hangover, if you didn't have to go to work? If you could call up a dame, say, and keep the party going? If you could tell the whole world where to get off and give it a kick in the a.s.s if it didn't move fast enough? Well . . . be glad you weren't able to."

Jeff swallowed, his eyes drawn unwillingly to the thing on the table. "Is he . . . crazy?"

"Oh, no. Being crazy presumes an intelligence, and Van Twyne hasn't any. He probably retains some memory of adult life, but it's doubtful that he relates it to himself. Generally speaking, he's on the mental level of an infant."

"Why"-Jeff nodded-"why do you keep him like that? Is he dangerous?"

"Somewhat. A baby will bite and strike, and a baby of this size could be rather painful. But the danger is mainly to himself. You know. Might m.a.s.t.u.r.b.a.t.e himself raw, or eat his own excrement. Things of that kind."

Jeff shook his head. "What are you going to do with him?"

"That," said Doctor Murphy, "is what I wanted to ask you about. What to do?"

He began to talk, outlining the story of Humphrey Van Twyne and the facts of his own dilemma. He spoke calmly, almost casually, neither ornamenting nor understating the awesome and terrifying facets of the situation. Talking as though the responsibility were not his but Jeff's.

And Jeff listened, moistening his lips, now and then, fine beads of sweat oozing through the pores of his forehead.

"Well, that's it," Doc concluded, and he glanced down into Van Twyne's inscrutable face. "It would be odd if he understood any of that, wouldn't it? Of course, he hasn't had much say-so about his own movements for quite a while; but it would still seem strange. Hearing yourself discussed and disposed of, and having no voice in the matter."

Jeff didn't seem to have heard him. He spoke stubbornly, a little querulously. "He's got nothing to do with me. h.e.l.l, he's one guy in a million. There isn't a man in a million who'd wind up in this spot!"

"That's right," Doc agreed. "Very few alcoholics are able to hand it out as long as Humphrey did. They get it handed back to 'em in a way that stops the dishing-out process. Someone kicks their brains out or they get pulled in for drunk-driving or manslaughter or robbery. They burn themselves up in their beds or starve or freeze in some doorway. Or perhaps they wind up in a nut house. But . . . I'm afraid you've got me wrong, Jeff. I'm not trying to frighten you."

"I'll bet!" Jeff grinned weakly.

"I mean it. Alcoholics can't be frightened away from drinking. Their own fear of self, until they can recognize it for the baseless and unreasonable thing it is, is much greater than their fear of anything else. No, you can't frighten 'em, and since you're not one-since you're not immediately concerned with the disease-it would be less than pointless to try to frighten you. . . . I brought you up here for just one reason: to get your idea on what I should do."

"Well"-Jeff hesitated-"there's really no other way?"

"None. And I haven't any more time. Oh, I'd be allowed to hang on a few days and wind things up, but practically speaking this is my last day-unless. I'll have to make my decision by late afternoon, get the money by then, or I'll be out of business."

"And you're sure you can't do anything for this guy if-"

"How could I? It's by no means certain that the men who operated on him, specialists, can do much for him. The question is, ethicalities aside, should he have that chance or should my patients-you've only met a few of the total- have a chance? Franidy, I don't seem to have accomplished much with them. I'm just about as far from the answer to alcoholism as I was in the beginning. But-"

"What makes you so sure, Doc?"

"What?" said Doc, irritably. "I've just got through explaining that-"

He broke off, looking at Jeff. And Jeff grinned back at him, grinned in a way that was at once baffled and serious and glad.

"You know something, Doc? I'm never going to take another drink as long as I live."

Doc blinked, and his mouth twisted wryly. "Well, naturally, I'm glad you recognize the danger. But if I had a dollar for every alcoholic who told me-"

"But I'm not going to," said Jeff. "Whether I'm an alcoholic or not-well, I guess I don't like that word very much, so let's just say I'm a guy who can't drink and isn't going to drink."

Doc's heart began to pound. A great smile spread over his bony face.

Just one man! Just to pull one of them back, to know that it hadn't all been wasted. . . . But if you could do it with one . . .

"What made you change your mind, Jeff?"

"I don't know. I know in a way, but I can't quite put it into words. Not now, anyway. Maybe I-you're not going to make me leave this afternoon?"

"You're d.a.m.ned right, I'm not!" vowed Doctor Murphy. "You and I have some more talking to do."

"Well, I think I'd be all right if I left. But I want a chance to talk to the boys, Bernie and the General; fix things up with them for the way I acted at lunch."

Doc started to nod. He caught himself. He had to be sure-as sure as it was possible to be.

"Well, I don't know about that," he said. "After all, Bernie was pretty insulting to you. They all acted pretty lousy for that matter, letting you make a fool of yourself and then bawling you out or giving you the silent treatment. Why should you-?"

Jeff laughed openly.

"You know d.a.m.ned well I should. If I didn't, I'd be all hot and bothered and worried, the same way I've been a hundred other times when-"

Doc's hand came down on his back with a resounding whack.

"Jeff, if you don't make it, then it can't be made! If you don't do it, I think I'll-"

"I'll make it," said Jeff.

"I believe you will! By G.o.d, I believe you will . . . Now, let's get out of here and-"

Jeff hesitated. "What about him, Doc?" he said.

And Doc's face went blank for a moment. "Oh," be said, slow. "Yeah . . ."

"Were you leveling with me? Did you really expect me to tell you what to do?"

"I-I don't know," said Doctor Murphy. "But as long as I did ask you . . ."

"I don't know, Doc. I-G.o.d, I wouldn't want to say! I mean, whatever you-"

"Yes," said Doc. "I know what you mean."

13.

The several case reports had been typed and laid on his desk, but Miss Baker was still sitting at the small typewriting stand when Doctor Murphy entered his office. She sat very erect, her small white-shod feet squarely on the floor, her hands folded neatly in her lap. She looked a little like a shy child in a strange house, placed in one spot and afraid to move out of it.

Doc sat down at his desk and looked through the reports; pretended, rather, to look through them. He already knew their context by heart. He knew that Miss Baker's letterperfect typing would need no checking. What he did not know was how to begin with her.

He looked up at last, nervously, trying to sound informal and jovial and succeeding largely in sounding brusque. "Well," he said, "no use in sitting there in the corner by yourself."

Miss Baker was on her feet instantly. Then she stood looking at him politely, waiting for further directions.

"Over here," said Doctor Murphy, "I want to talk to you, Miss Baker."

"Yeth, thir," said Miss Baker. "Oh, I'm sorry, sir-"

"Now, let's not make a project out of it," said Doc, gruffly. "Just sit down and-uh-relax."

Miss Baker sat down in the chair at the side of his desk, but she did not appear to relax. She sat as she had at the typewriter, starch stiff, hands folded in her lap, her neat sweet features fixed in a small smile of polite wariness.

"Now, Nurse," he said. "I think we're considerably overdue for a talk. The situation here has been, uh, rather unsettled-and it still is. Very unsettled. So I felt that if we were going to get certain matters cleared up . . . make any attempt to clear them up . . . we'd better be getting started."

"Yeth-I mean-"

"Say it," said Doctor Murphy. "I don't expect you to overcome a lifelong trait in a few hours. Just spit it out any way it comes to your mouth and then leave it lay. Don't keep correcting yourself."

Miss Baker murmured, "Yeth, thir."

Doc said, "I don't mean to be-uh-" And Miss Baker said, "Yeth, thir?" And he scowled and fumbled for a cigarette. He lighted it, half-way down its length, and cursed under his breath. He took one puff, and ground it out in the ash tray, grinding it into the metal until it was almost pulverized.

His eyes strayed from the tray, and, as though moved by an unseen magnet, came to rest on Miss Baker's knees, at the exact spot where her knees were exposed by the split of her uniform. Absently, they moved up the uniform, exploring small pink-revealing gaps along the way. They moved on and up, then paused again: pitched temporary camp in the half-hidden environs of two cream-and-peaches, gently undulant mounds. They moved up-they were jerked up, suddenly, by another pair of eyes.

The owner of the eyes raised her hands from her lap, and re-secured the neckline of her uniform. There was prim reproof in the gesture, fear and reproof, yet with it . . . something else. A kind of unconscious invitation, a sort of mocking self-a.s.surance. That's settled-it said-and so are you. That takes care of everything.

"Now, Miss Baker," said Doctor Murphy. "As I was about to say . . ."

"Yeth, thir?" Miss Baker slowly crossed her legs.

Oh, she knew, all right. She was scared out of her pants, but she knew what she had, and she was throwing it out at him, knowing d.a.m.ned well that he couldn't do anything any more than . . . than he'd ever done anything. Any more than he could have given that dog-beater what he needed, or that waiter or that other nurse. Well, she had his number, all right. She knew she could slap him silly with it, and there wasn't a G.o.ddam thing he could do about it. You could lose your license for a h.e.l.l of a lot less than that.

"Yeth, Doctor?"

"Yes," said Doctor Murphy. "As I was saying. I'm rather short on time, and there's every likelihood that I'm going to have even less so I'd like to get right to the point. I want to know something about you. Your background. Your a.s.sociates. Your-uh-"

"I thee. Well, I believe there ithn't much to add to the information I've already given you. I-"

"That's not what I mean. I'm talking about your personal life . . . You were an only child? Kept pretty close to home, were you?"

"Yeth," Miss Baker nodded. "You might thay I was . . ."

"How did you get along with such childhood contacts as you had? Were you reasonably well-liked? Did you feel at ease, accepted?"

Miss Baker hesitated. She moved her head in a motion that indicated both yes and no. "Well, thuch friends as I had, Doctor . . ."

"I see," said Doctor Murphy. "And those friends, I suppose, included boys?"

"Well . . . Ath many boyth ath girlth. .

"Uh-huh," said Doc, and his eyes narrowed slightly. No friends at all? And was that her choice or theirs? Had she, being unable to accept the company of males, tried to rationalize the abnormality by also rejecting females? Well, skip it. Hit the center of the target and the rest would crumble. "You had no childhood sweethearts, Miss Baker?"

"No, thit"

"Have you ever had a date with a young man?"

"No, thir."

"Why not?"

"Well, I juth-well, I thuppoth there wath juth never anyone I cared-"

"Oh, come now," said Doctor Murphy. "We can't be too exacting in these things. People who might not appear too prepossessing at first glance can be very attractive when you get to know them better. All you have to do is give them a chance to let you like them."

There was a small but very disconcerting smile on the rose-pink lips. She shifted a little in the chair, her legs still crossed, absently arching her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, smoothing the uniform over them, before she settled down again.

"Yeth, Doctor?"

"Yes," said Doctor Murphy. "You're not living a normal life. Because you're not-well, when we suppress and ignore our normal instincts too long they become twisted. Permanently twisted, if we don't take decisive counter-action. You're young. You won't have too much of a job on your hands if you tackle it now. So tackle it, Miss Baker, and don't lose any time about it. Will you do that?"

"Well . . . juth how do you mean, Doctor?"

"Men. You know what a man is, don't you?" Doctor Murphy tapped himself on the chest. "I'm one, believe it or not . . . Well, what do you say, then? Let's get started on the job, huh? Will you do that?"

"Well . . . I hardly know how . . ."

"It doesn't matter about hows or whys. Just make yourself available, get out to a show or a lecture or some such thing-and if you handle yourself right-don't act standoffish or cold or frightened-well, the rest will take care of itself. You'll be surprised how easy it will be. Will you try it, just once, even though it does go against your grain? Do it for my sake?"

"Well"-Miss Baker hesitated-"I gueth I could."

"Good. That's the spirit."

"What time . . . when would you like to go, Doctor?"