Sweet Thursday (12 page)

Doc laid ten big starfish out on a shelf, and he set up a line of eight glass dishes half filled with sea water. Although he was inclined to carelessness in his living arrangements his laboratory technique was immaculate. The making of the embryo series gave him plea sure. He had done it hundreds of time before, and he felt a safety in the known thing—no speculation here. He did certain things and certain other things followed. There is comfort in routine.

His old life came back to him—a plateau of contentment with small peaks of excitement but none of the jagged pain of original thinking, none of the loneliness of invention. His phonograph played softly, played the safe and certain fugues of Bach, clear as equations. As he worked, a benign feeling came over him. He liked himself again as he once had; liked himself as a person, the way he might like anyone else. The self-hatred which poisons so many people and which had been irritating him was gone for the time. The top voice of his mind sang peacefulness and order, and the raucous middle voice was gentle; it mumbled and snarled but it could not be heard. The lowest voice of all was silent, dreaming of a warm safe sea.

The rattlesnakes in their wire cage suddenly lifted their heads, felt the air with their forked tongues, and then all four set up a dry buzzing rattle. Doc looked up from his work as Mack came in.

Mack glanced at the cage. “Them new snakes ain't got used to me yet,” he said.

“Takes a little time,” said Doc. “You haven't been here much.”

“Didn't feel no welcome here,” said Mack.

“I'm sorry, Mack. I guess I've been off my feed. I'll try to do better.”

“You going to let up on them devilfish?”

“I don't know.”

“They was making you sick.”

Doc laughed, “It wasn't the octopi. I guess it was trying to think. I'd got out of the habit.”

“I never got the habit,” said Mack.

“That's not true,” said Doc. “I never knew anyone who devoted more loving thought to minusculae.”

“I never even heard of them,” said Mack. “Say, Doc, what do you think of the Patrón—your honest, spit-in-the-lake opinion?”

“I don't think I understand him. We're kind of different.”

“You ain't kidding,” said Mack. “He ain't honest.”

Doc said, “I'd call that expert testimony.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you bring some experience to bear.”

“Oh, I know what you mean,” said Mack earnestly, “but you search your heart, Doc, and see if I ain't dishonest in a kind of honest way. I don't really fool nobody—not even myself. And there's another thing—I know when I'm doing it. Joseph and Mary can't tell the difference.”

“I think that might be true,” said Doc.

“What I'm wondering is—well, I don't think the Patrón wants any trouble around here, do you?”

“Nobody wants any trouble.”

“He's got a stake here,” Mack went on. “If the whole Row took a scunner to him, why, he just couldn't take that chance, don't you think?”

“If I knew what you were talking about, it might help,” said Doc.

“I'm just trying to figure something,” said Mack.

“Well, if you mean that the Patrón is in kind of a sensitive position—”

“That's what I do mean,” said Mack. “He can't afford to have no enemies.”

“Nobody wants enemies,” said Doc.

“I know. But he could get his ass in a sling. He got a business and he's got property.”

“I see what you mean,” said Doc. “You're going to pressure him and you want to know what he'll do. What are you going to try to take away from him, Mack?”

“I'm just thinking,” said Mack.

“I never knew you to think idly. When you think, somebody gets hurt.”

“I never hurt nobody, Doc.”

“Well, not bad. I will say your bite is not deadly.”

Mack was uneasy. He had not intended the conversation to turn to him. He changed the subject.

“Say, Doc, did you hear? The whole country club took a loyalty oath on the eighteenth green. Whitey No. 2 was caddying. Them members all took off their hats and swore they would not destroy the U.S. government.”

“I'm glad,” said Doc. “I was worried. Did the caddies take the oath too?”

“Some of them did, but not Whitey. He's kind of an idealist, you might say. He says if he gets an idea to burn down the Capitol he don't want no perjury rap to stand in his way. They won't let him caddy no more.”

“Does he want to burn down the Capitol?” Doc asked.

“Well, no. He says he don't want to now, but he don't know what he'll want to do next month. He gives us quite a talk about it. Says he was a Marine, went through a lot of fighting for the country, figures he's got a kind of personal interest. He don't want nobody to tell him what to do.”

Doc laughed. “So he can't carry golf clubs anymore because of his ideals?”

“They say he's a security risk,” said Mack. “Whitey claims he ain't got a good enough memory to be a security risk. Besides, they don't talk about nothing out there on the golf course except money and dames.”

Doc said, “Heroes always get punished at first.”

“Speaking of dames, Doc—”

“Let's,” said Doc.

“What ever happened to that swell-looking babe in the fur coat used to come over?”

“She's not been very well.”

“That's too bad,” said Mack. “What's she got?”

“Oh, something obscure. Can't seem to track it down.”

“I guess with that kind of dough—”

“What do you mean?”

“I seen it happen so many times,” said Mack. “You take a dame and she's married to a guy that's making twenty-five bucks a week. You can't kill her with a meat ax. She's got kids and does the washing—may get a little tired but that's the worse that can happen to her. But let the guy get raised to seventy-five bucks a week and she begins to get colds and take vitamins.”

“That's a new theory of medicine,” said Doc.

“It ain't new. Hell, just use your eyes. Guy gets up to a hundred a week and this same dame reads
Time
magazine and she's got the newest disease before she even finished the page. I've knew dames that can give doctors cards, spades, and big casino about medicine. They got stuff called allergy now. Used to call it hay fever—made you sneeze. Guy that figured out allergy should of got a patent. A allergy is, you get sick when there's something you don't want to do. I've knew dames that was allergic to dishwater. Married guy starts making dough—he's got a patient on his hands.”

“You sound cynical,” said Doc.

“No, I ain't. You just look around and show me one well dame with her old man in the chips.”

Doc chuckled. “You think that's what happened to my friend?”

“Oh, hell no,” said Mack. “That's big stuff. When you get dough like that it's different. She got to have something that don't nobody know what it is. She can't have nothing common that you can take salts for. She goes around puzzling doctors. They stand around her and they shake their heads and they scratch and they never seen nothing like her case before.”

“I haven't heard you go on like this for a long time,” said Doc.

“You ain't been in the mood to listen. You think them doctors is honest?”

“I haven't any reason to doubt it. Why?”

“I bet I could fix rich dames up,” said Mack. “At least for a while.”

“How would you go about it?”

“Well, sir, first I'd hire me a deaf-and-dumb assistant. His job is just to set and listen and look worried. Then I'd get me a bottle of Epsom salts and I'd put in a pretty little screw-cap thing and I'd call it Moondust. I'd charge about thirty dollars a teaspoonful, and you got to come to my office to get it. Then I'd invent me a machine you strap the dame in. It's all chrome and it lights colored lights every minute or so. It costs the dame twelve dollars a half-hour and it puts her through the motions she'd do over a scrub board. I'd cure them! And I'd make a fortune too. Of course they'd get sick right away again, so I'd have something else, liked mixed sleeping pills and wake-up pills that keeps you right where you was when you started.”

Doc said, “Thank God you haven't got a license to practice!”

“Why?”

“As a matter of fact, I don't know why,” said Doc. “How about preventive medicine?”

“You mean how to keep them from getting sick?”

“Yes.”

“That's easy,” said Mack. “Stay broke!”

Doc sat silent for a while. He glanced at the starfish and saw the reproductive fluid beginning to ooze from between their rays. “Say, Mack,” he asked, “did you come over to try to get something out of me?”

“I don't think so,” said Mack. “If I did I've forgot what it was. I'm sure glad you got over it, Doc.”

“Got over what?”

“Oh, them goddam sooplapods.”

“Look, Mack!” Sudden anger welled up in Doc. “Don't get any funny ideas. I am going to write that paper. I am going to La Jolla for the spring tides.”

“All right, Doc, all right. Have it your own way.”

But back in the Palace Flop house Mack reported to the boys, “Seemed like he was better, but he ain't over the hump yet. We got to help him not to write that goddam paper.”

Suzy was light on her feet. She was up the stairs and knocking on the door of Western Biological before the snakes rattled. Doc called, “Come in,” without looking up from his microscope.

Suzy stood in the doorway. She held a gigantic flop cake on one hand and carried a paper bag of canned beer in the other. “How do you do?” she said formally.

Doc looked up. “Oh, hello. For God's sake, what's that?”

“A cake. Joe Elegant made it.”

“Why?” Doc asked.

“I think Fauna told him to.”

“Well, I hope you like cake,” said Doc.

Suzy laughed. “I don't think this is a eating cake. This is a looking cake. Fauna sent you some beer.”

“That's more like it,” said Doc. “What's Fauna want?”

“Nothing.”

“That's funny.”

“Where shall I put the cake?” said Suzy.

Now Doc looked at Suzy and Suzy looked at Doc and they both had the same thought and they burst into laughter. Tears streamed from Suzy's eyes. “Oh Lord!” said Suzy. “Oh Lord!” She laughed with her mouth wide and her eyes pinched shut. Doc slapped his leg and threw back his head and roared. And the laughter was so pleasant they tried to keep it going after its momentum was spent.

“Oh Lord,” said Suzy, “I got to wipe my eyes.” She put the cake down on top of the rattlesnake cage, and hysterical rattling filled the room. Suzy jumped back. “What's that?”

“Rattlesnakes.”

“What you got them for?”

“I take their venom and sell it.”

“I'd hate to live with a bunch of dirty snakes.”

“They're not dirty. They even change their skins. That's more than people do.”

“I hate them,” said Suzy, and she shuddered.

“You wouldn't, once you knew them.”

“Well I ain't likely to get to know them,” said Suzy. “They're dirty.”

Doc leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He said, “You know, this interests me. Snakes are cleaner than most animals. Wonder why you call them dirty?”

Suzy looked at him levelly. “You want to know why?”

“Sure I do.”

“Because you run Fauna down.”

“Wait a minute,” said Doc. “What's that got—I did not!”

“You said Fauna's trying to get something out of you. She just done it to be nice.”

Doc nodded his head slowly. “I see. So you got even by calling snakes dirty.”

“You got it, mister. Nobody don't run Fauna down when I'm around.”

“It was just a joke,” said Doc.

“Didn't sound like no joke to me.”

“Why, Fauna's one of my best friends,” said Doc. “Let's have a can of beer and make peace.”

“Okay,” said Suzy. “You make the first move.”

Doc said, “Tell Joe Elegant it's an incredible cake.”

“Got marshmallow frosting,” said Suzy.

“And tell Fauna the beer saved my life.”

Suzy's face relaxed. “Okay,” she said. “I guess that's okay. Where's the opener?”

“Right in the sink back there.”

Suzy brought the two punched cans to Doc's work table. “Say, what you doing?”

“Making slides. When I started I put starfish sperm and ova in each of these glasses. Then every half-hour I kill one glass of the developing embryos, and when I have the whole series, I mount them on slides like this, and one slide shows the whole development.”

Suzy bent over the dishes. “I don't see nothing.”

“They're too small. I can show you in the glass.”

Suzy backed up. “What do you do it for?”

“So students can see how starfish get to be.”

“Why do they want to know?”

“Well, I guess because that's the way people get to be.”

“Then why don't they study people?”

Doc laughed. “It's a little difficult to kill unborn babies every half-hour. Here, take a look.” He pushed a glass dish under the microscope.

Suzy peered in the eyepieces. “God Almighty!” she said. “Did I look like that once?”

“Something like.”

“Sometimes I feel like that now. Say, Doc, you got a funny business—bugs and all like that.”

“There are funnier businesses,” he said sharply.

She stiffened. “Meaning my business? You don't like my business, huh?”

“It doesn't matter whether I like it or not. There it is. But it does seem to me a kind of sad substitute for love—a kind of lonesome substitute.”

Suzy put her hands on her hips. “And what've you got, mister? Bugs, snakes? Look at this dump! It stinks. Floor ain't been clean in years. You ain't got a decent suit of clothes. You probably can't remember your last hot meal. You sit here breeding bugs—for Chrissake! What do you think that's a substitute for?”

In the old days Doc would have been amused, but now his guard was down and he caught her anger like a disease. “I do what I want,” he said. “I live the way I want. I'm free—do you get that? I'm free and I do what I want.”

“You ain't got nothing,” Suzy said. “Bugs and snakes and a dirty house. I bet some dame threw you over. That's what you're substituting for. Got a wife? No! Got a girl? No!”

Doc found himself shouting, “I don't want a wife. I have all the women I want!”

“Woman and women is two different things,” said Suzy. “Guy knows all about women he don't know nothing about a woman.”

Doc said, “This guy is happy that way.”

“Now you're happy!” said Suzy. “You're a pushover! If no dame's got you it's because no dame wants you. Who the hell would want to live with bugs and snakes in a joint like this?”

“Who'd want to go to bed with anybody that's got three bucks?” said Doc cruelly.

Suzy said icily, “A smart guy. A real smart guy. He's got what he wants. Seems to me I heard you're writing a great big goddam highfalutin paper.”

“Who told you that?”

“Everybody knows about it. Everybody's laughing at you behind your back—and you know why? Because everybody knows you're kidding yourself. You ain't never going to write that paper because you can't write that paper. You're just sitting here like a kid playing wish games.”

She saw her words go home as surely as though she had watched arrows drive into his chest, and misery and shame overwhelmed her. “I wish I didn't say that,” she spoke softly. “I wish to God I never said that.”

“It might be true,” said Doc quietly. “Maybe you put your finger on the truth. Is everybody laughing at me? Is everybody laughing—?”

“My name's Suzy,” she said.

“Are they laughing, Suzy?”

“They got no right to,” she said. “I was just fighting back—honest to God I was. I didn't mean any of that stuff I said.”

“I love true things,” said Doc. “Even when they hurt. Isn't it better to know the truth about oneself?” And he asked it of himself. “Yes, I think it is. I think it is. You're quite right, I've got nothing. That's why I built up the whole story about my paper until I believed it myself—a little man pretending to be a big man, a fool trying to be wise.”

“Fauna will kill me,” Suzy moaned. “She'll wring my neck. Say, Doc, you got no right to take mad talk from a two-bit hustler—you got no right.”

“What's it matter where the truth comes from,” he said, “if it's the truth?”

Suzy said, “Doc, I never felt so lousy in my life. Get mad at me, won't you?”

“Why should I get mad? Maybe you've stopped a bunch of nonsense. Perhaps you've nipped a fool in the bud.”

“Get mad at me,” she begged. “Here! Take a punch at me.”

Doc chuckled. “I wish it could be that easy.”

Suzy said sadly, “Then I ain't got any choice,” and she shrilled at him, “Why you goddam bum! You lousy stinking fool! Who the hell d'you think you are?”

There was a flutter of footsteps and the door burst open.

It was Becky. “Suzy! You're late. The Rattlesnakes are here. Come on! Get into your tomato dress.”

“It's called ‘Love Apples,'” said Suzy quietly. “So long, Doc,” and she followed Becky out.

Doc watched them go. He said aloud, “That's probably the only completely honest human I have ever met.” His eyes wandered to the table and suddenly he bellowed, “
Goddam it!
She made me miss the time. The dirty bitch! I've got to do it all over.” And he dumped the contents of the glass dishes into his slop bucket.