The Alcoholics (13 page)

"The Van Twynes. That's the only way."

"Shall I-what shall I tell the guys, Doc?"

"Don't tell them anything. Tell them I was too busy to see you."

"But, Doc, that's-"

"You heard me," said Doctor Murphy, and he drooped a lid over one bright blue eye. "Now, get the hell out of here:'

Among his unsuspecting friends and associates, and they were, in the main, unsuspecting, Doctor Perthborg was regarded as whimsically eccentric, a man guided by his heart rather than his head. And to those whose looking ahead was limited to days and weeks, instead of Doctor Perthborg's year and decades, it did often seem that he was. So easily is the straightforward disguised by complex society. So easily is the straight path confused with the ambling terrain it traverses.

During the economic depression, Amos Perthborg had lent thousands of dollars to beginning practitioners-lent it without note or collateral and often at the necessity of borrowing himself.

At a time when his own professional position was none too secure, he had boldly denounced the president of the county medical society as an incompetent fee splitter- which, though it is hardly pertinent, the president was.

Compared to the supplicant young doctors he had literally booted out of his office, the ones he had aided comprised a mere handful. And these, a thoughtful observer (had such there been) would have noted, had been selected more for their catholicity than, say, precocity There was a heart man, an orthopedist, a gynecologist, a pediatrician, a brain surgeon, an eye-ear-nose-and-throat specialist… and so on. They were good but not brilliant men; Doctor Perthborg distrusted brilliance. As consultants, they had proved useful and lucrative for a great many years; not only by doing the work he was paid to do for a fraction of his fee, but in stamping his flagrant and sometimes fatal errors with their professional approval.

As for the president of the medical society, he had been old and the old lose the will to fight, and it is a basic principle of elementary politics never to vote no on a moral issue. The incumbent had been booted out of his post. Doctor Perthborg, elected by acclamation, virtuously refused the honor. His purpose had been accomplished, he said; he did not care to profit by it.

He did profit by it, needless to say. He had received hundreds of thousands of dollars worth of free advertising, and he winnowed the results carefully, narrowing them down to the choicest, fiscally strongest clientele. Moreover, having scared the daylights out of any competition, he and his proteges were left with practically a clear field in the consultant racket. Only for a time, of course, greed being eternal and fear ephemeral. But a very good time it was. It was during this period that Doctor Perthborg began his long association with the Van Twyne family.

Barbara Huylinger D'Arcy Van Twyne had got herself pregnant. Doctor Perthborg's consultants consulted with Doctor Perthborg and agreed that she could not give birth without serious risk to her life. She should, in other words, be aborted. She was. Whereupon she reassumed the many duties incumbent upon a champion woman golfer, tennis player, swimmer and high diver.

That, as has been noted, was the beginning of the Van Twyne-Perthborg association. The ending… ah, the ending.

Just where, Doctor Perthborg had begun to wonder, would the ending be?

You had moved in a straight line, and got to where you were going. The men you had moved to move yourself now approached your own stature, and far from being disturbed you were pleased and gratified. You were friends, insofar as you were capable of friendship. They wanted nothing from you, nor you from them. There was no past.

That was you, then, after three score of your allotted three and a half: portly in a purely comfortable way, comfortably active, comfortably rich. You had got what you wanted-wealth, position, family. You had moved in a straight line to worry-free, honorable comfort.

And a beady-eyed old witch, ancient yet seemingly ageless, who had not got all that
she
wanted-and never would, damn her!– came along and booted you in the tail. And you couldn't plead with her because there was nothing to appeal to, and you couldn't reason with her because she wouldn't argue. You could only move in the direction she indicated.

Seated across the desk from Doctor Murphy, Doctor Perthborg looked unhappy and was considerably unhappier than he looked. He had a feeling that however things turned out, the result for him would be disastrous. Yet there was nothing to do but go ahead. If he did not, if he so much as caviled-that was her word-the disaster would be immediate.

Doctor Perthborg beamed and nodded at Doctor Murphy, edging politely toward the subject of his visit. But, actually, he did not see Doc; his mind's eye was turned on the image of her-hawk-nosed, bitter mouthed, beady-eyed. A dried-up witch of a woman, perched in a chair that was like a throne, imperious, far more wealthy perhaps, than her namesake.

But my dear Victoria! You honestly can't expect me to-

I've told you what I expected. And don't dear-Victoria me, you sanctimonious old fake. You make me sick to my stomach!

But-but it's completely unethical! in a sense, it's murder. Surely you wouldn't want your own grandson murdered.

I'd like nothing better. Unfortunately, I'm compelled to think of the publicity.

I can't-I won't do it!

Very well.

What… w-what will you do, Victoria?

About you? Well, I believe we are not dissimilar in character. What would you do, Amos-if you were in the position to do what I can?

.. Doctor Perthborg removed his pince-nez, and rubbed them against the lapel of his two-hundred dollar suit. He replaced them on his nose and leaned forward, folding his fleshy face into a sympathetic mask. "And Humphrey," he said. "How is the poor boy, Doctor?" "Would you like to see him?" "Oh, no, no, not at all," Doctor Perthborg protested. "That won't be necessary. I have complete confidence in you, Doctor?" "Why?" said Doctor Murphy. "Uh-why?" "Sure. Why? I'm a psychiatrist with a limited g.p. practice." "You underestimate yourself, Doctor. I've had glowing reports on your ability." "Ability as a brain surgeon?" Doctor Perthborg's lips compressed, his cheeks puffed out, and for a moment he resembled nothing quite so much as an angry toad.

Somehow, however, he managed to smother his annoyance. He spoke to Doctor Murphy kindly, though on a note of gentle reproof.

"Love," he intoned, "that's what our boy needs, Doctor. After all-and I know you're not the ignoramus in these matters you pretend to be-what else can be done for him? How many lobotomy cases are ever able to resume normal lives, even under the skillful care of the world's greatest specialist? Not many, eh? We know the record of the specialists, Doctor-many failures, few, ah so pitifully few successes. So let's do it our way, the way of heart and soul. Let's keep the boy here in the bosom of his family, and give him…" Doctor Perthborg paused, icily. "Am I amusing you, Doctor?"

"I was never," said Doctor Murphy, "less amused in my life. Admittedly, the recovery ratio on pre-frontals is tragically low. As a psychiatrist, I don't feel that the operation is ever warranted. However-"

"We had no alternative, Doctor."

"I'm not sure that I agree, but let that pass. Humphrey went through the operation. Now, he's entitled to a chance. The only place he can get it is where the lobotomy was performed. The Paine-Gwaltney clinic in New York."

"I disagree, Doctor."

"No," said Doctor Murphy, "you don't. But we'll let that pass, too. We have some pretty good local men. Specialists. Let me call one in."

"No," said Doctor Perthborg.

"Let me call in a non-specialist, then. Any reputable practitioner."

"No."

"No," Doctor Murphy nodded, grimly. "You can't have a quack presiding at Humphrey's funeral; sooner or later, there'd be one hell of a scandal. You have to have a good man, and no one that's any good would touch the case."

"Come, Doctor." Doctor Perthborg smiled firmly. "A good man
has
touched the case. Yourself. One of the best, down-to-earth physicians we have in this blessed state. Frankly, I'm a little surprised, even disappointed, at his attitude, this belaboring of the inevitable. I had every reason to feel, it seemed to me, that we were pretty much in agreement on-"

"You took me by surprise," Doctor Murphy nodded. "And I don't mind saying that the proposition was tempting. It's either that, or give up my work here, and-"

"Very valuable work, Doctor. Important. Vital."

"I think so. So I'm probably much more sorry than you are to say what I have to. I don't want the case. Either you have Humphrey removed from here at once, or I will."

"B-but"-Doctor Perthborg turned pale-"! c-can't! You can't do that, Doctor!"

"Why can't I? What's to prevent me from sending him to the county hospital?"

"The
county!
" Doctor Perthborg got a grip on himself. "Doctor, is it-I thought we were being quite generous, but-is it a question of money?"

"It's a question of responsibility. Either I share it with someone-someone with a good professional reputation- or it's no deal."

"But you've already said that no one who was-uh, did you have someone in mind, Doctor? I'm not sure that the idea would be agreeable to Mr. Van Twyne, but if you could suggest someone of your own discretion…"

"Can you?"

"I? Ask one of my associates to-to-!"

Doctor Murphy grinned at him. "Too good for that, huh? They're too good. But I'm not."

"No, no! It's just that I don't know of anyone who meets the necessary qualifications. But if there's anyone you can-"

"I was hoping," said Doctor Murphy, "that he would suggest himself. In fact, I was so sure he would that I took the liberty of having this prepared."

He turned over the sheet of paper on his desk and pushed it toward Doctor Perthborg. The doctor picked it up, gingerly. "Ummm"-he cleared his throat-"I feel that this is superfluous, Doctor. Entirely unnecessary. Obviously-by implication, that is-Mr. Van Twyne was placed in your care with my full approval. There could be no question in the mind of anyone that you were acting without authority."

"But you don't care to make it a matter of record?"

"But it
is
a matter of record! The check for your fee constitutes a record!"

"Not in my book, it isn't," said Doctor Murphy. "The implications are all one-sided. For fifteen thousand dollars, I give an implied promise to help Humphrey. I promise something and accept payment for something which I can't possibly deliver. You and the Van Twynes are in the clear. You accepted my professional word-mine alone-and I let you down. Huh, uh, Doctor Perthborg. Not for me."

"Now, Doctor. You know we haven't the slightest intention of…"..

"You haven't now, no. But it's not hard to imagine what you'd do if it was a case of your necks or mine."

"But this"-Doctor Perthborg looked down, unhappily at the paper-"the wording of it, Doctor: 'As the duly authorized physician to Humphrey Van Twyne III (incompetent), and having thoroughly examined and studied the aforementioned patient, I am in complete agreement with, and hereby agree to, the recommendations made by Dr. Pasteur Semelweiss Murphy, consulting physician-in-charge…'"

"Well?" said Doctor Murphy.

"What recommendations? What am I agreeing to? I can't go out on a limb like this!"

Doctor Murphy shrugged. "Well, let's re-word it then. Be specific. Give me your ideas on what should be done for Humphrey."

"But I don't know-"

Doc grinned at him.

Doctor Perthborg sighed.

Reluctantly, he uncapped his fountain pen and scrawled his signature at the bottom of the page.

"There you are, Doctor. And here's your check. You'll notice I've had it certified."

"Very thoughtful of you," murmured Doctor Murphy.

"So if you'll just sign this receipt…"

Doctor Murphy leaned back in his chair. Hands clasped behind his head, he stared thoughtfully up at the ceiling.

"You know, I've been thinking, Doctor. Establishments such as mine are always somewhat suspect, so I've been thinking…"

"Yes?" said Doctor Perthborg shortly.

"Well, the Van Twyne philanthropies are well known, and it's only logical that the family should have a deep interest in alcoholism. That being the case, and assuming that this situation has a strong potential for unpleasantness, suppose I accept that check as a donation rather than a fee?"

Doctor Murphy continued to stare at the ceiling. He was afraid to look away from it; certain that Doctor Perthborg would take one cold, calculating glance at his face and read the plan that was in his mind.

He waited-for hours it seemed. The silence became unbearable. Then, he heard a slow, thoughtful exhalation, and the squeak of a chair.

And the brief scratching of pen against paper.

"An excellent idea," said Doctor Perthborg. "I think the one word will cover it, don't you?"