The Innocent (19 page)

“I'm the girl, Dr. Newhouse. I'm the girl Charles needed the medicine for.”

“I really don't know what you're talking about. I'm sorry if you're in difficulties, Miss Black, but I can't help you.”

“But Charles did come to you didn't he? He told you about our trouble and you gave him something. It was in a hypodermic syringe and Charles was to inject it and it would bring on—Charles said you said I would have severe cramps and it would all—” Her voice cracked. She tried to control it. “He said you said in ten minutes it would all be over.”

“I am not responsible for what Carter said or did or said I said. Miss Black, do you realize that it is against the law to prescribe what you have just implied I gave Charlie for the purpose you mentioned? You just saw me with my kids, Miss Black; they lost their mother and I have to mother and father them, but I probably would anyhow, even if my wife hadn't died. I love kids. Pardon the expression, but to me they are the only bright spot in a pretty lousy world. Why would I do what you say I did? Why would I do such a thing at the risk of losing my license to practice? At the risk of letting my family starve? I assure you I gave no one anything.”

“I don't mean you do it for everybody. Dr. Newhouse, just for Charles. Charles thinks so highly of you. He told me that you were the only man who's ever been decent to him. He told me what a swell guy you are, but you did it that once for him, didn't you?”

Dr. Newhouse flicked severely at something on his sleeve. “I can't help you, Miss Black.”

“But I don't want you to help me, Doctor! I don't want you to give me the medicine, all I want to know is whether or not you gave it to Charles.”

“You just want to know whether I gave Charlie—I don't get this. What's behind this?”

“All I want to know is whether or not you gave Charles some medicine to inject me with.”

“Hold on, there! Let me get this sorted out. You say you're the girl Charles used it on, that's what you claim. Now, if that's the truth why shouldn't you know whether I gave it to him or not?”

“Please, that doesn't matter, does it?”

“It certainly does matter.”

“It doesn't. All I want to know is—Dr. Newhouse, I must know! I must know!” She clasped her hands and stared up at him. “Oh, please tell me if you did give it to him. Did you give Charles some medicine in a syringe which you said he should inject?”

“There's something damn funny here.” Dr. Newhouse scratched his head. He bent over and took an ivory letter opener off the desk and began to hit his right palm with it. “I naturaly assumed that you were in trouble again or you wanted it for a friend, that old gag, you know. There's something funny here.”

“There's nothing funny. Please believe me, Doctor. You don't have to tell me the name of the medicine. You don't have to give me any. All I want is to know whether you gave some to Charles. It means everything in the world to me.”

The doctor put down the letter opener and, reaching over, lifted Marjorie's wrist and felt her pulse. “You're in a nice state of jitters, my girl,” he said. “And it means everything in the world to you, and all I have to do is admit that I gave Charlie some stuff to induce an A.B. You insist that you're the girl Charles got in a family way. What did you think happened, that Charlie brewed the stuff himself?”

“Charles? No, I can't imagine Charles doing chemistry. Doctor, can you? Oh, please tell me!”

“If you went from here to the nearest police station and said Ned Newhouse gave pituitrin to induce an A.B., I wouldn't like it one bit, sister, but I'd go before the court with my head high and explain why I did. I'd hand them the same reasons I gave myself when I gave Charlie the stuff and take my chances in court.”

“Then you did?”

“But you know I did!”

“Of course I knew, I just wanted to hear you say so. Oh, Doctor, I'll never be able to thank you enough. This makes all the difference!” She jumped up quickly, wanting to throw her arms around Dr. Newhouse and kiss his craggy Lincoln face.

“What difference? I don't get it. Now I've told you what you wanted to know, you tell me what possible difference.”

“The difference is that Charles loves me, Dr. Newhouse. Can you imagine Charles loving me? But he does, he did all along. I've been a fool, a fool!”

Dr. Newhouse put his big hand on Marjorie's shoulder. His voice went very deep. “Listen, my girl, you are a fool if you think Charlie loves you, not the other way round.”

“You don't know,” she said, lifting her face to him with her eyes shining, putting her hand on top of his on her shoulder, patting it gently.

“That isn't love,” Dr. Newhouse said gravely. “What Charlie feels isn't love. Charlie loves no one but Charlie. Aw, he's not a bad egg, I don't mean that. I've always had a soft spot for Charlie, and I don't mean anything against him. You won't hear me blaming Charlie for it, and you shouldn't hold it against him either, but you should understand him and act accordingly for your own sake.”

“I love him,” she said.

“You love him, you love him! I love my children, Miss Black, God knows I do, but I try to understand them, too. I don't hold it against them, and I'm not saying you should hold it against Charlie, but you should realize that it takes years of the right kind of bringing up to make kids capable of love. My kids aren't capable of it yet and neither is Charlie. Do you know much about Charlie's bringing up?”

“Well, his mother and father were divorced when he was five.” He had given Charles the syringe. Thank God. Thank you, God!

“Yes, his mother got rid of his old man so she could spend all her time adoring Charlie. Charlie was her darling. Charlie was too beautiful to take chances with, Mama wouldn't throw her pearl before swine, so until he looked big enough to knock anybody for a loop, Charlie was tutored at home to preserve him intact.”

“What's wrong with that, Doctor?” There's nothing wrong. Everything's right, All's well.

“A lot of things, Miss Black. Charlie didn't learn at home and other kids never got the chance to teach him that he wasn't the only pebble on the beach. You know how it is: when one pebble knocks against other pebbles, it learns to take knocks. Oh, there was a lot wrong with keeping Charlie at home, even if it hadn't meant Mama's doing without practically everything. Then when he was twelve and she died, of malnutrition probably, so Charlie could stuff himself, this aunt appears and immediately dedicates herself to the same proposition, that all men are created equal to nothing where Charlie is concerned. This aunt couldn't raise a puppy, no less a kid. Please blink those stars out of your eyes, Miss Black, and look at me. Wake up. Listen to me.”

“I'm listening,” Marjorie said. She wasn't. She had gone back to her old game of comparing Charles to every man she met. Poor Dr. Newhouse, she was thinking.

“You better listen, Miss Black. You said Charlie calls me the only guy who's ever been decent to him. Do you know why I was decent? Because I'm a natural-born father or mother from way back. I wet-nursed Charlie because I'm that sort. Why hasn't he ever had another man as a friend?”

Marjorie said automatically, “Because men are jealous of Charles. Because he's as beautiful as Apollo, and other men don't look like Greek statues.”

Dr. Newhouse guffawed. He pointed at Marjorie to keep her attention fixed until he was through laughing. “Statue is right. That's what Charlie is, a Greek statue, a hollow Apollo, a phonus balonus Adonis! Believe me, Miss Black, inside that gorgeous shell huddles a scared little boy.”

Her face softened. She said softly, “I know it.”

“Did it ever occur to you that it's a dangerous combination, a scared little boy living in a six-foot-two body? I'm a doctor and I'm only repeating what Dr. Experience and Dr. Freud have told me. Little boys aren't all sweetness and light. Miss Black, we've come a long way from believing The Children's Hour is sixty minutes of innocent transparent joy. It's more like sixty minutes of savage hatred, jealousy, and lust. The only reason kids are relatively harmless is because they're too weak to carry out their murderous impulses.”

“I don't know Freud, Dr. Newhouse, but I do know Charles.”

“I seriously doubt that, friend. Miss Black, I'm not giving you this lecture to hear myself talk. I'm telling you that you're not dealing with an adult in Charlie and when you go around with your nose in the air saying he loves me, he loves me, you're going to take a bad fall. I'm telling you that things can happen when you think you're dealing with a man and you've got a child on your hands! I'm trying to get it through your head that you have to revise the rules for Charlie.”

“You're very kind,” Marjorie said, meaning simple gratitude. She had finished comparing Dr. Newhouse to Charles. She wanted to get out of here. She couldn't wait to get back to Charles. My darling, my darling, my beautiful darling!

“Miss Black, why do you think I gave Charlie the pituitrin when he came here that day? Not because I'm so kind as all that. What did you think I was spouting about a minute back about standing up in court and telling the world? I gave the stuff to Charlie because I know Charlie. I don't love him, I know him. I gave it to him even though I hate helping any Woman abort, which is not only legally wrong but against the law of nature. You should know better than I do by this time what it does to a woman psychologically when she kills her fetus. In spite of that, in spite of the danger to me, in spite of putting my own kids in jeopardy, I revised the rules because I knew this case was different.”

“I guess you didn't want to break up Charlie's marriage. He must have told you he was married.” Marjorie was saying whatever came into her head. Dr. Newhouse had paused and looked at her as if she was supposed to say something, so she had said something.

“I asure you, I wouldn't endanger my kids, or myself for Charlie Carter's happy home which, by the way, I never believed in. Charlie couldn't have a happy home with any wife.”

“He's got one now! You're so wrong, Doctor!”

“I am not wrong. If you're his wife, why the Miss Black? Well, never mind, that's not my business, but this is. Try to understand that when I took the responsibility for snuffing out your child's life before it came to term, it was for that child's sake, because your kid would have been an orphan. Because a person like Charlie shouldn't be put in the false position of having to pretend to be a father.”

Dr. Newhouse was keeping her from Charles. He meant very well, very well indeed, but he was keeping her from Charles. Perhaps she could get Charles to ask Dr. Newhouse to come up and see them. He was very nice, very nice, but she wanted to go home to Charles. “I don't know how to thank you, Doctor.”

“For helping you abort? That's not pretty.”

Marjorie's eyes opened to their widest because this pierced the fog of relief, of happiness, this touched her. “Did you think I would do a thing like that?” She looked indignant. “I didn't let Charles inject me, Doctor. Oh, no, Dr. Newhouse, I have my child. He's almost five weeks old. I'm thankful because you told me what I need to know, and now I really must go back now to Ch—to the baby.” He would realize she meant Charles. He would assume she lived with Charles now, definitely, but she couldn't see the harm in that. He wasn't one of the people who mustn't find out that Petey had been born too soon. He knew all about that already. “I must go now. Thank you so much.” Now her voice was composed. She sounded like a different woman. She was a different woman; she was the woman Charles loved. Marjorie began to move toward the front door while Dr. Newhouse stared after her with his mouth open. “Please kiss that brunette son of yours for me, will you? That's what little Pete is going to look like, only—please forgive me, Doctor—only more beautiful because he's Charles' baby.”

“Daddy,” said Bud. “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” He pulled the end of his father's jacket as if it were a rope. “Daddy, it's Bud's time now!”

“Daddee,” said Beppo. His eyes filled with jealous, angry tears. He was furious because even though the lady had left, his father was still thinking about her. He hated it that his father was still thinking about the lady and not about him. With his face contorted with rage, he stood on tiptoe and began to pummel his father's leg with his small balled fist.

As Marjorie approached her front door she heard a chair in the foyer being shoved back and then footsteps moving away hurriedly in the direction of the living room. She knew how to interpret that. Charles had been sitting in the foyer waiting for her, but not wishing to be discovered there, he had retreated to the living room. He was angry with her now for having gone out and didn't want her to know how anxiously he had awaited her return. It was certain that when she came in he would be discovered stretched on the couch, pretending to be asleep. Marjorie found the door key in her purse and let herself in.

Charles was stretched out on the couch, but he wasn't pretending to be asleep. He was staring up at the ceiling. He didn't turn his head when Marjorie greeted him or when she pulled off her wet hat and coat and threw them on the chair. She stood watching him for a moment with the serene, rather smug, attitude of a landowner surveying, from a point of vantage, his choice property. Marjorie stood quite still and evaluated Charles' long body, his straight nose, his lashes, the bright color of his hair against the dull green of the couch, then she ran to him.

Now it was Marjorie who flung herself on her knees. She took Charles' limp hand and pressed it to her soft breast. “My sweet,” she whispered. “My darling, I'm back.” His hand didn't curve around her breast. It remained limp. It was surprisingly cold. Marjorie began to chafe his hand between her two. “I'm back, darling.”