A Creed for the Third Millennium (2 page)

Though he watched her closely, he could
detect no 13

real distress emanating from her as she
spoke of this most bitter disappointment. Good.
Good!

'Did you mention coming to me for
treatment?'

'I sure did! Of course the minute that
news came out, Sylvia Stringman had to put in her two cents' worth! You are a
charlatan because Matt Stringman the world's greatest shrink
says
you're
a charlatan, I must be in love with you because otherwise I'd see straight
through you — honestly, Doctor, I don't know which of them is the bigger pain in
the ass, Sylvia or her husband!'

Dr Christian suppressed his smile,
continuing to watch his patient minutely. Today had been her first real trial of
strength, for today had seen the first Pat-Pat convention Patti Fane had felt
well enough to attend since her breakdown.

She was the elected elder of the Pat-Pat
tribe, if a group of seven women all much the same age could be so described.
Seven women, all christened Patricia, who had been fast friends ever since the
day when fate had thrown them into the same freshman classroom at Holloman
Senior High. The resulting confusion had been so great that only the first of
them in age, Patti Fane — or Patti Drew, as she had been then — had been allowed
to retain a Patrician diminutive. And though all seven Pat-Pats were very
different in nature and appearance and ethnic background, that catastrophe of
nomenclature had welded them into a gestalt nothing since had managed to
dissolve. They had all gone to Swarthmore, then they had all married highly
placed faculty or executives of Chubb University. As the years went by they
continued to meet once a month, taking turns to provide the venue; so powerful
still was the bond of affection that their husbands and children had been
drafted into the Pat-Pat ranks as auxiliary troops, and bore with resignation
Pat-Pat solidarity.

Patti Fane (whom he catalogued in his
mind as Pat-Pat One) had come to Dr Joshua Christian
as a patient some three months before, in the grip of a severe depression
brought on by the drawing of a blue loser's ball in the Second Child Bureau
lottery, a rejection made all the more difficult because she was in her
thirty-fourth year of life and therefore subsequently would be crossed off the
SCB books as the potential mother of a second child. Luckily, once he penetrated
the outer defences of her depression Dr Christian found a warm and sensible
woman, amenable to reason and easy to channel into more positive thought
patterns. As indeed was the case with the majority of his patients, for their
woes were not imaginary; they were all too real. And real woes responded to
reason allied with spiritual strengthening.

'Boy, did I open a nasty can of worms
when I told them why I'd had a breakdown!' said Mrs Patti Fane. 'Can you tell me
why women are so secretive about applying to the SCB for permission to have a
second child? Dr Christian, every single one of us Pat-Pats had been applying
every single year! But did any of us ever admit it openly? No! And why hasn't
one of us at least managed to draw a red ball? I find that amazing!'

'Not really,' he said gently. 'The odds
in the SCB lottery are ten thousand to one, and there are only seven of you all
told.'

'We're all comfortably off, we've
qualified on the means test and the medical since we married and had our first
children, and that adds up to a lot of years.'

'Even so, the odds are stacked against
you, Patti.'

'Until today,' she said, a little grimly.
'Funny, I thought Marg Kelly looked colossally pleased with herself when she
came in, but of course everyone was chiefly interested to find out what had
happened to me and then how I Was, and they kept on marvelling over my state of
mind, this new content and acceptance—' She broke off, smiling at Dr Christian
with genuine, affectionate gratitude. 'If I
hadn't overheard those two women in Friendly's talking about you, Doctor, I
don't know what I might have done to myself.'

'Margaret Kelly?' he prompted.

'She'd drawn a red ball.'

He understood and could have told her
everything that followed, but he merely nodded, encouraging his patient to tell
her story in her own way.

'My God! You've never seen women change
so fast! One moment we were all sitting around drinking coffee and having the
same kind of conversation we've been having for years and years, the next moment
Cynthia Cavallieri — we met at her house today — Cynthia looked across at Marg
and asked her why she was looking like the cat that got the cream, and Marg said
she'd just had a letter from the SCB informing her she could go ahead with a
second child. Then she reached into her pocketbook and brought out this stack of
papers — every page looked as if it was notarized and stamped with some big
official seal — I guess the SCB has to be super careful about forged
permissions, or something.'

Patti Fane stopped, her eyes straying
back to that scene in Cynthia Cavallieri's living room; she shivered, shrugged
it off. 'They all went so
still
The room was cold anyway, of course, but
I swear the temperature dropped way below zero in a split second. And then
Daphne Chornik jumped up out of her chair. I've never seen her move so fast! One
minute she was sitting, the next she was standing over poor Marg Kelly and she
had snatched the SCB papers from Marg's hands, and — and — I've never seen or
heard anything like it from
Daphne!
I mean, Daphne's always been a bit of
a joke among us Pat-Pats, with her churchgoing and the way she's always
preaching kind deeds and actions — we've always had to be careful what we say
when Daphne's around. She stood there and she tore the SCB papers to ribbons,
all the while accusing Nathan Kelly of pulling strings with the SCB in
Washington because he's the President of Chubb and had an ancestor on the
Mayflower.
Then she said she ought to have been the one to get an SCB
approval because she'd bring up a second child to fear and love God just the way
she'd brought Stacy up, where all Marg and Nathan would do was teach a child not
to believe in God. And she said the way we lived was wicked and profane, that it
was in defiance of the laws of God, that our country had no right to sign the
Delhi Treaty and she didn't understand how God could have permitted His
spiritual leaders to be the prime movers behind the Delhi Treaty. And she began
to spit out the worst foul language — I never dreamed Daphne even knew the
words! Some of the things she called poor old Gus Rome, and Pope Benedict, and
the Reverend Leavon Knox Black!'

'Interesting,' said Dr Christian, feeling
Patti Fane wanted some response from him at this point.

'Then Candy Fellowes jumped up, and she
started in on Daphne — who did Daphne think she was, what right had Daphne to
criticize Gus Rome, who just happened to be the greatest President of all time —
then she started shouting about how much she despised Bible-thumping Sunday hymn
singers because they were all such hypocrites, wore holes in their knees praying
then went out to do everybody down to make a buck or climb one rung higher on
the social ladder —
wow!
I thought Daphne and Candy were going
to tear each other's eyes out!'

'And did they?'

Patti Fane preened visibly. 'No!
I
stopped it! Me, Doctor! Can you imagine that? I shoved Candy and Daphne back
into their chairs and I took the floor! I told them they were all behaving like
kids and I was ashamed to call myself a Pat-Pat. That's about when it all came
out that all of us were applying every year to the SCB. So I asked them what was the
big disgrace about applying, and what for crying out loud was the big disgrace
about being turned down? I asked them what right they had to take out their
frustrations on poor Marg? Or on Augustus Rome or the religious leaders, for
that matter? I told them to get it out of their minds once and for all that
anyone
can pull strings with the SCB, and I reminded them that even Julia
Reece herself had never managed to get a second child permission. Why, I said,
couldn't we just be happy for Marg? Then I told Marg not to cry, and I asked her
if I could be the godmother.'

Her concluding words were spoken
triumphantly; she sat looking as if the degree of her pleasure in herself
surprised her, and perhaps her strength in the crisis as well.

'You've done wonderfully, Patti. In fact,
so well that I don't think you need to see me any more.' Dr Christian sounded
very sure, and very proud.

He's so much more than other people,
thought Patti Fane; I couldn't even begin to explain to the other Pat-Pats today
what this man has done for me. Every time I tried to tell them, it came out all
wrong. Ineffectual. He
cares!
And maybe that's something you have to
experience in person. You can't see it, you can't repeat it, you can't spread it
out for people's third-hand inspection. They have to discover it for themselves.
And why oh why do shrinks like Matt Stringman feel it's so wrong of a
psychologist to encourage his patients to lean on God? Do they think they're
God? Or is it that they don't like Dr Christian's ideas about God?

'I brought Marg Kelly with me,' she said
out loud.

'Why?'

'I think she needs to talk, really talk.
Not with good old Nathan, bless his heart, but with someone on the outside of
her problem. Today was a terrific shock to her. I don't think she had any idea
what the consequences of having a second child are. I
mean, she really seemed to think we'd all be over the moon with joy for
her!'

'Then, Patti, she must be living with her
head buried.'

'She is! That's the trouble. She is the
wife of the President of Chubb! She lives in a huge house, she has servants,
they're allowed a car full-time and she had dinner at the White House last week
and Gracie Mansion the week before. Her only contacts with the outside world are
through the Pat-Pats, and we're — not in her economic league, maybe, but a hell
of a lot better off than most of the rest of the world. So I thought if Marg
could talk to you, it might help her.'

He leaned forward. 'Patti, can you give
me an honest answer to a hurtful question?'

The seriousness of his tone cut through
her elation. 'I'll try.'

'If Marg Kelly were to ask you whether or
not you thought she should actually go ahead and conceive this permitted second
child, how would you answer her?'

It was a hurtful question. But the days
when she had sat in her room staring at the wall twenty-four hours at a stretch
scheming to find a surefire way to kill herself were behind her now, and what
was more, those days could never come again. 'I would tell her to go ahead and
conceive.'

'Why?'

'She's a good mother to Homer, and in her
world there's enough insulation to prevent much spite.'

'Okay. What if it were Daphne Chornik
rather than Marg?'

Patti frowned. 'I don't know. I thought I
knew Daphne like a book, yet today was a revelation. So — I just can't give you
an answer.'

He nodded. 'And what if the lucky person
had been you? How do you think you might decide now, after going through your breakdown and
seeing the reaction of the Pat-Pats today?'

'Do you know, I think I might advise
myself to tear up the SCB papers? I'm not so badly off. I've got a good husband,
and a son who's doing real well in school. And — I don't honestly know if I
could take the grief. There are a lot of Daphne Chorniks out there.'

He sighed. 'Take me to
Margaret.'

'But she's already here!'

'No, I mean come down to the waiting room
with me and do the introductions. She doesn't know me, she knows you. So she
can't trust me, where she does trust you. Be her bridge to knowing and trusting
me.'

It was a very short bridge, however.
Patti Fane's hand in his, he walked into the waiting room and went straight
across to the pale, pretty woman drooping in a corner chair.

'Marg, honey, this is Dr Christian,' said
Patti.

He said nothing, just held out his hands
to Marg Kelly. Without volition she put hers into them, then seemed astonished
to find this physical union was an accomplished fact.

'My dear, you don't need to talk to
anyone,' he said, smiling at her. 'Go home and have your child.'

She got up, smiling back at him, and
clasping his hands quite hard for a moment. 'I will,' she said.

'Good!' And he released her.

The next moment he was gone.

Patti Fane and Marg Kelly let themselves
out the back door of 1045 and began the two-block walk to where Elm Street
intersected with Route 78, and the buses and trolley cars tootled along.
However, they just missed the North Holloman bus, and reconciled themselves to a
five minutes' wait; in winter one rarely waited longer.

'What an extraordinary man!' said Marg
Kelly as they sheltered in the lee of a
ten-foot-high wall of frozen snow.

'Did you feel it? Did you really feel
it?'

'Like an electric shock.'

Dr Christian beat his team into 1047, and
was back standing by the stove talking to Mama again when his three siblings
walked into the kitchen, two of them accompanied by their wives.