Man, Woman and Child (17 page)

"That's all right. And you can reimburse me when I see you in Cambridge."

Bob eyed this obnoxious pinhead and thought 1 a reimburse you with my foot. But he couldn't actually say it, since he needed this guy to call oheila. ^

saf'^^^^^' ^^rt). Just make sure she knows I'm

"See you around the campus, then/'

*Teah. Bon voyage/'

As Bob closed the door, he screamed inwardly, I hope you drive off a goddam cliff, you selfish bastard. And then he slumped back onto the bed and fell asleep again.

He awoke to the tolling of bells. Five o'clock. His head was throbbing. He decided he ought to go to the hospital, after all.

The taxi rattled down Boulevard Henri Quatre and let him off just outside the emergency entrance of the H6pital General. Inside it was extremely crowded. Bob's name was taken and he was told to sit and wait. Which he did. On a hard wooden bench. After forty minutes he began to run out of patience. Maybe he should ask for that young doctor. What was her name—Gu^rin?

"We do have a Dr. Guerin," said the nurse in charge. "But she is in Pathology. Monsieur will kindly be seated and await the appropriate physi-

cian."

"Could you page her anyway? Say it's for Professor Beckwith."

She reluctantly complied. Within minutes Nicole Guerin breezed into the emergency room, clad in a white coat, her dark hair tied back in a pony tail.

"Follow me," she said to Bob, and led him briskly down a corridor. She stopped by a door marked

RADIOLOGIE.

"Please step in here," she said.

The room was crammed with x-ray paraphernalia. A white-haired technician appeared to be in the process of closing shop. Nicole addressed him.

"Paul, I need cranial x-rays on the patient—to check for possible fracture."

"Now? But Nicole I am just going off for din-

ner-"

''Now, Paul. If you please." *'Very well," he sighed. '1 capitulate to your smile."

Some fifteen minutes later, she was studying the inside of Bob's skull.

"Are my brains intact?" he quipped, to cover his anxiety.

'Tm not a psychiatrist," she smiled. "But I don't see any signs of fracture. You might have a mild concussion, but there's no way of determining that from these photographs. Basically, I think you're just 'shook up,' as you say in America."

"What should I do?" he asked.

"For the moment sit down and I'll re-dress your wound."

As she wrapped a new bandage around his head. Bob made polite conversation.

"I guess you don't do this sort of thing too often. I mean, being a pathologist."

"I'm only a specialist two days a week," she replied. "The rest of the time I'm a real doctor. You know, broken arms, measles, crying babies. In Sete, where I live. Do you know Sete?"

"Doctor, all I've seen is the inside of a lecture room and the chamber of commerce tour. You know —Roman ruins, Le Peyrou, the aqueduct . . ."

"Fascinating," she said sarcastically. "And you'll return to MIT without seeing the lovely fishing village where the poet Valery was bom and died? I can't allow that. Look, I'm off duty—let me take you right now. It's the perfect time of day."

I^Uh-I don't think I could," said Bob.

"A previous engagement?"

"Well, sort of . . ." (Tm not only engaged, I'm married.)

Her dark brown eyes fixed on him. She spoke good-humoredly.

''Be frank—if I were a middle-aged man you would have accepted, right?''

He was embarrassed.

''Come on, Professor, the sea air will do you good. And, if you like, that's a medical order/'

Before he knew it, they were in her red Dau-phine, speeding south on the N 108. And she was right. The breeze coming off the ocean did clear his head considerably. And his mood.

"Where'd you learn such fluent English, Doctor?"

"Nicole," she corrected him. "We are in the midst of the new French Revolution, so everyone is on a first-name basis. Anyway, I spent a year in your city."

"Cambridge?"

"Well, Boston, actually. I had a clerkship in pathology at the Mass General. It was absolutely wonderful."

"Why didn't you stay on?"

"Oh, I was tempted. And my department head was willing to pull the necessary strings. But in the end I decided that even the greatest medical facilities couldn't compensate for what I have in Sete."

"Which is?"

"Well, the sea. And a very special feeling of being home."

"You mean family?"

"No. They're all gone. The villagers are my family. But I was born here and I want to die here. Besides, they could use a young doctor. Also my clinic is right above the best bakery in France."

"What about Montpellier?"

"I just keep the affiliation in case I need to hospitalize my Setois."

*Tou seem very happy," said Bob.

She looked at him with a smile. Her bronzed face glowed in the setting sun.

"Oh, some people think Vm crazy. I actually turned down a post in Paris. But since I live by my own definitions, I can say I'm a very happy woman. Are you happy. Bob?"

*Tes," he replied, and seizing the opportunity, added, "Fm very happily married."

They flew along the highway, the Mediterranean on their left.

^ETE WAS LIKE A LITTLE VeNICE. ExCEPT FOR THREE

small bridges, the old port was completely encircled by canals.

The restaurant reverberated with loud conversations in southern dialect, raucous laughter and song, and the obbligato of clinking glasses.

"What are they celebrating?" Bob asked as they sat at an outdoor table.

"Oh, the day's catch, the revolution—or maybe just life," she replied.

She ordered a bourride, the local fish stew, and a white wine from Narbonne. Bob grew increasingly uneasy. This was getting more and more like a date. Maybe he should have left with Harrison, after all.

"Are you married?" he asked.

"No. And I never will be," she replied softly.

"Oh," he said.

She reached across the table and touched his hand. "But I don't steal husbands, Bob. Fm not a Circe. I have been involved with married men, but only by mutual consent."

Somehow her hand did not have the reassuring effect it was ostensibly supposed to.

"Nicolel Salut, ma vielle, ma jolie professeur de

186

medeciner A voice more like the growl of a bear heralded the arrival of a red-faced old man wearing an open shirt.

*'Ah/' Nicole whispered to Bob. ''We're about to be honored by a visit from the mayor himself."

**Et comment va ma petite genie, ma jolie doctor esse?''

The old man threw his arms around Nicole and they kissed each other on both cheeks. He then turned to Bob.

**Salut. Je m'apelle Louis. Et toi?"

"This is Bob," said Nicole, ''a professor from America."

"America?" said Louis, an eyebrow raised. "Are you for or against the war?"

"Against," said Bob.

"Good," said the mayor, sitting down uninvited. "This calls for a drink." And he signaled the owner to bring out some of his usual muscat. He then lit a cigarette and turned back to Nicole's guest.

"So, Bobbie, what do you think of our revolution, eh?"

"Well, I really haven't seen much more than the end of a cop's club."

"They struck him?" Louis asked Nicole.

She nodded. "It was early in the morning and they needed to warm up."

''SalaudsJ' muttered Louis. "They should have been out looking for the bastards who bombed the GCT."

"WHiat's that?" Bob asked Nicole. He vaguely recalled Harrison's mentioning a bombing.

"Our big labor union," she replied. "A few days ago somebody tossed a Molotov cocktail at their office."

''FachaudsJ' Louis growled on. "But I tell you, Bobbie, the workers are going to win this one.

They've got the government pissing in their pants. I say the Crenelle accord will be just one step in the inevitable process. By the way, what do you think of Pompidou?"

"I think he's got every right to be nervous," Bob replied.

Louis laughed heartily. "Nervous? He hasn't got a dry pair of pants. For once the workers have made those big shots in Paris wake up. You know, we're not some sleepy fishing village. We have industry all around. They're building refineries in Frontignan. And we also manufacture engraisJ'

"What's engrais?'' Bob asked Nicole.

"Fertilizer," she replied.

"Nicole," said Louis, "did I tell you the fantastic slogan I conceived for the engrais workers? Listen. *No money, no shit!' Fantastic, eh?" And he roared with self-appreciation.

"That's—uh—original," said Bob.

"Listen," said Louis, precipitously switching the subject. "I have to go off and meet some of my enrages. You two come by tomorrow for lunch with Marie-Therese and me."

"I-I'll be going back to the U.S.," said Bob.

"Not unless you grow wings," said the mayor. "The proletariat has got the country by the balls. And we intend to make the fat boys in Paris sweat as long as possible. So you see there's nothing to do but drink and talk politics. And we'll do both tomorrow over lunch. CiaOy Bobbie. Bon soir^ ma petite.'' He kissed Nicole and ambled off.

"Quite a character, eh?" said Nicole to Bob. "Can you imagine what France would be if he replaced de Caulle?"

"Yes." Bob smiled. "It would be Italy."

She laughed. "You're funny," she said.

"No, I just think I'm a little high. Should I be drinking this wine at all?''

"Don't worry," she replied. "You've got a doctor in attendance."

He took another sip of Louis's muscat and then looked inquisitively at Nicole.

"You were just starting to explain why you would never marry."

"I just know I won't." She shrugged,

"But whyr

"Maybe I am crazy, but I don't think marriage is for everybody. At least not for me. I enjoy being independent too much. That doesn't necessarily mean being lonely."

"I'm sure," Bob interrupted, "someone as attractive as you—" He stopped himself. He had not wanted to express it in a way that revealed how strongly he was affected by her beauty. He had intended a theoretical conversation between two acquaintances.

"Don't you ever want children?" he asked.

"I've thought of it. I think I v/ill. If I find someone I like enough to make a child with."

"And you'd raise it yourself?"

"Why not?"

"That's pretty . . . avant-garde/'

VYou mean 'unbourgeois,' don't you? Anyway, I think I'm strong enough to be a parent on my own. And Sete is certainly not bourgeois. Shall we have another drink?"

"Thanks. I've had more than my share."

"Go on—Fm driving."

Not that he was drunk. But in a way he felt himself losing control. He struggled to keep the conversation abstract and innocuous. The congress at Montpellier. P. Herbert Harrison. The book Sheila was editing.

"You must love her very much/* said Nicole.

''She's why I believe in marriage/' Bob replied.

"I envy you that faith/' said Nicole Guerin, her manner for the first time slightly wistful.

They drank coffee. It was getting late. The place was quieting down.

**I should really be getting back/' said Bob.

*Tes/' she agreed, and stood up. "You're starting to look uncomfortable. It's either fatigue, your bruise—or my personality."

He thought he should protest. But her triply accurate diagnosis was irrefutable.

"Come on/' she said. "You'll be in bed in twenty minutes/'

The highway was lit only by the moon. She had taken the Route de la Corniche out of Sete, to show him the tranquil shore before returning to Mont-pellier.

"Tomorrow I'll show you some wild forests and extraordinary limestone formations we call causses. They're not quite the Grand Canyon, but they do have a certain savage beauty. Anyway, you'll see."

Will I? thought Bob. Do I have to face temptation again in the light of day? He did not reply, hoping his silence would discourage her from making plans for them.

"Can you see those beaches we're passing?" she asked.

"Yes. They're nice and white."

"And deserted. Doesn't the water look inviting?"

"Yes." He was being polite.

"Tlien why don't we take a swim?"

"Now?"

"Not to exercise," she said. "Tliat would be too American. I mean just run ni the water and get wet."

She turned to smile at him.

He could not answer yes. He did not want to answer no. He simply let her pull the car onto a small dirt road above the long and silent beach.

They got out and walked to the edge of the sea without speaking. Then they stood there.

''Don't worry/' she whispered at last. ''The water's warm."

And unself-conscioudy, she slipped off her clothing till it was all in a tiny pile at her feet.

He gazed at her beauty, silhouetted against the sea and sand.

"Come on, Bob/' she said. Again softly.

And now he felt strangely awkward, standing there . . . overdressed.

She stood motionless in the moonlight, as he began to remove his shirt, his shoes, his socks, his trousers. Everything.

"Let's go," she said, starting into the sea. He followed her, letting the gentle waves splash over him.

All the time he was in the water, and especially when she splashed him playfully, he wondered what would happen next. And yet he knew. It was inevitable now. He was swimming in a starlit sea, thousands of miles from all his values. He knew very v/ell what would happen. And he wanted it.

She took his hand as they walked out of the water.

They stopped, the ocean still swirling around their ankles.

She put her face very close to his. They kissed.

"Come back to Sete with me, Bob/' she whispered, "no strings, just because tonight we both want to be with one another."

And he answered, "Yes."

JjOB HEARD FOOTSTEPS COMING TOWARD HTVI. He

looked up. It was Dr. Shelton, still dressed in surgical greens.

"Mr. Beckwith ..."

Bob stood up, his heart pounding.

"Yes?"

"I think we were in time/' said Shelton. "We'll know in about twelve hours, but Fm pretty optimistic. I suggest you go home and get a little rest."