The Cider House Rules (31 page)

“Do you see what I mean, Homer?” Dr. Larch asked.

“Right,” Homer said.

“But you don’t agree, do you?” Larch asked.

“Right again,” said Homer Wells.

You damn sullen self-centered self-pitying arrogant untested know-nothing
teen-ager
! thought Wilbur Larch, but instead of any of that, he said to Homer Wells, “Perhaps you’re having second thoughts about becoming a doctor.”

“I never really had a first thought about that,” Homer said. “I never said I wanted to be a doctor.”

Larch looked at the blood on the gauze—the right amount of blood, he thought—and when he held out his hand for a fresh pad, Homer had one ready. “You don’t want to be a doctor, Homer?” Dr. Larch asked.

“Right,” said Homer Wells. “I don’t think so.”

“You’ve not had much opportunity to look at other things,” Larch said philosophically; his heart was aching. “It’s my fault, I know, if I’ve made medicine so unattractive.”

Nurse Angela, who was much tougher than Nurse Edna, felt that she might cry.

“Nothing’s your fault,” Homer said quickly.

Wilbur Larch checked the bleeding again. “There’s not much to do here,” he said abruptly. “If you wouldn’t mind just staying with her until she’s out of the ether—you did give her rather a wallop,” he added, looking under the woman’s eyelids. “I can deliver the Damariscotta woman, when she’s ready. I didn’t realize you didn’t like the whole business,” Larch said.

“That’s not true,” Homer said. “
I
can deliver the Damariscotta woman. I’d be happy to deliver her.” But Wilbur Larch had turned away from the patient and left the operating room.

Nurse Angela glanced quickly at Homer; it was a fairly neutral look, certainly not withering, or even faintly condemning, but it wasn’t sympathetic either (or even friendly, thought Homer Wells). She went after Dr. Larch, leaving Homer with the patient making her way out of the ether.

Homer looked at the spotting on the pad; he felt the woman’s hand graze his wrist as she said groggily, “I’ll wait here while you get the car, honey.”

In the boys’ shower room, where there were several toilet stalls, Wilbur Larch put cold water on his face and looked for evidence of his tears in the mirror; he was no more a veteran of mirrors than Melony was, and Dr. Larch was surprised by his appearance. How long have I been so
old
? he wondered. Behind him, in the mirror, he recognized the pile of sodden clothes upon the floor as belonging to Curly Day. “Curly?” he asked; he’d thought he was alone, but Curly Day was crying too—in one of the toilet stalls.

“I’m having a very bad day,” Curly announced.

“Let’s talk about it,” Dr. Larch suggested, which coaxed Curly out of the stall. He was dressed in more or less fresh clothes, but Larch recognized that the clothes weren’t Curly’s. They were some of Homer’s old clothes, too small for Homer now, but still much too large for Curly Day.

“I’m trying to look nice for the nice couple,” Curly explained. “I want them to take me.”

“
Take
you, Curly?” Dr. Larch asked. “
What
nice couple?”

“You know,” said Curly, who believed that Dr. Larch knew everything. “The beautiful woman? The white car?”

The poor child is having visions, thought Wilbur Larch, who picked Curly up in his arms and sat him down on the edge of the sink where he could observe the boy more closely.

“Or are they here to adopt someone else?” Curly asked miserably. “I think the woman likes Copperfield—but he can’t even talk!”

“No one’s adopting anyone today, Curly,” Dr. Larch said. “I don’t have any appointments today.”

“Maybe they’ve just come to look,” Curly suggested. “They’re just gonna take the best of us.”

“It doesn’t work like that, Curly,” Dr. Larch said, alarmed. Does the child think I run a
pet
shop? Larch wondered. Does he think I let people come here and
browse
?

“I don’t know how anything works,” Curly said, and he started to cry again.

Wilbur Larch, with his fresh memory of how old he looked to himself in the mirror, thought for a moment that his job was too much for him; he felt himself slipping, he felt himself wishing that someone would adopt
him—
would just take him away. He held Curly Day’s wet face against his chest; he shut his eyes and saw those spots he saw most regularly when he inhaled the ether, only those spots quite harshly reminded him of the spotting he was familiar with from his many viewings of the sterile vulval pads.

He looked at Curly Day and wondered if Curly ever would be adopted, or if Curly was in danger of becoming another Homer Wells.

Nurse Angela paused by the door to the boys’ shower room; she listened to Dr. Larch comforting Curly Day. She was more worried about Dr. Larch than she was worried about Curly; a kind of stubborn goading had developed between Dr. Larch and Homer Wells that Nurse Angela had never expected to see existing between two people who so clearly loved and needed each other. It distressed her that she was powerless to intervene. She heard Nurse Edna calling her and was grateful for the interruption; she decided it would be easier to talk to Homer than to Dr. Larch; she’d not decided what should be said to either of them.

Homer watched the second abortion patient emerge from the ether; he moved her from the operating table to a portable bed; he put up the safety rails on the bed in case the woman was groggy. He looked in another room and saw that the first abortion patient was already sitting up, but he decided both women would rather be alone for a moment, and so he left the second patient in the operating room. It wasn’t time to deliver the Damariscotta woman, anyway, he was sure. The tiny hospital felt especially cramped and overcrowded to him, and he longed for a room of his own. But first, he knew, he had to apologize for hurting Dr. Larch’s feelings—it had all just slipped out of him, and it made him almost cry to think that he had caused Dr. Larch any suffering. He went straight across the hall to the dispensary, where he could see what he thought were Dr. Larch’s feet extending off the foot of the dispensary bed; the dispensary medicine cabinets blocked the rest of the bed from view. He spoke to Dr. Larch’s feet, which to Homer’s surprise were larger than he remembered them; he was also surprised that Dr. Larch—a neat man—had left his shoes on and that his shoes were muddy.

“Doctor Larch?” Homer said. “I’m sorry.” When there was no response, Homer thought crossly to himself that Dr. Larch was under an unusually ill-timed ether sedation.

“I’m sorry, and I love you,” Homer added, a little louder. He held his breath, listening for Larch’s breathing, which he couldn’t hear; alarmed, he stepped around the cabinets and saw the lifeless stationmaster stretched out on Larch’s bed. It did not occur to Homer that this had been the first time someone had said “I love you” to the stationmaster.

There’d been no better place to put him. Nurse Edna and Nurse Angela had moved him out of the operating room. It would have been cruel to expect one of the abortion patients to tolerate his presence, or to put him alongside the expectant mother, and certainly it would have been upsetting to the orphans if the stationmaster had been stretched out on one of the dormitory beds.

“Goddamn it,” Homer said.

“What’s that?” Larch asked. He was carrying Curly Day and calling to Homer from the dispensary door.

“Nothing,” Homer Wells said. “Never mind.”

“Curly’s been having a very bad day,” Dr. Larch explained.

“That’s too bad, Curly,” Homer said.

“Someone’s come here to adopt someone,” Curly said. “They’re sort of
shopping.
”

“I don’t think so, Curly,” Dr. Larch said.

“Tell them I’m the best one, okay, Homer?” Curly asked.

“Right,” said Homer Wells. “You’re the best.”

“Wilbur!” Nurse Edna was calling. She and Nurse Angela were chattering at the hospital entrance door.

They traipsed out to see what was going on: the doctor, his unwilling apprentice, and the next-to-oldest orphan in the boys’ division.

There was a small but busy crowd around the Cadillac. The trunk was open and the handsome young man was dispensing presents to the orphans.

“Sorry it’s not the season for apples, kids,” Wally was saying. “Or cider. You could all use a little cider!” he said cheerfully, handing out the jars of honey, the crab-apple and apple-cider jelly. The eager, dirty hands were grabbing. Mary Agnes Cork, the next-to-oldest orphan in the girls’ division, was getting more than her share. (Melony had taught her how to dominate the front of a line.) Mary Agnes was a popular name with Mrs. Grogan, and Cork was the county in Ireland where Mrs. Grogan had been born. There’d been a number of little Corks in the girls’ division.

“There’s plenty to go around!” Wally said optimistically, as Mary Agnes put two honeys and one crab-apple down her blouse—then reached for more. A boy named Smoky Fields had opened his jar of apple-cider jelly and was eating it out of the jar with his hand. “It’s really good on toast, in the morning,” Wally said cautiously, but Smoky Fields stared at Wally as if toast was not a regular item on his diet or reliably available in the morning. Smoky Fields intended to finish the jar of jelly on the spot. Mary Agnes spied a horn-rim barrette on the convertible’s back seat—it was one that Candy had put aside. Mary Agnes turned to face Candy, then dropped a second jar of crab-apple jelly at Candy’s feet.

“Oops,” Candy said, bending to pick up the jelly for her while Mary Agnes stole the barrette—little John Walsh observing her deft moves, admiringly. A trace of blood, or maybe rust, on Mary Agnes’s bare shin caught Candy’s eye and made her feel queasy; she needed to restrain herself from wetting her finger and trying to rub the streak away. When she stood up and handed the girl her jar of jelly, Candy felt a little dizzy. Some grown-ups were coming out of the hospital entrance, and their presence helped Candy compose herself: I’ve not come here to play with the children, she thought.

“I’m Doctor Larch,” the old man was saying to Wally, who seemed transfixed by the determination with which Smoky Fields was devouring the jarful of apple-cider jelly.

“Wally Worthington,” Wally said, pumping Dr. Larch’s hand, handing him a jar of Ira Titcomb’s honey. “Fresh from Ocean View Orchards. That’s in Heart’s Rock, but we’re very near the coast—we’re in Heart’s Haven, almost.”

“Heart’s Haven?” said Wilbur Larch, examining the honey. A sea breeze seemed to spring off the boy—as distinctive, Larch thought, as fresh, crisp hundred-dollar bills. Whose face was on a hundred-dollar bill? Larch tried to imagine.

“Tell her,” Curly Day said to Homer Wells, pointing to Candy, but there was no need to point. Homer Wells had seen her, and only her, from the moment he emerged from the hospital entrance. Young Copperfield clung to her leg, but this didn’t seem to impede her gracefulness—and nothing could interfere with her radiance. “Tell her I’m the best one,” Curly said to Homer.

“Hello,” Candy said to Homer because he was the tallest person present; he was as tall as Wally. “I’m Candy Kendall,” she said to him. “I hope we’re not interrupting anything.” You are interrupting two abortions, one birth, one death, two autopsies, and an argument, thought Homer Wells, but all he said was, “He’s the best one.” Too mechanically! thought Curly Day. He lacks conviction!

“Me,” Curly said, stepping between them. “He means me. I’m the best.”

Candy bent over Curly and ruffled his sticky hair. “Of course you are!” she said brightly. And straightening up, she said to Homer, “And do you work here? Or are you one of . . .” Was it polite to say
them
? she wondered.

“Not exactly,” Homer mumbled, thinking: I work here,
in
exactly, and I am
in
exactly one of them.

“His name’s Homer Wells,” Curly told Candy, since Homer had failed to introduce himself. “He’s too old to adopt.”

“I can see that!” Candy said, feeling shy. I should be talking to the doctor, she thought awkwardly; she was irritated with Wally for creating such a crowd.

“I’m in the apple business,” Wally was saying to Dr. Larch. “It’s my father’s business. Actually,” he added, “my mother’s business.”

What does this fool want? thought Wilbur Larch.

“Oh, I love apples!” Nurse Edna said.

“I would have brought lots of apples,” Wally said, “but it’s the wrong time of year. You should have your own apples.” He indicated the barren hillside stretching behind them. “Look at that hill,” he said. “It’s washing away. You ought to plant it. I could even get you the trees. In six or seven years, you’d have your own apples; you’d have apples for more than a hundred years.”

What do I want with a hundred years of apples? thought Wilbur Larch.

“Wouldn’t that be pretty, Wilbur?” Nurse Edna asked.

“And you could get your own cider press,” Wally suggested. “Give the kids fresh apples and fresh cider—they’d have lots to do.”

They don’t need things to
do,
thought Dr. Larch. They need places to
go
!

They’re from some charity, thought Nurse Angela cautiously. She put her lips close to Dr. Larch’s ear and whispered, “A sizable donation,” just so Dr. Larch wouldn’t be rude to them.

They’re too young to give their money away, thought Wilbur Larch.

“Bees!” Wally was saying. “You should keep bees, too. Fascinating for the kids, and a lot safer than most people think. Have your own honey, and give the kids an education—bees are a model society, a lesson in teamwork!”

Oh shut up, Wally, Candy was thinking, although she understood why he couldn’t stop babbling. He was unused to an environment he couldn’t instantly brighten; he was unused to a place so despairing that it insisted on silence. He was unused to absorbing a shock, to simply taking it in. Wally’s talk-a-mile-a-minute style was a good-hearted effort; he believed in improving the world—he had to fix everything, to make everything better.

Dr. Larch looked around at the children stuffing themselves with honey and jelly. Have they come here to play with the orphans for a day and to make everyone sick? he wondered. He should have looked at Candy; then he would have known why they were there. He was not good at looking in women’s eyes, Wilbur Larch; he had seen too much of them under the harsh lights. Nurse Angela at times wondered if Dr. Larch even knew how he tended to overlook women; she wondered if this was an occupational hazard among obstetricians, or if men with a tendency to overlook women were drawn to the obstetrical field.