“Then,” she said, “he just stopped. Gambling. Said he was them in the
face and screamed at them, calling them terrible names.
He wasn’t a big man. . . . Did you ever meet him?”
I shook my head.
“He was very small.” Another smile. “Very small-behind his back my
father called him a monkey. Affectionately. A monkey who thought he
was a lion. It became a village joke and Larry didn’t mind at all.
Perhaps the Muslims believed he was a lion. They never hurt him.
Allowed him to take me away on the plane. A month after we got to New
York, I was robbed on the street by a drug addict.
Terrified. But the city never frightened larry. I used to joke that
he frightened it. My fierce little monkey. And now .
She shook her head. Covered her mouth again and looked away.
Several moments passed before I said, “Why did you move to Los
Angeles?”
“Larry was unhappy at Sloan-Kettering. Too many rules, too much
politics. He said we should move to California and live in this
house-it was the best piece of property he’d bought. He thought it was
foolish that someone else should enjoy it while we lived in an
apartment. So he evicted the tenant-some kind of film producer who
hadn’t paid his rent.”
“Why did he choose Western Pediatrics?”
She hesitated. “Please don’t be offended, Doctor, but his reasoning
was that Western Peds was a hospital in . . . decline. Money
problems. So his financial independence meant he’d be left alone to
pursue his research.”
“What kind of research was he doing?”
“Same as always, dicease patterns. I don’t know much about it-Larry
didn’t like to talk about his work.” She shook her head.
“He didn’t talk much at all. After the Sudan, the cancer patients in
New York, he wanted nothing to do with real people and their pain.”
“I’ve heard he kept to himself.”
She smiled tenderly. “He loved to be alone. Didn’t even want a
secretary. He said he could type faster and more accurately on his
word processor, so what was the purpose?”
“He had research assistants, didn’t he? Like Dawn Herbert.”
“I don’t know names, but yes, from time to time he’d hire graduate
students from the university, but they never met his standards.”
“The university over in Westwood?”
“Yes. His grant paid for lab assistance and there were tasks that he
needn’t have bothered himself with. But he was never happy with the
work of others. The truth is, Doctor, Larry just didn’t like depending
on anyone else. Self-reliance became his religion. After my robbery
in New York, he insisted we both learn self-defense. Said the police
were lazy and didn’t care. He found an old Korean man in lower
Manhattan who taught us karate, kick-fighting-different techniques. I
attended two or three lessons, then stopped. It seemed illogical-how
could our hands protect us against a drug addict with a gun? But larry
kept going and practiced every night. Earned a belt.”
“Black belt?”
A brown one. Larry said brown was enough; anything more would have
been ego.”
Lowering her face, she cried softly into her hands. I took a napkin
from the lacquer tray, stood by her chair, and had it ready when she
looked up. Her hand gripped my fingers hard enough to sting, then let
go. I sat back down.
She said, “Is there anything else I can get you?”
I shook my head. “Is there something I can do for you?”
“No, thank you. Just your coming to visit was gracious-we don’t know
many people.”
She looked around the room once more.
I said, “Have you made funeral arrangements?”
“Through Larry’s attorney. . . Apparently Larry planned it all out.
The details-the plot. There’s a plot for me too. I never knew.
He took care of everything…….m not sure when the funeral will be.
In these . . . cases, the coroner. . . Such a stupid way to.
Her hand flew to her face. More tears.
“This is terrible. I’m being childish.” She dabbed at her eyes with
the napkin.
“It’s a terrible loss, Mrs. Ashmore.”
“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” she said quickly. Suddenly her voice