We talked for a while. Doris gave her views on women—it appeared she disapproved of them on principle, although she was not in the least apologetic about being one herself—on the contrary! “Take women patients,” she said. “One of the reasons I took this job was because we don’t get a woman patient once in a coon’s age. A man patient appreciates what is done for him. A woman just expects it and hollers for more.”
“Would you be that sort of patient?” I asked, just to tease her.
“I hope not. I’m healthy, thank the Lord.” She crushed out her cigarette and jumped off the bed, bouncing a little. “Got to get out of here. Scream if you want anything.”
“Doris—”
“Yes?”
“You got any leave coming up?”
“I plan to take two weeks shortly. Why?”
“I was thinking. I’m going on leave—at least. I’ve got a shack in the Adirondacks. How about it? We could have a nice time and forget this madhouse.”
She dimpled. “You know, that’s mighty white of you, podnuh.” She came over and kissed me full on the mouth, the first time she had done so. “And if I weren’t an old married lady, with a pair of twins in the bargain, I might take you up.”
“Oh.”
“Sorry. But thanks for the compliment. You’ve made my day.”
She started for the door. I called out, “Doris, wait a minute.” When she stopped I added, “I didn’t know. Look, why don’t you take me up on it anyhow? The cabin, I mean—take your old man and the kids up there and give ’em a good time. I’ll give you the combo and the transponder code.”
“You mean that?”
“Of course I do.”
“Well—I’ll talk to you later. Thanks.” She came back and kissed me again and it made me wish she had not been married, or, at least, not working at it. Then she left.
The doctor came in a bit later. While he was fiddling with the futile things doctors do, I said, “That nurse. Miss Marsden—is she married?”
“What business is it of yours?”
“I just wanted to know.”
“You keep your hands off my nurses—or I’ll fit you with mittens. Now stick out your tongue.”
The Old Man put his head in late that afternoon. My immediate response was pleasure; the Old Man’s personality is hard to shake off. Then I remembered and went cold.
“I want to talk to you,” he started in.
“I don’t want to talk to you. Get out.”
He ignored my remarks and came in, dragging his bad leg. “Mind if I sit down?”
“You seem to be doing so.”
He ignored that, too. He wrinkled his face and scowled. “You know, son, you are one of my best boys, but sometimes you are a little hasty.”
“Don’t let that worry you,” I answered, “as soon as the doctor lets me out of here. I’m through.” I had not really decided up until then, but it seemed as necessary as syrup with buckwheat cakes. I no longer trusted the Old Man; the rest was obvious.
He was not hearing anything that he did not choose to hear. “You’re too hasty. You jump to conclusions. Now take this girl Mary—”
“Mary who?”
“You know who I mean; you know her as ‘Mary Cavanaugh’.”
“You take her.”
“You jumped all over her without knowing the score. You’ve got her all upset. Matter of fact, you may have ruined a good agent for me.”
“Hmmph! I’m in tears about it.”
“Listen, you young snot, you didn’t have any call to be rough on her. You don’t know the facts.”
I did not answer; explanations are a poor defense.
“Oh, I know that you think you do,” he went on. “You think she let herself be used as bait to get you to take part in that job we did. Well, you’ve got it slightly wrong. She was being used as bait, but I was using her. I planned it that way.”
“I know you did.”
“Then why blame her?”
“Because, although you planned it, you couldn’t have carried it out without her active cooperation. It’s mighty big of you, you no-good, heartless bastard, to take all the blame—but you can’t.”