Scott Turow - The Burden of Proof

There were other physicians he knew. But it was hard to single out just anyone for questions of this nature. And in the end the most villainous side of his character was awakened by his son, especially in regard to his relations with his mother. Rationally, Stern could not brook any real suspicions. Never mind Clara Stern. He had lost, sometime last Friday, any authority to predict her behavior. But no woman of Clara's social class, of her experience or temperamental reserve, no mother could have turned to her son for treatment of a problem of this nature.

But here Stern sat, nonetheless, eager, among other things, to dash any final doubts.

"I wish information."

"For yourself?."

"I am asking the questions."

"I see that."

"Take it that I am inquiring in behalf of someone with a need to know."

Peter, as was generally the case with his father, wore his emotions visibly. He puckered up his mouth sourly to indicate he found this delicacy stupid. Stern, as usual, said no more. He meant simply to follow that tack, suggesting that a troubled client needed these answers. Assunting his son was uninvolved, Stern would never mention Clara-for Peter's sake as well as his own. In prospect, he foresaw this meeting very much like the encounter with a critical witness-one of those daring tightrope walks of courtroom life, exposing the witness's ugliest misconduct without giving the remotest hint that his client had shared in the behavior.

"Peter, does your practice make you familiar with the full variety of-"

What word? "In my day, the phrase was venereal disease, but I believe that is no longer popular terminology."

"Sexually transmitted diseases," said Peter. "Just so," said Stern.

"Which one?"

"Herpes," said Stern. Somehow, as this discussion had begun, 'Peter's aspect had changed. He had reverted to his role as clinician. He sat up straight in his chair, his brow compressed, his expression somber.

Now, with the word, his calculations seemed far more intricate. His hands remained folded with doctorly exactness, but his eyes rolled through changes of color like the sea, so that Stern had the fleeting intuition that his suspicions were well placed, after all. "This is a subject in which you are versed?"

"i'm versed," said Peter. "What's the problem?"

"If one is exposed," said Stern. "Yes," said his son.

"How long before the disease appearS?" :Peter waited.

"Look, Dad. This is not the kind of thing you screw around with. Do you think you have herpes?"

Stern attempted to remain impassive, but within he felt some failing motion-like the fluttering of wings. With his brooding days, his tortured emotions, he had failed to estimate accurately what would transpire here. With Peter staring him down, that was only too obvious now. They knew each other.too well. Peter had recognized, naturally, instantly that his father was the party in interest-and like any doctor, any son, had predictable concerns. If he was shocked, it was only because his mother was barely two months dead and the paterfamilias was here, already asking for a full scouting report on the wages of sin.

The atmosphere of charged discomfort slowly increased between them, while Stern gradually realized that if worst came to worst he would have no choice but to further his son's misimpressions. Meanwhile, he tried once again to steer the conversation onto more neutral ground.

"The facts which concern me, Peter, are basic. A woman is infected. A man is with her. I merely wish to know what the prospects are that he, too, will contract the disease."

"Look, that's too vague," Peter said, and once more considered his father. "Let's talk about a person, okay?

This person. How does he know there's a problem?"

"Assume the proof is positive. She has been tested."

"Tested. I see." Peter stopped for quite some time. "And you're informed?" Peter shook his head. "He's informed?"

"Just so."

"By this woman?" From Peter's tone, it was clear that he envisaged some wanton courtesan.

"As I say, assume an authoritative report."

"Right," said Peter. "And she's active at the time of contact? The virus is shedding?"

"Meaning?"

"Florid signs of the illness. Lesions. Blisters. Ulcers. A rash."

Stern, in spite of himself, recoiled somewhat. He had noticed nothing like that. But by now he had realized it was no accident that he could not recall his last encounters with Clara.

"I am afraid that my information is not that exact, Peter."

"Can you ask?"

"I would think not."

"You would think not?" Peter peered at his father. This imaginary assignation, Stern recognized, was beginning to sound as if it had taken place in an alley. Peter, disquieted, looked down to his folded hands.

"The disease is only communicated by direct skin-to-skin contact with someone who is actively infected, or prodromal-that is, about to begin.

Onset of the infection is two to twenty days from contact. Far more frequently, within the first week. If you get it. Some people are effectively immune. If you're beyond those periods, without symptoms, you're probably all right. Probably," his son repeated.

"I see," said Stern. Peter was watching carefully to see how this news affected him. "And if one is infected, how long does it last?"

"The initial efflorescence is usually three to six weeks at the outside.

But this is one of those viral infections that can come back. I'm sure you've heard that. It's usually seven to ten days on recurrence."

"And how, Peter, does one know if he is infected?"

"Well, the first thing you do is look."

"For what?" asked Stern.

Peter rested his hand on his chin, with his sour expression. At last, he stood up from behind his desk and closed the door. Then he pointed at his father. "Take down your trousers."

"Peter-"

"Fuck this nonsense. Stand up. Let's go." He was far too positive to allow any quarreling. Somehow, Stern was struck, either in irony or longing, by the recollection of the way he had foreseen this meeting, with himself in complete control.

"Peter," he said weakly again. ,,Chop-chop." Peter clapped his hands. He was disinterested and positive. His eyes were already lowered to Stern's belt line.

As a moment, it passed without incident. Body things, as he was learning, had an intense factitiousness about them, an irreducibility.

Peter dropped to one knee and removed a slender flashlight from his pocket. He gave instructions like a dance instructor. Left, right.

Pull this, pull that.

His bedside manner was entirely antiseptic, his look of scrutiny intense and pure.

"Any irritation?"

"No."

"Burning at any time?"

"None."

"Any functional problems of any kind? Urination? Emission?"

Stern decided to forgo remarks about the problems of age.

He answered no.

"Any kind of discharge?"

"None." ':Swelling." ! wish. "No."

Peter touched him once, precisely and momentarily, in the groin, probing his lymph glands.

The examination ended after Stern stood with his organ extended like a fish by the tail, dorsal side facing, and Peter ran his light the length of the limp column and over the scrotum.

"You look clean," he stated and motioned for Stern to.recover himself.

Then he added, "Hold on a sec." He slipped out the door discreetly, then returned with a small :plastic beaker. "I'd like a specimen," he said.

Stern objected. Was this necessary?

"It's a good idea, Pa. There are occasions, rare ones, where patients, particularly males, can contract HSV-2 without the usual symptoms. You could go walking around with an infection in the prostate or urinary tract, and end.up spreading it." Peter looked at him pointedly, then added that he also wanted to draw blood for something called a serum vital titer test, in which his father's present antibody levels could be compared with those in five or six weeks, to ensure there had been no infection.