Irving Wallace - The Prize

His musings were interrupted by Dr. Keller’s voice, loud and clear. ‘Time is up, I see. This was a fruitful meeting. I hope to meet with all of you next week.’

The others were on their feet and leaving. Garrett was the last to rise. He followed the others through the door. As he departed, he heard Dr. Keller’s telephone ringing. It always rang when the session ended. Apparently, it was then that his answering service called to relay messages left, messages which Dr. Keller would handle in his free ten minutes.

Outside, on the pavement in front of the building, the members of the group took their leave of each other. Mr. Lovato, Mrs. Zane, and Miss Dudzinski remained huddled together for their goodbyes to the rest. They then proceeded, as was their custom in defiance of Dr. Keller’s disapproval, to the cafeteria, where they would have coffee and rolls at a table and continue their postmortem self-analysis together. Mrs. Perrin hastened off to the bus stop, still insufficiently liberated to take the taxi she could well afford. Mr. Armstrong strode off to his chaotic rented bungalow, only two miles away. Adam Ring had his magnificent Aston Martin parked in the street. ‘Good luck, tonight,’ he called to Garrett. ‘Give the wop hell.’ Although the expression made Garrett wince, the actor’s support restored Garrett’s humour. ‘The same to you,’ he replied, knowing that Ring had a mulatto girl friend tucked away in a Sunset Boulevard apartment. The actor slid into his imported car, waved, and was gone. Garrett walked slowly towards the petrol station.

He had reached the kerb, and was waiting for the light to change, when he heard his name.

‘Oh, Dr. Garrett-!’

He whirled about and saw Dr. Keller trotting towards him. Dr. Keller was a massive man, seemingly somnolent, and it was strange to see him in motion.

When the psychiatrist drew abreast of him, Garrett observed that Dr. Keller’s face was as excited as an exclamation mark. ‘Your wife’s on the phone upstairs,’ he said, panting. ‘She has marvellous news for you-you’ve just been awarded the Nobel Prize in medicine!’

Garrett allowed the words to sink in, and he accepted their impact naturally, with hardly any surprise, for he had secretly fantasied this moment for so long. But suddenly the shock of thrill reached his innards, and he felt the goose pimples on his arms and the flush on his cheeks.

‘You’re sure?’ he asked, incredulously.

‘Absolutely. Mrs. Garrett has the telegram from the Swedish Embassy.’ He offered his meaty hand. ‘May I be the first to congratulate you?’

Garrett took the psychiatrist’s hand dumbly, and then released it. ‘I don’t know what to think,’ he said helplessly. ‘What does it mean?’

‘Your discovery is officially honoured. Your fame is now secure.’

‘The Nobel Prize,’ he said, half to himself, savouring the words.

‘Your wife’s on the phone-she’s waiting to speak to you.’

They started back, making their way swiftly through the women shoppers. Inside the building, ascending the stairs once more, Garrett’s methodical mind began to translate the award. There was always money in it, and a trip, and above all-above all else-the international recognition of his work. For the first time, Farelli had been shunted aside. At last, he himself had received the full and exclusive honour that he deserved. His love for those anonymous Swedes, who had been wise enough to see the truth and present it to the world, was boundless.

Upstairs, Dr. Keller pushed Garrett into his office, while he considerately stayed behind in the reception alcove to smoke.

Garrett rushed to the psychiatrist’s desk, and brought the free receiver to his face. ‘Saralee?’

‘Darling! Isn’t it wonderful?’ Her usually mild, modulated voice was pitched out of control.

‘There can’t be any mistake?’

‘No, it’s here! The telegraph office called, and I thought it was a joke and demanded they send the wire over. They did right away, and I have it. I tried to get you-but Dr. Keller’s service wouldn’t put me through until now. It’s all true! Two newspapers called from Los Angeles -’

‘Read me the telegram.’

Apparently she had it in her hand, for she read it immediately. Garrett listened, numbed, and then requested that she read it again, more slowly.

When she had finished, he said, ‘We’ll be going to Stockholm. I’m just wondering about the children-’

‘We can leave them with Aunt Mae. John, this is so marvellous! I’ve dreamt about it so much. I never dared tell you. But you deserve it, and now you have it-forever-a Nobel Prize winner-’

Yes-’

‘Dean Filbrick called. All the faculty at the college and everyone at the hospital knows. They want to have a celebration tonight-impromptu-after your speech-’

Garrett had forgotten the speech. He tried to fasten his mind on it.

He heard Saralee again. ‘One second, there’s someone at the door.’

‘Skip it-’

But she had gone. He held the receiver and enjoyed the glow of success within him. There would never be another day in his life like this, so entirely his own, so fulfilled.

Saralee had returned. ‘It’s another telegram.’ He heard the crackle of paper, as she opened it, and then a dead pause, and then her curious voice again. ‘It’s-it’s a cable from Rome – Italy -’ Her voice faded.

‘Who from?’ he inquired loudly, to bring her back.

‘I’ll read it. “I have just been informed by the Swedish Embassy that we are sharing this year’s Nobel Prize in medicine jointly. I am honoured our work has been so recognized and doubly honoured to receive the award with an American colleague I respect. Please accept my sincerest congratulations. I look forward to seeing my other half in Stockholm. Best wishes.” It is signed, “Carlo Farelli.” ’

Garrett remained very still. There was no anger in him now, no fury, only an overwhelming defeat in this moment of victory. His frustration could not be articulated in language. He knew, finally, that he was being tied to this despicable Italian for life and the hereafter. His mind went back into the baseball lore of his youth-the immortal double-play combination of Tinker to Evers to Chance-how Tinker and Evers hated each other, and would not speak to one another, but were forced to continue their public co-operation and harmony before the world for their entire professional lives.

Saralee’s voice came tinnily through the receiver. ‘John, this shouldn’t spoil anything-’

No, he told himself, he would not let this spoil anything. He would go to Stockholm, for his half moment, and have his confrontation with Farelli, and make the moment whole and his own. Somehow, the Nobel committee and the world would yet know the truth about which was the genius and which the usurper. But not tonight, he realized at last, not on the night of a day like this.

He sighed. The new speech was out. Tonight, again, it would be ‘Hippocrates and the Human Heart’. But there would be a different night, next month, in Sweden, he was sure…

It was exactly 4.30 of a chilly afternoon when the telegram from the Swedish Embassy in Washington, D.C., had arrived in the reconverted drapers store, next door to the Weekly Independent , that now served as the telegraph office in the rural hamlet of Miller’s Dam, Wisconsin.

But that was forty-five minutes ago, and the message, with several others, still lay in the electric receiving machine, unseen by human eyes, untouched by human hands, uncommunicative.

The lone keeper of the office, during the eight day hours, was Eldora Fleischer, eighteen-year-old daughter of a local dairy farmer, who usually divided these hours between original paperback novels and motion picture magazines, or daydreamed of making a sensation in Milwaukee or Chicago, where a wealthy and princely suitor would find her and persuade her to elope. Sometimes, in her more practical moods, the dream took another form. She would be working in the office, when he would enter, distraught. Because his Continental had developed engine trouble, he was delayed in this one horse town and had to send a wire-probably to the Governor or someone important. He was wealthy and princely, as well as young and handsome, and when he saw Eldora, he no longer wanted to send the wire. Smitten, love at first sight, he begged for her hand. At first haughty and remote, Eldora finally allowed herself to be persuaded. And off they went in the Continental-happily repaired-on their elopement, which would astonish the royalty of the Old World. Prepared, always, for this dream to become reality, Eldora adorned herself for her role. Her long hair was freshly bleached, her mascara artfully applied, her make-up ready for the cameras. She wore her best and tightest and thinnest dresses to work, even on cold days, and the necklines were always plunging. Eldora was short, milky, buxom, definitely aphrodisiac, and patiently she worked and waited.