Бетти Смит - Maggie-Now

~ /29 ~ "Yes," said Lottie. "You'll have 'em. Only make sure you're married first."

Mary was four months pregnant. She went for her first examination to Doctor Sicalani. When it was over, she asked "Is everything all right?"

He waited a little too long before he said: "Yes."

"But at my age. .'? she fumbled with the buttons at the back of her dress.

"Turn around," he said. He buttoned up her dress.

"Tell me the truth, Doctor. Will I die?"

He unbuttoned a few buttons and buttoned them up again to gain time before he answered. "I he first thing you must do," he said, "is to stop worrying. Doctor's orders. There! It's done." She turned around with a worried look on her face. He smiled at her. After a second, she smiled back.

"Come back in two weeks."

"I will. Good-by, Doctor. And thank y out" "Good-by, Mrs. Moore."

She left. He looked around his office. It was a one-window store Nvith living quarters in the back. There were half curtains hung in the store window and a row of potted plants that always seemed to need waterin, His sign hung on a brass chain from the middle of the curtain rod: Domizzick Scalarzi. AI.D. A card in the window told his olEce hours. If one broke down the hours, it should be found that he was always in his office save when he slept or ate.

The office was furnished with a davenport, on which he slept nights, a couple of chairs and a mission oak table.

He couldn't afford to buy magazines for the table so he put odd copies of the medical journal on it. Nobody read these of course. His framed diploma hung over his rolltop desk. Next to it hung a picture of his graduating class. He was so obscure in the picture that he had penciled an arrow in the margin, the tip leading to his head. His patients liked to know exactly where he was in the group.

He hadn't scanted to be a doctor. He had had a choice between medicine and the priesthood. He had chosen the former because he thought he might like tr' marry someday. But as the years passed, ~ /,o1

he found that he didn't \vant to marry. He \vas sorry that he hadn't chosen the church Doctor Scalani had bet n one of three children of an Italian fruit peddler. The old man scrimped and saved because he wanted his children to have a good education and dignified, safe careers. He didn't want them to w orry about daily bread. He died happy. feeling that his children revere well provided for. Dominick was a doctor, Bernardo a priest, and Anastasia a nun.

The old man's scrimping had amounted to this much: The kids didn't have to go out to work when they were fourteen. I Ie v, as able to support them through high school and able to release his two sons from the obligation of supporting him so that they could work their wry through college.

It was tough on Dome ick working his way through college and medical school. He hall no white fire burning in him at the thought of being a Great Healer. He graduated near the bottom of his class. He didn't mi Id that. He figured somebody had to graduate at the bottom.

ill here wasn't always room at the top. He interned at a small, obscure hospital.

When he was done with learning, he weIlt back to his old neighborhood to practice. Ale didn t know where else to go. He had no money to buy a go ng practice or to set up one in a better neighborhood. And no kindly old doctor with a prosperous practice that: was too mum h to handle took him in. So he had rented this cmptv store and gotten together some second-hand equipment.

He didn't make IllUCh Mooney. I\Iost of the people diagnosed and treated their own ailments. They drank home-breNved pennyroyal or camomile tea. They rubbed goose grease or camphorated oil on their chests and poured sweet oil in their ears. They dumped carbolic acid on rusty nai tears and rubbed bhle ointment into sores.

Mid\vives delivered the babies. lA'hcn a cough lasted more than a couple of years or a rutming sore didn't "go away," they went to the free clinics. Wilen an epidemic came along they wore a bag on a string around their neck.

The bag had a cut of garlic or onion in it:. Maybe it didn't keep the germs away but the smell of it l;ept the people who had the germs to give, aNvaN. For the ~ 1,1 1

rest, they lit candles in church and prayed.

Doctor Scalani was called in to sign death certificates, examine people for insurance co npanies,do an emergency delivery when the midwife couldn't handle a breech presentation and set broken bones. (Every once in a while, a kid fell off a roof.) Weekends, he was fairly busy suturing gashes after Saturday-night knife fights.

Sometimes he got paid; more often he didn't. A patient like Mary Moore who put herself in his hands prior to confinement and paid after each visit was rare indeed.

He wasn't married but he had a girl. She was known on her block as the doctor's lady friend. She was a dressmaker. He called her Dodie because her name was Dolores. He had started going with her ten years ago. At first, the objective was marriage. But he didn't seem too anxious to marry and she didn't want to appear too willing. As the years encore on, he stopped talking of marriage. She had thoughts of giving him up because his intentions were no longer serious. But she thought she might as well wait until some other man came along. No other man came along so she continued going along with Dominick. He went to see her once a week, when she'd cook an enormous Italian dinner for him.

He'd walk into her kitchen each Sunday at five. It was always warm and steamy, and smelled of garlic, onions, cheese and tomatoes. He always said the same thing: "Something smells good." She always said the same thing: "I hope it is good."

After he'd eaten to repletion, he'd lie on the black leather lounge in her living room and go to sleep. After Dodie had washed the dishes, she'd come in and put a shawl over his legs. Then she'd sit in her little rocker next to the head of the couch and hand-whip a hem or fagot a neckline or make buttonholes. She'd sew in rhythm to his slow, relaxed breathing. She Noms utterly content.

At ten o'clock, he'd w eke up, wash his hands, run a wet comb through his hair and talkie his leave. He'd always say the same thing: "That Noms a good supper, Dodie."

She'd always say the same thing: "I'm glad you liked it."

Then he'd kiss her cheek and she'd pat his arm twice and he'd leave.

That's all there was to it. But 'troth, in some curious way, were completely satisfy d.

It was the doctor's stow, after a patient lead left, to sit in 1 /371

his revolving chair before his rolltop deals, tilt the chair back, put his finger tips together and confer with his pictured classmates. It sort of cleared his mind straightened things out for him. He silently addressed his class after Mary had left.

Gentlemen, diagnosis clearly indicates that a therapeutic abortion is indicated in the case of the patient, Mary Moore.

The procedure is as follows, gentlemen: Two or more physicians most be in agreement after exa,nination that the pregnancy should be terminated. Under prope' conditions an abo/tion is as safe as a to7?silectomy.

'4 question, Ml. Levine' (He often used this device to examine heath sides of a situation. He listened intently to the man in the last roNN, second front the right. Levine had been the class heckler.)

A question, Doctor. Hits anyone ever called you in for Co71sultation? Do you know anyofZc YOZ/ Pallid call in?

No. YOU are not that kind of a doctor.

I could do it on my own, Mr. I.evil/e.

That would be illegal, I)octor.