John Irving - A Son of the Circus

That was when Dr. Daruwalla thought of Mr. Garg, the real-life Acid Man. After all, Acid Man was already an established villain in the screenplay; why not use him? (The threat of a lawsuit seemed remote in these moments when sheer invention struck.) Acid Man could be so enthralled by Pinky’s loveliness and ability, he simply can’t bear her rising stardom—or that she’s escaped disfigurement of his special kind. Having lost Pinky to the Great Royal, the fiend performs acts of sabotage at the circus. One of the lion cubs is burned with acid, or maybe one of the dwarf clowns. Poor Pinky is killed by a lion that escapes its cage because Acid Man has burned off the lock.

Great stuff! the screenwriter thought. The irony momentarily eluded Dr. Daruwalla: here he was, plotting the death of his fictional Pinky while at the same time he awaited the real results of Madhu’s HIV test. But Farrokh had once more got ahead of himself; he was trying to imagine what Ganesh could do to make himself irreplaceable to the circus. The boy is a lowly cripple, a mere beggar; he’s clumsy, he’ll always limp—the only stunt he can perform is the bird-shit trick. (The screenwriter made a hasty note to put the bird-shit trick in the screenplay; more comic relief was necessary, now that Pinky was going to be killed by a lion.)

At that moment, Ranjit put through the phone call from Dr. Tata. Farrokh’s forward momentum, his entire train of thought, was interrupted. Farrokh was even more annoyed by the nature of Dr. Tata’s information.

“Oh, dear—dear old Dad,” said Tata Two. “I’m rather afraid he blew this one!”

It wouldn’t have surprised Dr. Daruwalla to learn that the senior Dr. Tata had blown many a diagnosis; after all, the old fool had not known (until the delivery) that Vera was giving birth to twins. What is it this time? Farrokh was tempted to ask. But he more politely inquired, “So he did see Rahul?”

“You bet he did!” said Dr. Tata. “It must have been an exciting examination—Promila claimed that the boy had proved himself to be impotent in an alleged single episode with a prostitute! But I suspect the diagnosis was a bit premature.”

“What was the diagnosis?” Dr. Daruwalla asked.

“Eunuchoidism!” cried Tata Two. “Nowadays, we would use the term hypogonadism. But, call it what you will, this is merely a symptom or syndrome with several possible causes. Rather like the syndrome of headache or dizziness …”

“Yes, yes,” Dr. Daruwalla said impatiently. He could tell that Tata Two had been doing a little research, or perhaps he’d been talking to a better OB/GYN; most OB/GYNs tended to know more about this sort of thing than other doctors—because they were well versed in hormones, Farrokh supposed. “What conditions might cause you to suspect hypogonadism?” Dr. Daruwalla asked Tata Two.

“If I saw a boy or a man with long limbs and an arm span—when he stretches his arms out—that is two inches more than his height. Also, his pubis-to-floor height being greater than his pubis-to-crown height,” Dr. Tata replied. He must be reading from a book, Dr. Daruwalla thought. “And if this boy or man also had absent secondary sexual characteristics …” Tata Two continued, “… you know—voice, muscular development, phallic development, extension of pubic hair up the belly in a diamond pattern …”

“But how could you assess such secondary sexual characteristics as being incomplete, unless the boy is over fifteen or so?” Dr. Daruwalla asked.

“Well, that’s the problem—you really couldn’t,” said Tata Two.

“Rahul was only twelve or thirteen in 1949!” Farrokh cried. It was preposterous that Promila had pronounced the boy impotent because he hadn’t been able to get an erection, or keep an erection, with a prostitute; it was more preposterous that old Dr. Tata had believed her!

“Well, that’s what I mean by the diagnosis being a bit premature,” Tata Two admitted. “The process of maturation begins at eleven or twelve… is heralded by the hardening of the testes and is usually completed within five years—although some things, like the growth of chest hair, may take another decade.” With the word “heralded,” Dr. Daruwalla was certain that Tata Two was reading from a book.

“In short, you mean that Rahul’s puberty might simply have been delayed. It was entirely too soon to call him a kind of eunuch! ” Farrokh cried.

“Well, now, to say ‘eunuchoidism’ isn’t really calling someone ‘a kind of eunuch,’” Dr. Tata explained.

“To a twelve- or thirteen-year-old boy, this diagnosis would have come at an impressionable age—wouldn’t you agree?” asked Dr. Daruwalla.

“That’s true,” Tata Two replied. “It might be a more appropriate diagnosis in the case of an eighteen-year-old with a microphallus.”

“Jesus Christ,” said Dr. Daruwalla.

“Well, we must remember that all the Rais were rather strange,” Dr. Tata reasoned.

“Just the sort of family to make the most out of a misdiagnosis,” Dr. Daruwalla remarked.

“I wouldn’t call it a ‘misdiagnosis’—just a bit early to know for sure,” Tata Two said defensively. It was understandable why Dr. Tata then wanted to change the subject. “Oh, I have an answer for you about the girl. Mr. Subhash told me you wanted a rush job.” Actually, Mr. Subhash had told Dr. Daruwalla that the HIV test would take at least two days—more, if the first phase was positive. “Anyway, she’s okay. The test was negative,” Dr. Tata said.

“That was fast,” Dr. Daruwalla replied. “This is the girl who’s named Madhu? Her name is Madhu?”

“Yes, yes,” said Dr. Tata; it was his turn to sound impatient. “I’m looking at the results! The name is Madhu. The test was negative. Mr. Subhash just put the file on my desk.”

How old is Mr. Subhash? Dr. Daruwalla wanted to ask, but he was annoyed enough for one conversation; at least he could get the girl out of town. He thanked Tata Two, then hung up the phone. He wanted to go back to his screenplay, but first he called Ranjit into his office and asked the secretary to notify Mr. Garg that Madhu was not HIV-positive; the doctor himself didn’t want to give Garg the satisfaction.

“That was fast,” Ranjit said; but the screenplay was still occupying the majority of Dr. Daruwalla’s thoughts. At the moment, he was giving more of his attention to those children than to the children in his charge.

The doctor did remember to ask Ranjit to contact the dwarf’s wife; Deepa should be told that Madhu and Ganesh were coming to the circus—and that Dr. Daruwalla needed to know where (in all of Gujarat) the circus was. Farrokh should also have called the new missionary—to forewarn the Jesuit that they would be spending the weekend traveling to the circus with the children—but the screenplay beckoned to him; the fictional Mr. Martin was more compelling to Dr. Daruwalla than Martin Mills.

Unfortunately, the more vividly the screenwriter recalled and described the acts of the Great Royal Circus, the more he dreaded the disappointment he was certain he’d feel when he and Martin Mills delivered the real children to the Great Blue Nile.

As for Martin Mills and how he compared to the fictional Mr. Martin, Farrokh felt only the slightest guilt; the screenwriter suspected he’d created a lightweight fool out of a heavyweight lunatic, but this was only the faintest suspicion. In the screenplay, the first time the missionary visits the children in the circus, he slips and falls in elephant shit. It hadn’t yet crossed Dr. Daruwalla’s mind that the real missionary had possibly stepped into a worse mess than elephant shit.