Ann Patchett - State of Wonder

Dr. Swenson held out a hand towards this confirmation. “One man missing a boat, one man missing a wife. What do you think I should have told them when they arrived? I wouldn’t have had any idea where you were.”

“If you had a telephone no one would have to risk their lives to find you,” Mr. Fox said. How was it possible that Marina could not go to him? Why didn’t he come to her now having survived a rain of poison arrows? How could he not take her in his arms regardless of who was in the room? He looked so out of place in his lightly embroidered white shirt and khaki pants, as if he had dressed up for a party whose theme was the Amazon.

“This is about my not having a telephone? Do you think Dr. Rapp came to the Amazon with a telephone? I am trying to finish my work. First you send a man down here who dies and when you decide to follow him it seems you are determined to die yourself and take two of my people with you. It is disruptive, Mr. Fox, can you understand that? You do not advance your own case by continuing to throw these tragedies in my path.”

“I was looking for Dr. Singh,” he said, tapping his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his index finger, a nervous tic Marina knew to be the slightest outward manifestation of simmering fury. “I hadn’t had any word from her. I couldn’t take the chance that another one of my employees was sick or in danger.”

Another one of your employees, Marina thought. Well, there you have it.

“But you endanger them yourself!” Dr. Swenson said. “You throw a person in the river and then make a spectacle of jumping in to save them.”

Before Mr. Fox had a chance to answer, Dr. Budi stepped between them. “I must ask that you stop this now,” she said, her voice unexpectedly strong. “Dr. Swenson, this is not right for you. This argument has ended. You must sit.”

The room fell suddenly silent and in the silence they could hear the unexpected sound of Dr. Swenson struggling to catch her breath. There was no ignoring Budi’s advice. Dr. Swenson sunk down heavily in her chair and put her swollen feet up on a box in front of her. Nancy Saturn came over with a glass of water and Dr. Swenson waved her away. When she spoke again her voice was calmer. “Look at as much data as you need to reassure yourself, Mr. Fox. The two Drs. Saturn will help you. Tomorrow when it’s light, Dr. Budi will take you to see the Martins, and after that you will get back on the Inca Cola and go to Manaus. That is all the hospitality I am capable of extending.”

“Dr. Singh is coming with us.” Mr. Fox said. It was not a romantic gesture but the first counteroffer in an ongoing negotiation.

Dr. Swenson shook her head. “That will not be possible. Dr. Singh has agreed to stay until I deliver my child.” She put her swollen hands on either side of her belly. “The big reveal, Mr. Fox. Seventy-three years old and I am pregnant. If you trouble yourself to look around in the morning you will see that I am not alone in my condition. We are very close to being able to bring you what you want if you could only control your impulse for disruption. I’m keeping up my end of the bargain. I expect you to start keeping yours.”

For a moment Mr. Fox was too far behind. He had missed the rodent trials, the studies in higher mammals. He had no knowledge of a first efficacious dose or the multidose safety studies. He had seen no reports on the probability of technical success, and then suddenly he was six months into the first human dose. First in Man, that’s what it would always be no matter how inherently sexist the implications. Given all there was to absorb it took a moment for the news to settle in, but when it did the look on Mr. Fox’s face was as tender and pleased and surprised as it had been on a night thirty-five years before when his own wife Mary had made a similar announcement. He took a few tentative steps towards Dr. Swenson. He softened his voice. “How far along?”

“Nearly seven months.”

“I’m not qualified to do the section,” Marina said to her. “I’ve told you that. You need to go to a hospital.”

“I would feel more comfortable with Dr. Singh,” Dr. Swenson said. “We can’t afford any breaches in security at this point. I can’t go to the city to have a child. I’ve seen her operate several times now. She does a brilliant job. I have no questions as to her complete competence.”

While Marina had come far enough to contradict Dr. Swenson when they were alone, she still lacked the skills to do so publicly. There was no way to point out that these compliments were her road to perdition.

“We could bring in an obstetrician from Rio,” Mr. Fox said. “We could bring one in from Johns Hopkins if you’d like.” He had already forgotten about the trip from Manaus, about Mrs. Bovender, about the Hummocca. The drug worked, that was all he had ever needed to know. He didn’t care about the paperwork, the trees, he didn’t need to see Marina. He could get back on the boat tonight.

“What I would like is what I have already said. I trained Dr. Singh myself. You can spare her for a little while longer.”

“I can,” Mr. Fox said.

Marina started to say something but Dr. Swenson cut her off. “Dr. Budi is right, I am tired. Walk with me back to the hut now, Dr. Singh. I’ve done enough for tonight.” She held up her hand and Marina took it. The skin between Dr. Swenson’s fingers was cracked and bleeding. Mr. Fox touched Dr. Swenson’s shoulder before they left the room and she nodded at him in return.

Once they were safely under the cover of darkness, the stars spreading their foam over the night sky, Marina started in. “I told you I wasn’t going to stay,” she whispered sharply over the grind of insects’ wings, over the endless repetition of frogs croaking. “Did you think you could just lease me out from my employer?”

“Hold on to yourself for two more minutes,” Dr. Swenson said.

Dr. Swenson’s hut was the one closest to the lab. It was a small room with a single bed and a dresser, a folding table with two chairs. Dr. Swenson struggled up the four stairs, leaning her weight against Marina, and when she came inside she sat down heavily on the bed. “I’m going to have to lie down,” she said, and with that she stretched over the bed, her stomach pointing up. She sent forth a low moan, though whether it was pain or the relief from pain Marina could not be sure. “Be a friend and pull off my sandals, Dr. Singh.”

Marina struggled with the Birkenstocks but managed to get them loose. Dr. Swenson’s toes were sunk halfway into her swollen feet which had an unnatural purple cast. “Don’t make me feel sorry for you,” Marina said. “The more I worry about you the more certain I am that you need to go to a hospital with doctors who know what they’re doing.”

“You know what you’re doing,” Dr. Swenson said, “and you will feel sorry for me because that is your nature. There’s nothing I could do to prevent that.”

Marina sat down on the edge of the single mattress. “Who’s the man in the picture?” She took Dr. Swenson’s wrist between her fingers. Her pulse was almost too rapid to count.

Dr. Swenson turned and looked at the frame on her bedside table. It was a black-and-white photograph of a tall, thin man with a very fine nose standing in the jungle. He was wearing a white shirt and seemed to be looking over the shoulder of whoever was holding the camera. “Never ask a question if you already know the answer. I find that the most irritating habit.”

“He’s very handsome,” Marina said.

“He was,” she said, closing her eyes.

“Where’s the blood-pressure cuff?”

She pointed down to the red bag on the floor and Marina got the cuff and a stethoscope. “The baby is dead, Dr. Singh. It died yesterday, maybe the day before. I was going to tell you tonight but then the company arrived. You can go on and try to listen but nothing has moved. I’m not certain when it moved last. I haven’t been able to find a heartbeat.”