Irwin Shaw - Short Stories - Five Decades

“Two months is a long time, isn’t it?” Beddoes said. “In Paris?”

“No,” Christina said. “It’s not a long time. In Paris or anywhere else.”

“Hello, Christina.” It was a tall, rather heavy-set young man, smiling and blond, who was standing, holding a hat, next to the table. “I found the place all right.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead.

Beddoes stood up.

“Jack,” Christina said, “this is Walter Beddoes. John Haislip. Dr. Haislip.”

The two men shook hands.

“He’s a surgeon,” Christina said as Haislip gave his hat and coat to the attendant and sat down beside her. “He nearly had his picture in Life last year for something he did with kidneys. In thirty years he’s going to be enormously famous.”

Haislip chuckled. He was a big, placid, self-confident-looking man, with the air of an athlete, who was probably older than he looked. And just with one glance Beddoes could tell how the man felt about Christina. Haislip wasn’t hiding anything in that department.

“What’ll you drink, Doctor?” Beddoes asked.

“Lemonade, please.”

“ Un citron pressé, ” Beddoes said to the waiter. He peered curiously at Christina, but she was keeping her face straight.

“Jack doesn’t drink,” Christina said. “He says it isn’t fair for people who make a living out of cutting other people up.”

“When I retire,” Haislip said cheerfully, “I’m going to soak it up and let my hands shake like leaves in the wind.” He turned to Beddoes. You could tell that it took a conscious wrench for him to stop looking at Christina. “Did you have a good time in Egypt?” he asked.

“Oh,” Beddoes said, surprised. “You know about my being in Egypt?”

“Christina’s told me all about you,” Haislip said.

“I swore a solemn oath that I was going to forget Egypt for a month once I got here,” Beddoes said.

Haislip chuckled. He had a low, unforced laugh and his face was friendly and unself-conscious. “I know how you feel,” he said. “The same way I feel about the hospital sometimes.”

“Where is the hospital?” Beddoes asked.

“Seattle,” Christina said quickly.

“How long have you been here?” Beddoes saw Christina glance at him obliquely as he spoke.

“Three weeks,” said Haislip. He turned back toward Christina, as though he could find comfort in no other position. “The changes that can take place in three weeks. My Lord!” He patted Christina’s arm and chuckled again. “One more week and back to the hospital.”

“You here for fun or for business?” Beddoes asked, falling helplessly into the pattern of conversation of all Americans who meet each other abroad for the first time.

“A little of both,” Haislip said. “There was a conference of surgeons I was asked to attend, and I moseyed around a few hospitals on the side.”

“What do you think of French medicine now you’ve had a chance to see some of it?” Beddoes asked, the investigator within operating automatically.

“Well”—Haislip managed to look away from Christina for a moment—“they function differently from us over here. Intuitively. They don’t have the equipment we have, or the money for research, and they have to make up for it with insight and intuition.” He grinned. “If you’re feeling poorly, Mr. Beddoes,” he said, “don’t hesitate to put yourself in their hands. You’ll do just about as well here as anyplace else.”

“I feel all right,” Beddoes said, then felt that it had been an idiotic thing to say. The conversation was beginning to make him uncomfortable, not because of anything that had been said but because of the way the man kept looking, so openly and confessingly and completely, at Christina. There was a little pause and Beddoes had the feeling that unless he jumped in, they would sit in silence forever. “Do any sightseeing?” he asked lamely.

“Not as much as I’d like,” Haislip said. “Just around Paris. I’d’ve loved to go down south this time of the year. That place Christina keeps talking about. St. Paul de Vence. I guess that’s about as different from Seattle as a man could wish for and still get running water and Christian nourishment. You’ve been there, haven’t you, Mr. Beddoes?”

“Yes,” Beddoes said.

“Christina told me,” said Haislip. “Oh, thank you,” he said to the waiter who put the lemonade down in front of him.

Beddoes stared at Christina. They had spent a week together there early in the autumn. He wondered what, exactly, she had told the Doctor.

“We’ll make it the next trip,” Haislip said.

“Oh,” said Beddoes, noting the “we” and wondering whom it included. “You planning to come over again soon?”

“In three years.” Haislip carefully extracted the ice from his lemonade and put it on the saucer. “I figure I can get away for six weeks in the summer every three years. People don’t get so sick in the summertime.” He stood up. “Pardon me,” he said, “but I have to make a couple of telephone calls.”

“Downstairs and to the right,” Christina said. “The woman’ll put the calls through for you. She speaks English.”

Haislip laughed. “Christina doesn’t trust my French,” he said. “She says it’s the only recognizable Puget Sound accent that has ever been imposed upon the language.” He started away from the table, then stopped. “I sincerely hope you’ll be able to join us for dinner, Mr. Beddoes.”

“Well,” Beddoes said, “I made a tentative promise I’d meet some people. But I’ll see what I can do.”

“Good.” Haislip touched Christina’s shoulder lightly, as though for some obscure reassurance, and walked away between the tables.

Beddoes watched him, thinking unpleasantly, Well, one thing, I’m better-looking, anyway. Then he turned to Christina. She was stirring the tea leaves at the bottom of her cup absently with her spoon. “That’s why the hair is long and natural,” Beddoes said. “Isn’t it?”

“That’s why.” Christina kept stirring the tea leaves.

“And the nail polish.”

“And the nail polish.”

“And the tea.”

“And the tea.”

“What did you tell him about St. Paul de Vence?”

“Everything.”

“Look up from that damned cup.”

Slowly Christina put down the spoon and raised her head. Her eyes were glistening, but not enough to make anything of it, and her mouth was set, as with an effort.

“What do you mean by everything?” Beddoes demanded.

“Everything.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t have to hide anything from him.”

“How long have you known him?”

“You heard,” Christina said. “Three weeks. A friend of mine in New York asked him to look me up.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

Christina looked directly into his eyes. “I’m going to marry him next week and I’m going back to Seattle with him.”

“And you’ll come back here three years from now for six weeks in the summer-time, because people don’t get so sick in the summertime,” Beddoes said.

“Exactly.”

“And that’s O.K.?”

“Yes.”

“You said that too defiantly,” Beddoes said.

“Don’t be clever with me,” Christina said harshly. “I’m through with all that.”

“Waiter!” Beddoes called. “Bring me a whiskey, please.” He said it in English, because for the moment he had forgotten where he was. “And you,” he said to Christina. “For the love of God, have a drink.”

“Another tea,” Christina said.

“Yes, Madame,” said the waiter, and went off.

“Will you answer some questions?” Beddoes asked.

“Yes.”

“Do I rate straight answers?”