“Yes, well—”
“Also, Vergil Ulam called a few minutes ago. He sounded anxious. I haven’t talked to him in years.”
“Did you tell him—”
“You were still at the hospital. Of course. Your shift is at eight today?”
“Same as yesterday. Two hours with premeds in the lab and six on call.”
“Mrs. Burdett called, also. She swears little Tony or Antoinette is whistling. She can hear him/her.”
“And your diagnosis?” Edward asked, grinning. “Gas.”
“High-pressure, I’d say,” Edward added. “Steam, must be,” Gail said. They laughed and Edward felt the morning assume reality. Last night’s mist of fantasy lifted and he was on the phone with his wife, making jokes about musical fetuses. That was normal. That was living.
“I’m going to take you out tonight,” he said. “Another Heisenberg dinner.”
“What’s that?”
“Uncertainty,” Edward said crisply. “We know where we are going, but not what we are going to eat. Or vice versa.”
“Sounds wonderful. Which car?”
“The Quantum, of course.”
“Oh, Lord. We just had the speedometer fixed.”
“And the steering went out?”
“Shh! It’s still working. We’re cheating.”
“Are you mad at me?”
Gail hmphed. “Vergil better see you during office hours today. Why is he seeing you, anyway? Sex-change?” The thought made her giggle and start to cough. He could picture her turning the phone away and waving at the air as if to clear it. “ ‘Scuse. Really, Edward. Why?”
“Confidential, my love. I’m not sure I know, anyway. Maybe later.”
“Got to go. Six?”
“Maybe five-thirty.”
“I’ll still be critiquing videos.”
“I’ll sweep you away.”
“Delicious Edward.”
He cupped the receiver and smooched indelicately before hanging up. Then, rubbing his cheek to ball up and remove the tissue paper, he walked to the elevator and rode up to the Frankenstein Wing.
The analyzer was still clinking merrily, running hundreds of samples bottle by bottle through the tests. Edward sat down to its terminal and called up Vergil’s results. Columns and numbers appeared on the screen. The suggested diagnosis was unusually vague. Anomalies appeared in highlighted red type.
24/c ser c/ count 10,000 lymphoc. /mm3
25/c ser c/ count 14,500 lymphoc. /mm3
26/d check re/count 15,000 lymphoc. /mm3
DIAG (???) What are accompanying physical signs! If the spleen and lymph nodes show enlargement, then:
ReDIAG: Patient (name? file?) in late stages of severe infection.
Support: Histamine count, blood protein level (call), phagocyte count (call)
DIAG (???) (Blood sample inconclusive): If anemia, pain in joints, hemorrhage, fever:
ReDIAG: Incipient lymphocytic leukemia
Support: Not a good fit, no support but lymphocyte count.
Edward asked for a hard copy of the analysis and the printer quietly produced a tight-packed page of figures. He looked it over, frowning deeply, folded it and stuck it in his coat pocket. The urine test seemed normal enough; the blood was unlike any he had ever seen before. He didn’t need to test the stool to make up his mind on a course of action: put the man in the hospital, under observation. Edward dialed Vergil’s number on the phone in his office.
On the second ring, a noncommittal female voice answered, “Ulam’s house, Candice here.”
“Could I speak to Vergil, please?”
“Whom may I say is calling?” Her tone was almost comically formal.
“Edward. He knows me.”
“Of course. You’re the doctor. Fix him up. Fix up everybody.” A hand muffled the mouthpiece and she called out, somewhat raucously, “Vergil!”
Vergil answered with a breathless “Edward! What’s up?”
“Hello, Vergil. I have some results, not very conclusive. But I want to talk with you, here, in the hospital.”
“What do the results say?”
“That you are a very ill person.”
“Nonsense.”
“I’m just telling you what the machine says. High lymphocyte count—”
“Of course, that fits perfectly—”
“And a very weird variety of proteins and other debris floating around in your blood. Histamines. You look like a fellow dying of severe infection.”
There was silence on Vergil’s end, then, “I’m not dying.”
“I think you should come in, let others check you over. And who was that on the phone—Candice? She—”
“No. Edward, I went to you for help. Nobody else. You know how I feel about hospitals.”
Edward laughed grimly. “Vergil, I’m not competent to figure this out.”
“I told you what it was. Now you have to help me control it.”
“That’s crazy, that’s bullshit, Vergil!” Edward clamped his hand on his knee and pinched hard. “Sorry. I’m not taking this well. I hope you understand why.”
“I hope you understand how I’m feeling, right now. I’m sort of high, Edward. And more than a little afraid. And proud. Does that make sense?”
“Vergil, I—”
“Come to the apartment. Let’s talk and figure out what to do next.”
“I’m on duty, Vergil.”
“When can you come out?”
“I’m on for the next five days. This evening, maybe. After dinner.”
“Just you, nobody else,” Vergil said.
“Okay.” He took down directions. It would take him about seventy minutes to get to La Jolla; he told Vergil he would be there by nine.
Gail was home before Edward, who offered to fix a quickie dinner for them. “Raincheck the night out?”
She took the news of his trip glumly and didn’t say much as she helped chop vegetables for a salad. “I’d like to have you look at some of the videos,” she said as they ate, giving him a sidewise glance. Her nursery class had been involved in video art projects for a week; she was proud of the results.
“Is there time?” he asked diplomatically. They had weathered some rocky times before getting married, almost splitting up. When new difficulties arose, they tended to be overly delicate now, tiptoeing around the main issues.
“Probably not,” Gail admitted. She stabbed at a piece of raw zucchini. “What’s wrong with Vergil this time?”
“This time?”
“Yeah. He’s done this before. When he was working for Westinghouse and he got into that copyright mess.”
“Freelancing for them.”
“Yeah. What can you do for him now?”
“I’m not even sure what the problem is,” Edward said, being more evasive than he wanted.
“Secret?”
“No. Maybe. But weird.”
“Is he ill?”
Edward cocked his head and lifted a hand: Who knows?
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“Not right now.” Edward’s smile, an attempt to placate, obviously only irritated her more. “He asked me not to.”
“Could he get you in trouble?”
Edward hadn’t thought about that. “I don’t think so,” he said.
“Coming back what time tonight?”
“As soon as I can,” he said. He stroked her face with the tips of his fingers. “Don’t be mad,” he suggested softly.
“Oh, no,” she said emphatically. “Never that.”
Edward began the drive to La Jolla in an ambiguous mood; whenever he thought about Vergil’s condition, it was as if he entered a different universe. The rules changed, and Edward was not sure he had even the inkling of an outcome.
He took the La Jolla Village Drive exit and wandered down Torrey Pines Road into the city. Modest and very expensive homes vied for space with three and four-story apartment buildings and condominiums along curving, sloping streets. Bicyclists and the perennial joggers wore brightly colored jumpsuits to ward off the cool night air; even at this hour of the night, La Jolla was active with strollers and exercisers.