The chief of medicine gestured impatiently.”Try to remember this: There's no wife involved, no children with future education to be considered-just a dying old man and one middle-aged woman who's going to be taken care of reasonably.”
Gould stopped, then asked abruptly, "What were you thinking?" At the last remark Andrew had smiled. "A cynical thought. If Noah had to kill a patient, he couldn't have picked one who'd be more accommodating.”
Gould shrugged.”Life's full of chances. This happens to be one that broke our way. Well?" "Well what?" "Well, are you going to make a public statement? Will you call the press?" Andrew said irritably, "Of course not. I never intended to. You knew that perfectly well.”
"Then what else is there? You've already behaved correctly in bringing what you knew to the hospital's attention. Further than that you're not involved. You will not be a party to any settlement. You are not being asked to lie and if, for any reason, all this blew open and you were questioned officially, naturally you'd tell the truth.” "If that's my position," Andrew queried, "what about yours? Will you tell Miss Wyrazik the real cause of her brother's death?" "No," Gould answered curtly. Then he added, "That's why some of us are in this deeper than you. And maybe why we deserve to be.
In the ensuing silence Andrew thought: What Ezra Gould had just said was an admission, subtle but clear, that Andrew had been right, and others wrong, four years ago when Andrew tried to bring Noah Townsend's drug addiction out in the open but was rebuffed. Andrew was certain now that Leonard Sweeting had told others of their conversation at that time. Undoubtedly the admission was the only one that ever would be made; such things were never inserted in a written record. But at least, Andrew reasoned, something had been learned-by himself, Sweeting, Gould and others. Unfortunately their learning came too late to help either Townsend or Wyrazik. So where, Andrew asked himself, did he go from here? The answer seemed to be: Nowhere. What Gould had been saying did, on the whole, make sense. It was also true that Andrew was not being asked to lie, though he was being asked to keep quiet so, in that sense, he was sharing in a cover-up. On the other hand, who else was there to tell, and what would be gained from doing so? No matter what happened, Kurt Wyrazik could not be brought back to life, and Noah Townsendtragically but necessarily-had been removed from the scene and would menace no one else. "All right," Andrew told the chief of medicine, "I'll do nothing more.”
"Thank you," Gould acknowledged. He looked at his watch.”It's been a long day. I'm going home.”
Andrew went to see Hilda Townsend the following afternoon. Townsend was age sixty-three, Hilda four years younger. For a woman of her age, she was attractive. She had kept her figure in good shape. Her face was firm. Her hair, while entirely gray, was cut stylishly short. Today she was dressed smartly in white linen slacks and a blue silk blouse. Around her neck she wore a thin gold chain. Andrew had expected her to show signs of strain, perhaps of weeping. There were none. The Townsends lived in a small but pleasant two-storied house on Hill Street, Morristown, not far from the medical office at Elm and Franklin to which, on fine-weather days, Noah Townsend had often walked. 'Mere were no servants in the house and Hilda let Andrew in herself, preceding him to a sitting room. It was a room, furnished in soft browns and beiges, which overlooked a garden. When they were seated, Hilda said matter-of-factly, "Would you like something, Andrew? A drink? Tea, perhaps?" He shook his head.”No, thanks.”
Then he said, "Hilda, I don't know what else to say except-I'm terribly sorry.”
She nodded, as if the words were expected, then asked, "Were you dreading this? Coming here to see me?" "A little," he admitted. "I thought so. But there's no need. And don't be surprised or shocked because I'm not weeping, or wringing my hands, or doing any of those other emotional, womanly things.”
Uncertain how to respond, he simply said, "All right.”
As if she had not heard, Hilda Townsend went on, "The fact is, I've done them all, done them so often, and for so long, that now they're far behind me. For years I shed so many tears that my supply ran dry. I used to think that little pieces of my heart were breaking off while I watched Noah destroy himself. And when I couldn't make him understand or even listen, I came to think that all of my heart was gone and only an inner piece of stone was left. Does any of that make sense?" "I think so," Andrew said, and thought: How little each of us knows of the sufferings of other people! For years Hilda Townsend must have lived behind a wall of loyal concealment, a wall which Andrew had neither known of nor suspected. He remembered, too, Ezra Gould's words of the night before.”She didn't talk a lot... I got the impression she's been expecting something to happen, though never knowing what. "You knew about Noah and the drugs," Hilda said.”Didn't you?" "Yes.,, Her voice became accusing.”You're a doctor. Why did you do nothing?" "I tried. At the hospital. Four years ago.”
"And no one there would listen?" "Something like that.”
"Could you have tried harder?" "Yes," he said.”Looking back now, I think I could have.”
She sighed.”You probably wouldn't have succeeded.”
Abruptly she switched subjects.”I went to see Noah this morning, or rather tried to see him. He was raving. He didn't know me. He doesn't know anyone.”
"Hilda," Andrew said gently, "is there anything I can do, anything, to help you?" She ignored the question.”Does Celia feel any guilt about what's happened?" The question startled him.”I haven't told her yet. I will this evening. But as to guilt-" "She shouldl" The words were spoken savagely. In the same tone, Hilda went on, "Celia is a part of that greedy, ruthless, money-coining, high-pressure drug business. They do anything to sell their drugs, to get doctors to prescribe them and people to use them, even if the drugs aren't needed. Anythingl" Andrew said quietly, "No pharmaceutical company forced Noah to take the drugs he did.”
"Maybe not directly.”
Hilda's voice rose.”But Noah took drugs, and so do others, because the companies surround doctors with theml They deluge them! With sleazy, oh-so-clever, limitless advertising, page after page in medical magazines which doctors have to read, and with an avalanche of mail, and with free trips and hospitality and booze-all of it designed to make doctors think drugs, ahvays drugs, still more drugs! The companies, every one of them, swamp doctors with free samples, telling them they can have any drug they want, in whatever quantity, and just by asking! No restrictions, never any questions! You know it, Andrew.”
She stopped.”I want to ask you something.”
He told her, "If I can answer, I will.”
"Lots of salesmen-detail men-came into the office. Noah saw them all the time. Don't you think that some of them, maybe all of them, knew how much he was taking drugs, were aware he was an addict?" Andrew considered. He thought of the untidy profusion of drugs, all in manufacturers' containers and packages, in Noah's office.”Yes," he answered.”Yes, I think it's likely that they knew.”
"Yet it didn't stop them, did it? Bastardsl They just went on delivering. Giving Noah anything he wanted. Helping him destroy himself. That's the rotten, filthy business your wife is in, Andrew, and I loathe it!" "There's something in what you've said, Hilda," he acknowledged.”Maybe a lot. And while it isn't the whole picture, I'd like you to know I understand your feelings.”
"Do you?" Hilda Townsend's voice mixed contempt and bitterness.”Then explain them to Celia sometime. Maybe she'll consider changing to another line of work.”
Then, as if a pent-up force had at last broken free, she put her head in her hands and began to cry. The mid-to-late-1960s was a time when women's lib became a phrase on many lips and a fixture in the news. In 1963 Betty Friedan had published The Feminine Mystique, a declaration of war on "the second-class citizenship of women.”