Man, woman, and child(47)

''What precisely is your relationship?"

"I-Fm his father."

"But you just told me—-"

"Out of wedlock/' Bob said quickly. "His mother is Dr. Nicole Guerin. She's on the medical faculty at Montpellier, France. I mean, was. She died a month ago."

Bob's intuition was right. The irrelevant fact that the boy's mother had been a medical colleague made a curiously positive impression on Dr. Shel-ton.

"Is this really the truth?" he asked.

"Call my wife. She'll verify it," said Bob.

The doctor was convinced.

The operation dragged on and on. Bob sat on a plastic chair in the now empty waiting room and tried to control his feeling of frantic helplessness. It was impossible. He blamed himself for ever}/'thing. At about a quarter to three he caught sight of the intern.

"Excuse me, Doctor/' he called out meekly. "May I see you for a moment?" His attitude toward the young physician had changed markedly.

"Yes, Mr. Beckwith?"

"How serious is peritonitis?"

"Well, in young children it can be a pretty dicey thing."

"Meaning what? Can it be fatal?"

"Well, sometimes in children . . ." ' "Jesus!"

"Dr. Shelton is really a fine surgeon, Mr. Beckwith."



''Still, there's a chance he could die, isn't there?'' *Tes, Mr. Beckwith/' he said quietly.

"Hello, Sheila."

*'Bob—I've been so worried. Is he all right?"

''He's got a burst appendix. They're operating right now."

"Should I come over?"

"No. Tliere's no point. Stay with the girls. I'll call as soon as there's news."

"Will he be all right?" she asked, hearing the panic in his voice.

"Yes, of course," he replied, trying to believe it, so he could at least convince her.

"Well, call me the instant you know. Please, honey. The girls are very upset too."

"Yeah. Try not to worry. Give them my love."

Bob hung up and walked back to his chair. He sat down and put his head in his hands. And at last gave in to the terrible sorrow he had, by some miracle, been able to suppress for the past six hours.



Ijrilliant lecture, Bob," said Robin Taylor of Oxford.

''Comme d'habitude," said Reae Moncourget of the Sorbonne.

^'Especially considering the hardships of your journey," added Daniel Moulton, chief of IBM in Montpellier. "Just to make your way here during all the strikes was nothing short of heroic."

Indeed, for Robert Beckwith of MIT to reach southern France during the turbulent days of May 1968 had been a Herculean task. But the hardest labor was not so much having to fly to Barcelona, then rent an asthmatic car to drive across the Pyrennees all the way to Montpellier. It was that the entire expedition was in the company of his colleague P. Herbert Harrison.

For instead of marveling at the beauty of the Mediterranean or the splendors of the Cote Ver-meille, Harrison held forth incessantly on academic politics. Or more specifically, why he disliked everyone in the profession.

''Except you, of course, Bob. Youve always been decent to me. And naturally Vve been true blue to you. Have I once complained that by seniority I

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should he chairman? No^ ifs just our wretched colleagues—boring mediocrities. Whom, after all, did the French invite to this congress? And do you know what that snide fool Jamison said to me just before we left?"

'*Say, Herb, weWe going to pass right by Nar-bonne. Don't you think we could take a half hour or so to look around? The cathedral is—"

"I think we'd better press on, Bob. I mean, we do have a commitment and it's likely with this ungodly French mess they havent even gotten our cable."

''Yeah. Well, would you mind taking the wheel for a bit. Herb?"

''Equity bids no less, Bob. Still, you seem to be enjoying yourself, so why stand on ceremony? Besides, you know what Mrs, Harrison says about my driving."

Oh, God, Bob thought, what did I ever do to deserve this? Why the hell couldn't Sheila have come? She seems to have a way of charming this asshole into silence.

As if the drive had not been sufficiently grueling. The Hotel M^tropole had placed the American professors Beckwith and Harrison in adjoining rooms. Bob was therefore subjected to relentless carping after each day's meetings. Everyone in the world of statistics, it seemed, was second rate. No wonder Harrison had insisted on giving the final lecture on the final afternoon. Though he loathed his colleagues, he still dreaded their criticism. His fat head was matched only by his thin skin.

After his own paper. Bob was too relieved and euphoric even to care what Harrison might say about him. And so he began to ease away from the group of well-wishers.



^'Aren't you coming to lunch with us, Bob?" called Harrison.