The End of the Road (23 page)

I signed the letter,
“Harry L. Siegrist, M.D.,”
put it into an envelope, and hurried back to my car. I stopped along the road to eat lunch and bone up on the manic-depressive psychosis, and by shortly after three o’clock I was in a telephone booth in a Penn-Whelan drugstore on Walnut Street in Philadelphia, placing a long-distance call to Dr. Welleck in Wicomico. My hands shook; I sweated profusely. When I heard Dr. Welleck’s receptionist answer, and the operator asked me to deposit sixty cents, I dropped a quarter on the floor: my courage barely sufficed to retrieve it and ask for Dr. Welleck.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Siegrist,” the receptionist said after I’d introduced myself. “Dr. Welleck is at the hospital just now.”

“Oh, that’s too bad!” I exclaimed in gruff disappointment. “I don’t suppose you could reach him?”

“I’m afraid not, sir; he’s in surgery this afternoon.”

“What a bother!” I was immensely relieved, almost joyous, that I wouldn’t have to speak to him, but at the same time I feared for my plan.

“I’ll have him call you as soon as he comes in, if you like.”

“Oh, now, I’m afraid that won’t do,” I said peevishly. “My vacation started today, and Mrs. Siegrist and I will be in Bermuda all through October. Mr. Dempsey reached me just as we were closing up the house—thank heaven! Another hour and we’d have been gone. You know, this is something of an emergency, but my plane leaves two hours from now and I couldn’t say where I’ll be between now and then. Dr. Welleck
will
administer Ergotrate, won’t he? This could turn into a nasty thing.”

“He wanted to talk to you, Dr. Siegrist.”

“I know, I know. Well, see here, I’ll have my secretary type up an affidavit before I leave—this is quite a routine thing, you know—and I’ll have it notarized and sent special delivery and all that. What a nuisance that I can’t talk to Dr. Welleck personally!” I said with some heat. “I can’t emphasize too much the seriousness of this sort of thing with a manic-depressive like Mrs. Dempsey. She could behave perfectly normally one moment and shoot herself the next, if she hasn’t already. Really, Dr. Welleck should give her the Ergotrate at the earliest possible moment. Tonight if possible; tomorrow at the very latest. I’ve already arranged with Mr. Dempsey to place his wife under the care of one of my colleagues until I get back, but this thing really must be taken care of first.”

“I’ll tell Dr. Welleck at once,” the receptionist said, clearly impressed.

“Please do, and he’ll get the affidavit tomorrow morning.”

“Could you give me your Bermuda address, sir, in case Dr. Welleck wants to get in touch with you?”

Great heavens! “Mrs. Siegrist and I will be stopping at the Prince George Hotel,” I said, hoping there was such a place.

“The Prince George. Thank you, sir.”

“And please, tell Dr. Welleck to get that Ergotrate into Mrs. Dempsey as soon as he can. I’d hate to lose a patient over something as silly as this. I don’t blame the man for being cautious, but I must say that if it were I, she’d be aborted by this time. A layman could tell she’s manic-depressive, and her suicidal tendencies stick out all over. Good-by, now.”

I hung up, and very nearly fainted. A big obstacle was behind me, but there was a still bigger one ahead. I found a notary public in a loan office two blocks down Walnut Street (which I prayed Dr. Siegrist didn’t happen to patronize) and went in quickly before my nerve failed. It is my lot to look older than my years, but I could scarcely believe anyone would seriously take me for a certified psychiatrist. Besides, it is even more difficult to act out a fiction face to face with the man you’re lying to than it is to do it on the telephone. Finally, I wasn’t at all sure that notaries didn’t demand identification before administering the oath and seal. Assuming the most worldly manner I could muster, I asked a clerk where the notary public was, and he directed me to the assistant manager’s desk across the room.

“Howdy do,” smiled the assistant manager, a squat, bald-headed, cigar-chewing little man with steel-rimmed glasses.

“My name’s Siegrist,” I said genially: “Harry Siegrist. I’ve a paper here somewhere to be notarized, if I haven’t left it at the office.” I smiled whimsically and made a leisurely search of my pockets. “Oh yes, here you are, you little rascal.” I fetched the letter from my inside coat pocket, opened it, and casually scanned it. “Mmm-hmm. There you go, sir.”

The assistant manager read the document carelessly.

“Boy oh boy,” he said. “She’s a real bat, isn’t she, Doc?”

“Oh, not as bad as some we get,” I chuckled, so pleased I could have died. “Life is just one lunatic after another.”

“Ha!” said the notary. “You ought to see some of the boobies we get in here. You could make a fortune.”

“I’ll bet.”

I waited to be asked for my credentials.

“I swear,” the notary mused absently, reading my letter again, “I think it’s all in their heads. Well—”

He began fumbling in his desk drawer. “Raise your right hand a little bit, will you, Doc?”

I did, and he likewise.

“Now, then, d’you swear before God that the blah blah blah blah and all that?” he asked, still digging around in his desk with the other hand.

“I do.”

“Won’t make no difference whether you do or not if I can’t find my seal,” he said cheerfully. My head reeled—after my good luck in finding a notary as cynical as he was credulous, could my scheme hang on such a mischance as this?

“Ah, there she blows,” he said, fishing out the seal. He clamped the official impression on my letter and signed it. Then he called two nearby clerks over to sign as witnesses. “Don’t mind reading it,” he told them. “Where would American business be today if everybody read things before they signed them? Just put your John Hancock where it says.” They did. “All right, Doctor: buck and a half.”

I paid him with a bill from my wallet, holding my identity card from view, and left with my letter, which I dropped into the first deposit box I encountered. So much for Philadelphia—it was four o’clock, and I had to get home fast. In general I was amazed at the success of my plan, but four distressing things were on my mind. First, I had no idea whether Dr. Welleck would be convinced by my completely non-technical affidavit, which for all I knew any M.D. might be able to recognize as spurious at first glance; at any rate, it was entirely possible that if any doubt remained in his mind the coincidence of Dr. Siegrist’s taking so immediate a vacation might turn that doubt into frank skepticism: should Welleck at any time be dubious enough to call the office of the real Dr. Siegrist, the jig was up. Second, I had deliberately not left a telephone number with Welleck, and of course there was no Henry Dempsey in the Wicomico directory; despite the fact that there are human beings without telephones, Welleck’s inability to reach me, should he try before I got home and called him, could add to his suspicion. The third unknown was even more worrisome: even if everything else worked out perfectly and Welleck consented to administer the Ergotrate, it was quite possible that he was not new in town at all and might know Rennie. Finally, even if he didn’t, there was one more danger: so innocent was I of the business of abortion that, for all I knew, Welleck might require that Rennie go to the hospital for something or other, since the thing was going to be legal, and even if Welleck himself didn’t know her, someone at the hospital surely would.

As soon as I reached my room again I called Welleck at his house.

“Oh, Mr. Dempsey,” he said, a little coldly. “I’ve been trying to telephone you.”

“I’m sorry, Doctor. We haven’t had a phone put in yet, and I have to use my landlord’s. I’d have called you earlier, but I’ve been driving my wife around in the country today, to sort of keep her mind off things.”

“Well, Dr. Siegrist called from Philadelphia.”

“Did he? Good! I barely caught him before he left on his vacation. Did you get anything straightened out?”

“I didn’t talk to him. I was in surgery. He talked to my receptionist, and he’s sending down an affidavit. My understanding is that he strongly recommends the abortion.”

“Whew!” I laughed. “You don’t know how relieved I am.”

“Yes. Now he said something to my receptionist about giving the Ergotrate tonight, but I’m afraid I can’t do it until I have the affidavit in my hands. If he mailed it special delivery this afternoon, I should get it at least by Monday morning.”

“That’s wonderful.”

“You give me your landlord’s number and I’ll let you know when the affidavit comes so you can bring Mrs. Dempsey in to the office.”

“Well, now, my landlord’s right touchy about receiving calls for me, and frankly this is none of his business. I’d rather he knew nothing about it, because he’s a terrible gossip. Couldn’t I call you?”

“Perhaps that would be better. Despite the fact that this won’t be illegal, we’d just as well keep it quiet. Call me around noon on Monday, and if I have the affidavit I’ll give you an appointment for after lunch.”

“That’s fine.”

“Oh, one more thing. I have a standard authorization form that I use for sterilizations, abortions, and the like. Both you and your wife will have to sign it, and you’ll have to get it notarized. You could do that Monday morning if you like. Just pick up the form from my receptionist.”

“Okay. Swell. Good night, Doctor.”

Another document, another notary, another hurdle to clear—but by this time I was past caring. I drove in weary triumph out to the Morgans’ house to announce rny success. On their doorstep I got the cold shudders: I’d been out of town most of the day—what if I was already too late? Joe answered the door.

“Oh, hello, Jake. You look sick.”

“Is Rennie okay?”

“She’s still with us, if that’s what you mean. Come on in.”

Rennie was waxing the kitchen floor. She scarcely acknowledged my presence.

“Well, I think it’s all set,” I said, feigning tranquillity. “If you want an abortion, Rennie, you can get a shot of Ergotrate Monday afternoon.”

Joe showed no reaction to the news. Rennie came to the kitchen doorway, waxing rag in hand, and leaned against the doorframe.

“All right. Where do I have to go? Baltimore?”

“Nope. Right here in town. Just don’t tell me you know Dr. Morton Welleck.”

“Dr. Welleck. No, I don’t know him. Do you, Joe?”

“I know of him. He’s been here about two years. You mean the damned fool’s an abortionist?”

“Nope,” I said, not a little proudly. “He’s a completely legitimate doctor, and a pretty good one, so I hear. And everything’s going to be completely legal. You don’t have to feel guilty or afraid of going to him at all.”

“How come?” Joe asked.

“As a matter of fact, I told him pretty much the truth. I said you had two kids already and wanted more later, but you were so despondent about getting pregnant just now that I was afraid you were on the verge of suicide. Of course it was a little more elaborate than that.”

“How was it more elaborate, Jake?” Rennie asked wonderingly.

“Well, I had to jazz it up a little. You’re my wife these days, for one thing: Mrs. Henry J. Dempsey, of the Philadelphia Dempseys.”

“What?”

I warmed to the story then, exhilarated by my day’s adventures, and told them in detail about the telephone calls, the trip to Philadelphia, the letter, the impersonations of Dr. Siegrist, and the assistant manager of the loan office. They listened in astonishment.

“So, all Mr. and Mrs. Dempsey have to do now is sign an authorization Monday morning and get it notarized, and we’re set. You don’t have to act crazy or anything, and once you’ve had the shot you can forget the whole business.”

Joe watched Rennie with interest.

“That’s absurd,” she said at once.

“Isn’t it fantastic?” I grinned, not wanting to believe she meant what I feared she meant.

“It’s horrible!”

“You’ll do it, won’t you?”

“Of course not. It’s out of the question.”

“Out of the question! Good Christ, Rennie, I’ve run my ass off today getting it set up, and you say it’s out of the question. Nothing will happen, I swear!”

“That isn’t the point, Jake. I’m through lying. Even if I didn’t have to sign anything or say anything it would still be lying. You should’ve known I wouldn’t want anything to do with it.”

I was sick: the whole edifice came down. Joe’s expression didn’t change, but I felt a great unanimity of spirit between him and Rennie. I was out of it.

“Shoot yourself then, damn it!” I cried. “I don’t know why I bothered to sweat my tail off for you today anyhow, if you don’t really want an abortion. Obviously you were just being melodramatic last night.”

Rennie smiled. “I
am
going to shoot myself, Jake, as soon as it’s clear that you can’t arrange an abortion. I wasn’t just being dramatic. I don’t care who does the job or where it’s done or under what circumstances, but I won’t tell lies or assent to lies, and I won’t pretend to be anybody but myself. I don’t know anybody and Joe doesn’t either. If you hadn’t said you thought you did, I wouldn’t have waited this long.” She rubbed her hand once across her stomach. “I don’t want this baby, Jake. It might be yours.”

She was clearly sincere. I looked desperately to Joe for support, but he was noncommittal. Again I felt their unanimity. It occurred to me to accuse them of romanticism; to make fun of their queer honor—God knows it needed poking fun at, and a great part of me longed to do the job wholeheartedly—but I no longer trusted this strategy: it might only confirm what was already evidently a pretty fixed resolve.

“Don’t do it yet, Rennie,” I said wearily. “I’ll think of something else.”

“What will you think of, Jake? If you had any real ideas you wouldn’t have started with something as fantastic as this business today. If you think I’ll change my mind if you stall long enough, you’re wrong.”

“What about the boys? Have you given them a thought, or are you going to plug them too?”

“You’re asking questions you don’t have to ask,” Joe said.

“Don’t play games, Jake,” Rennie said. “Do you have anything on your mind or not?”

“Yes, I do,” I said. “I know a woman in town who’s had a couple of abortions. I’d have thought of her before if I hadn’t been so excited. I’ll see her tomorrow and find out where she had them done.”