picked up the telephone and asked for an orderly and wheelchair.
“Who’s his regular doctor?”
“Doctor Malik, and I was really hoping to see him. He’s been our family doctor for some time now.”
“I’ll call to see if he’s available.”
“Just tell him Mary Harold is here to see him.” His mother lowered her eyes and lightly pushed at the back of her hair.
The heavyset lady looked at his mother in an odd manner but made the call. After a short conversation, she hung up. “He’s very busy but he’ll meet you inside.”
By that time the orderly arrived with the wheelchair. Billy sat down and was wheeled toward to a room with a padded platform, metal cabinets, and a sink. Along the wall were glass jars full of bandages and charts showing people’s lungs, circulatory systems, hearts, muscles, and other medical peripheries.
“Have a seat, ma’am,” said the orderly. “The doctor will be here in just a second.” His mother sat down and crossed her ankles. As she folded her gloved hands and placed them on her white skirt, Dr. Malik came in.
“Well, the lovely Mrs. Harold and young Master William.” Dr. Malik always called Billy young Master William and Billy always smiled like it was funny because he was afraid Dr. Malik would give him shots or something to get back at him for not thinking his joke was funny.
Billy heard another high-low whistle as Dr. Malik leaned over for a closer look. Billy thought Dr. Malik was a pretty good doctor because he always had on a clean white doctor’s coat and a white shirt and striped tie. The coat always had Dr. Malik embroidered above a pocket containing two pens and a thermometer, and of course the ever present stethoscope with the parts that went into his ears wrapped around his neck and the cold part in his thermometer pocket. But the coolest thing was the round metal gadget attached to a black headband. The metal thing pointed upward and had a glass eye hole in the middle. Billy imagined that some great university put knowledge into the doctor’s head by radio waves. The round thing acted like an antenna and the eyepiece directed the knowledge into the doctor’s brain.
“Let me take a look, Billy.” Dr. Malik took the dripping ice towel and tossed it in the sink. He raised Billy’s chin for a better look at the nose.
“Well, it’s definitely broken. How did this happen?”
The mother, patting the back of her hair, said, “He fell down the stairs.”
“Take off your shirt and let me see the other bruises.”
The mother: “No other bruises, doctor. Only his nose.”
Dr. Malik looked back at Mrs. Harold for a full thirty seconds. His mother turned away and looked upset. Turning back to Billy, he said, “Billy has a lot of accidents, doesn’t he.” A statement rather than a question.
“You know how boys are,” said Mrs. Harold. “They’re wild and they have accidents.”
“Billy has had more accidents than any three boys I treat. Why do you suppose that is, Mrs. Harold?’
Billy’s mother looked down and patted her hair. “I really don’t know, Dr. Malik.”
“What do you say, Billy? Why do you think you have three times the accidents of other boys?”
“You mean other boys don’t have these kinds of accidents?
“Billy,” said the doctor, “just from what I can remember, you’ve had this broken nose, two concussions, one broken rib, and several stitches on the side of your head, all from falling down stairs, falling out of trees, and running in the house. You seem like a fairly coordinated boy to me. What’s going on?”
He looked at his mother. She was shaking her head no behind the doctor’s back. Billy decided to take a neutral path and shrugged.
“I see,” said the doctor, and started to probe the nose. Billy cried out in pain.
“This is really going to hurt. I’m going to give you a shot for pain.”
Billy hated shots but he knew he needed one now.
“OK,” he said. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure. And while the medicine is taking effect, your mother and I are going to have a talk in my office.” The doctor said the last sentence like he was a high school principal taking an unruly freshman into his office. After he administered the shot, he opened the door and held it for his mother. Her head was down and her hands were folded in front of her.
“Try to relax, Billy. Your mother and I will be back in about 20 minutes.”
Billy tried to lie down but his nose hurt too much. So he closed his eyes and tried to find a special place. He imagined cowboys had roped his father and were dragging him through the brush while they shot their six-shooters in the air and yelled cool cowboy yahoos. But the image faded as the thought of Dr. Malik helping him took precedence. He heard slightly raised voices coming from the doctor’s office and knew his mother and Dr. Malik were having ‘a discussion.’ Grown ups always call arguments discussions. His parents had them. They would always end up the same way - his mother would say that she wanted to discuss this in private and they would both go to the bedroom. After a while, his father would open the door humming “Onward Christian Soldiers” and his mother would be at her dresser mirror putting on fresh lipstick. When this happened, his mother always got her way.
Billy heard the words ‘victim’ and ‘prison’ coming from the doctor’s office and knew they were talking about his father going to prison. What a wonderful thing that would be: his big idiot father in prison dressed in gray and white striped pajamas and dragging around a big cannonball attached to his leg. He pictured his father with other big idiot men named “Spike” and “Lefty” with flattened noses and scars on their cheeks. He pictured his father strapped in the electric chair waiting to get the “juice,” hoping for a pardon from the Governor but, deep down inside his black heart, knowing none was coming. He saw his father begging his forgiveness before he “rode the lightning,” and Billy standing there with his mother and his new hero, Dr. Malik. Then he pictured playing catch in the front yard with the brand new baseball mitt Dr. Malik had given him, and his beautiful, sweet mother stepping out on the front porch and telling them dinner was ready while wiping her hands on her blue apron. Not white, never again white. He imagined them all sitting down to a wonderful meatloaf dinner, his favorite, and also the favorite of his new father. Dr. Malik was a great man; Meatloaf had to be his favorite meal.
He imagined the three of them driving through Nevada to meet big good-hearted Indians where his new father would exchange ancient medical secrets with wise old medicine men in furry hats with buffalo horns and then smoke a peace pipe. His mother should be willing to leave his big idiot father. Surely doctors made more money than his father. Billy thought Dr. Malik liked his mother; all men liked his mother, and his mother probably liked him. He saw them getting married in front of an Indian medicine lodge with totem poles and surrounded by happy, good-hearted red people in beautiful, soft buckskins, braided black hair and friendly smiles and strong hands that knew no evil holding the reins to a small pinto named “Doc.”
By the time the medication took full effect, the door opened and his mother came into the room. She appeared worried and only briefly looked at Billy. Her arms were folded before her and her shoulders were hunched forward so that her breasts seemed caught
