Bloodbrothers (12 page)

In 1969 he graduated medical school. He also received his black belt in karate. He did two years' internship at Harlem ‹ Hospital, one year on the emergency ward and one year in the children's ward.

After graduation he had his tattoo removed by a plastic surgeon and changed his name to Harris. In 1971 he became a resident at Jacobi on the children's ward. His ultimate goal was to become a child psychiatrist. His special interest was the battered child syndrome. In all his years at Harlem Hospital and at Jacobi, he had seen maybe three or four kids more terrified than Albert De Coco.

On Thursday, when Doctor Harris looked in on Albert he was watching cartoons on a portable TV and sipping apricot juice through a straw. The inside of his elbow was blotched yellow-brown from the two days of intravenous feeding.

"Hiya, Albert." Albert smiled but didn't say anything. The doctor sat down on the bed. "How we feeling tonight?"

"O.K."

"You mind if I turn off the TV for a few minutes?" He reached over and shut it off. "I have some good news, kiddo, tomorrow you're going home!"

Albert's face tightened. A fleeting look of pure terror. "Can I take these comics?" he asked, motioning to a stack of
Superman
s a volunteer aide had given him.

"I don't see why not." Harris smiled. He felt troubled by Albert's reaction. "You still don't remember what happened Monday?"

Albert stared at him blankly, tucking his blanket closer around his body.

"Did you have any bad dreams last night?"

"Uh-uh." Albert looked over the doctor's shoulder. From Albert's dreams, Harris knew whatever had happened that day involved Marie. He didn't buy the bullshit about Albert waking up screaming. He watched Albert's response to his mother when she visited him. That cowering expression gave him the chills. He was sure that bitch did something and he was sure Albert was lying when he denied remembering what happened. He knew all the crap about the cyclical nature of brutality and you had to have been brutalized as a kid to be brutal as an adult and all that, but the buck had to stop somewhere and he also knew a stone psychopath when he saw one, and that was Marie. When he discussed Albert with her, he knew she was lying through her teeth, but he had to be nice, he couldn't scare her or corner her because that kid's only hope, short of leaving home, was analysis with a good child psychologist, and he knew from experience if parents felt too threatened by what the therapy might reveal, they would never grant permission. He didn't want to send Albert home, and he knew Albert didn't want to go, but there was no medical or legal excuse to keep him. He checked about keeping Albert for treatment of his anorexia, but it wasn't severe enough. Besides, how much longer could they keep him, even for that? Eventually, Albert would have to go home. So instead Harris had to smile, eat Marie's shit and hope she would give permission for Albert to sign in at the psychiatric clinic as an outpatient. The father was no help—it was clear he didn't give a shit either way. He would agree to whatever his wife decided. It was too bad that the older son had no say. That kid was the only thing keeping Albert alive.

Albert stared at the brown rubber of the doctor's stethoscope. Once Doctor Harris let him use it. He listened to his own heart, then the doctor put the metal piece on
his
chest and Albert listened to Doctor Harris' heart. It beat much slower and louder, and it scared him. He thought about going home. He liked the hospital except for the needles. He could watch TV all day and play sick. The nurses were pretty and nobody yelled at him to eat. He liked Doctor Harris except when Doctor Harris looked worried. He was afraid that meant Doctor Harris was getting angry because Albert didn't eat all his food. Doctor Harris had a beard. Stony had a beard once, but Daddy made him shave it off. Doctor Harris was fat too. Not as fat as Uncle Chubby, but fatter than Daddy. He didn't want to go home. He wanted to stay in bed here and watch cartoons and read
Superman
and have Stony visit him with presents every day and play checkers with the ladies in striped dresses.

Harris had been hung up on that dream Albert told him three days ago in which the kid's teacher made him drink a glass of milk which turned to blood. Albert had said the dream was recurrent. There was something in that, some connection to what must have happened on Monday, but he couldn't piece it together without more information. Albert couldn't remember any of the events on any of the days preceding any of the nightmares. Or so he said. Jerry Rosenberg was coming back from vacation next week. He would love to have Jerry talk to Albert. But Albert would be gone by then. Maybe Jerry could see him as a clinic patient.

Harris smiled at Albert, tousled his hair and said he'd be back later.

"Doctor Harris?" Harris wheeled around. "Could you please turn on the TV?"

***

"No. Uh-uh. No way, no day." Marie had been shaking her head in the negative since Doctor Harris started talking.

"Will you
please
explain to me why not?" Doctor Harris was trying to control himself, but he held his Bic pen like a dagger, shaking it in front of her face.

Marie regarded him through half-closed eyes. "O.K., O.K., you wanna know why not?" She puffed on a cigarette as she talked.

"Last year, when Albert was in second grade, his teacher thought he should see a psychiatrist, the school had one." She blew a cloud of smoke around them both in the hospital corridor. "She, Mrs. Becker"—she sneered—"called me in one day at lunchtime to tell me. She said Albert was too nervous, didn't get on with the other kids, was starting to stutter, the whole thing, whatever, she said that the shrink the school had maybe it would be a good idea to talk ... you know. I said, 'Maybe, but ah, don't you think the other kids would tease Albert? You know how vicious kids can get.' " She looked to Harris for agreement. None was forthcoming. "Anyways, she said, 'Oh no, oh no, Mrs. De Coco. I promise you nobody will know about it but me, you, Doctor Huzinga and Albert' ... Hu
zinga
yet. I had no reason to doubt her word, so I said O.K. I mean it wasn't like he was getting
shock
treatment." She raised her eyebrows at Doctor Harris as she took a long drag from her cigarette. "Two days later, he comes home from school laughing, laughing, laughing. 'O.K., what's so funny?' 'I went to the
nut
doctor today, Mommy.'" Marie glared at Harris. Harris frowned. "I said,
'What?'
He said Mrs. Becker told him, 'I was excused from math because Doctor Huzinga wanted to talk to me, and William Temple heard her and told everybody that I was gonna see the
nut
doctor and the whole class was saying I was gonna see the
nut
doctor, but that's O.K. because it's funny an' I don't care anyway,' an' then that poor kid bursts into tears. That baby was so humiliated. I felt my heart break into a million pieces."

Doctor Harris stood with his arms folded across his chest. Marie dropped her cigarette on the floor and snuffed it with her heel. She looked at him, smoke still furling from her nostrils. She spoke through clenched teeth, her lips drawn back so Harris could see her gums and discolored teeth. "The next day I just marched into that class with Albert and dressed down that bitch
so
bad in front of her whole class that it's gonna be
years
before she even thinks of sending another kid to Doctor Who-zing-a."

"Mrs. De Coco." Harris sighed. "That was a regret—"

"Oh, cut the shit with me. Doctor Harris." Her voice was so loud people in the hall turned to look. "You wanna know what's regrettable? You wanna know what's
really
sick? An eight-year-old normal kid seein' a shrink." Marie stalked down the corridor, her clicking heels sounding like the opening of a long row of switchblades.

Tommy had taken Albert to the car while Marie stayed behind to talk to Doctor Harris. They sat silently in the front seat. About every six months Tommy would take a good long look at Albert, and it would hit him like a long-forgotten dream, jolting in its sudden remembrance, that this kid was his. Tommy studied Albert out of the corner of his eye. He had put on a couple of pounds while he was in the hospital, but he still looked like something from a UNICEF poster.

"How's it goin'?" Tommy ran his hand around the rim of the steering wheel and forced a smile. He wished Marie would hurry the fuck up. Of all the goddamn days for Stony to have a dentist appointment.

"What?" Albert smiled, tickled that Tommy said anything to him.

"I'm kinda tired, you wanna drive home?" Tommy affected a yawn.

"Daddy," Albert giggled. "I can't drive." His voice half-whine, half-delight.

"No sweat, c'mere." Tommy lifted Albert onto his lap. He was as light as a shopping bag filled with dry leaves. Tommy realized that Albert had never sat on his lap. For some reason this thought made him dizzy. He reached around Albert and started the engine. Albert squealed. Scared shit and beside himself with excitement. Keeping the car in park, Tommy placed Albert's hands on the wheel. "Move 'em out!"

Albert pulled back his hands as if the steering wheel were red hot. He twisted around in Tommy's lap, throwing his arms around his father's neck. "Daddy, I'm scared!"

Tommy strained slightly against the embrace. Didn't know what to do with his hands. Patted his kid halfheartedly. Albert held on for dear life. Giggling and tipsy with neediness. Finally, Tommy gently disengaged himself and lifted Albert back to the passenger's side. "Hey, how ya gonna be a truck driver if ya get scared so easy?"

Albert leaned toward Tommy like a sex-starved date. He couldn't think of anything to say. Just quivered in his seat like a 100-yard dasher at the starting block.

"Hey!" Tommy smiled. "Let's go get a hamburger!"

"Yeah!" Albert almost yelled. "But what about Mommy?"

Tommy winked conspiratorially. "This is for men only."

Albert clapped his hands. He felt himself starting to tear, but he didn't understand why. He was happy.

"Move 'em out!" Tommy chuckled as he briefly thought about spending more time with his younger son. Just as he was about to pull out of the space, he noticed Marie across the street impatiently waiting for traffic to clear. Albert saw her too. He stopped tearing, feeling cool water pouring inside, then in a last-ditch blurt, "Hurry!"

Tommy was startled. "Nah, we'll do it some other time." Albert started to whine, but his heart wasn't in it. As Marie made her way to the car, Albert moved closer to his father to give her room, then scrambled over the seat into the rear.

Marie cursed as she slid in and slammed the door. "Sonofabitch!" she fumed. "You know what that bastard doctor wanted to do?" She plunged her hand into her pocketbook for a cigarette. "You know what that sick freak wanted to do?" Tommy pulled out into traffic. "He wanted to put the kid in a psycho ward! Yeah! Howdya like that?" She tossed the match out the window, then twisted around to face her son. "Albert, how would you like to be in a nut house?"

"What nut house? What are you talkin' about?" Tommy demanded.

"Can Stony and Daddy come with me?"

She stared at Albert incredulously. "Maybe he's right. Maybe you
should
go!"

Albert had no idea what a nut house was, but if it was like Jacobi he might not mind. He played with a strip of torn vinyl on the upholstery.

"What he say, Marie?"

"Genius Jew doctor said Albert needs a shrink!"

"He said that?"

"Yeah, he said that!" Marie barked. The smell of Marie's perfume was putting Albert to sleep. For an instant he thought he saw big lipstick lips on the front window of the car. He blinked and they disappeared.

"He said Albert gotta go to a nut house?" Tommy honked up the rear of a beat-up Mustang. The driver gave him the finger. Tommy thrust his head out the window. "I'll shove that fuckin' finger up yer ass!" The driver calmly checked out Tommy in his rearview mirror and turned off the street. "What goddamn nut house?"

"How the hell do I know?" Marie yelled. "He said the kid needs a shrink. How the hell do I know what nut house?" She waved her cigarette hand around the car. Albert lay down in the back. He saw the lips again on the upholstered roof. Tommy cursed incoherently. Ran a red light.

"What he say to you, Marie, word for word!" He didn't know whom he was pissed at.

"I don't remember word for word. Whatta you drivin'
me
crazy for?" She tossed her cigarette out the window, glaring at her husband. "It don't make any difference anyhow. I'm not goin' back to that goddamn hospital. Buncha animals run that place." She rested her arm behind Tommy's head.

"Mommy?" Albert sat up.

Marie turned.

"Are you mad at me?" He ran his thin fingers over Marie's hand. Marie sighed, patted his hand.

"No, baby."

"Mommy, when I get home, I'm goin' to clean up my room. Stony's side too. And I'm not goin' to watch cartoons for forty-six days."

"Albert, when you were in bed, what did Doctor Harris talk to you about?"

"He gave me forty-nine comic books. All
Superman
s except for one Jimmy Olsen. I got them in my bag in the trunk." Albert picked on the edge of his seat. "Do you want to read some when we get home, Mommy?"

"Did he say anything to you? Did he ask you any questions?"

"He asked me to tell him about Superman."

"What?"

"I told him I got Superman pajamas at home, but I don't got a cape and I told him I had a dream that I was Jimmy Olsen and Superman saved me from a monster in the water, and then he asked me what the monster looked like, but I didn't remember."

Marie frowned. "Albert, I want to ask you something and I want you to answer me honestly. I promise I won't get mad. When you were in bed, did Doctor Harris ever play with your pee-pee?"

"What the hell kinda question is that?" Tommy yelled. Marie ignored him.

"Did he ever touch your pee-pee?"

Albert looked puzzled, then laughed in a high-pitched giggle, covering his mouth. "Ooh, Mommy, you said a bad word."

"Answer me, Albert." Marie fought down the impulse to slap him.