A Jest of God - Margaret Laurence [78]
“Well,” Doctor Raven is saying in his comfortable and comforting voice, “at least we know there’s no question of one thing, anyway, with a sensible girl like yourself. That at least can be ruled out, eh? Can’t say the same for them all, I’m afraid.”
I can’t believe he’s saying it, and yet it’s only too easy to believe. No words for my anger could ever be foul or wounding enough, against him, for what he’s saying. I could slash gouges out of his seemly face with my nails. I could hurl at him a voice as berserk as any car crash.
I sit on the chair opposite his desk and I do not say anything. I see now that when he discovers what it is, with me, he won’t be able to stop himself expressing the same feelings as my mother will. Subdued, maybe, but the same. What right has he? He’s my doctor, not my father or judge. The hell with him. And yet I’m inheld so tightly now that I don’t see how I can consent to any examination.
“Don’t worry,” Doctor Raven says. “I know what you’re worried about.”
I strain to meet his eyes. “You do?”
“Of course. Look, Rachel, you’re an intelligent woman. I can say this to you. Half the people who come into my office are worried about a malignancy, and with most of them it’s been absolutely unnecessary, all that worry. This could be due to any number of causes. But for heaven’s sake don’t jump to the worst possible conclusion. Wait until we’ve seen. I may as well examine you internally now.”
He calls the nurse. There must always be a nurse present, even though he’s pressing seventy. Where one or two are gathered together. I don’t know what I’m doing. Will he be careful enough? If a person expects to find something lifeless, he wouldn’t worry, would he, whether he was careful or not? What if he damages the head? Would it be formed enough, yet, to be hurt? Would it be formed enough for him even to feel it? I have to tell him. I must. I have to warn him.
“Doctor Raven –”
“Yes?”
“Look, before you examine me, I wanted to say –”
“It’s all right, Rachel. What is it? Don’t be nervous, my dear. This is nothing.”
“I just wanted to say –”
A hesitance. A silence.
“What is it, Rachel?” he asks gently.
“Just be careful, won’t you?”
“Certainly, certainly. You’ve had an internal before, Rachel, I’m positive. Haven’t you? Yes, of course you have. It was when you had a little trouble with your periods a few years back. No need to be tense, now. This won’t hurt.”
“I don’t mind – it isn’t that.”
“Just relax, now,” he says. “Just relax.”
Relax, Rachel. And I said I’m sorry. Nick – listen. Even if I couldn’t talk about any of this, even if I couldn’t tell you, if I could just be beside you, with your arm across my breasts, through a night. Then I would be all right. Then I would be able to do anything that was necessary.
This coldness pierces me more than any physician could. The intense and unearth-like coldness of this metal table I’m lying on, like the laying-out table in the deodorized anteroom to the chapel where the jazz hymn plays in the blue light.
I’m frightened. And now I think for the first time that maybe it will kill me after all, this child. Is that what I am waiting for? Is that what is waiting for me?
“Mm, all right,” Doctor Raven is murmuring. “You can get down now, Rachel. There’s certainly something there. Now, you’re not to get worried. My guess is that it’s a small tumour, just inside the uterus.”
I cannot speak for a while, and then, gradually, I can.
“Are you sure? Are you sure that’s what is there?”
“Certainly, I felt it.”
“No – I mean –”
“Yes, there’s definitely a tumour of some sort there. What we don’t know yet is what sort. I’m being frank with you, Rachel, because I know you can’t stand me to be otherwise, and I know you can take it. There’s every chance that it’ll turn out to be benign. You’ll have to go into hospital in the city – you need a specialist. I’ll arrange it, and let you know when.”
“Are you