Galore - Michael Crummey [112]
—Didn’t see a living creature out there, he said.
She sat him to a stew of cods’ heads and potatoes and poured him a mug of tea. She asked no questions until he was done his meal and she’d cleared away the dishes, sitting across from him with her hands folded on the tabletop like she was awaiting some verdict. —I went to see Judah this morning, he said.
—So I’m told.
He said, I’ve been charged with making an assessment of your husband’s mental state, Mrs. Devine. Mary Tryphena nodded and Newman guessed there wasn’t a soul on the shore who hadn’t heard this news by now. —Do you have any idea why he’s covering the walls like that? With those scripture verses?
—I didn’t even know the man had his letters, she said. There was a bitterness in her voice that surprised Newman. —Do you know the Bible well, Doctor?
—Enough to dislike it.
—I suppose I’m not as well versed in the Good Book, she said, being as I can’t read. But I’ve heard it most the way through a time or two. Do you know Proverbs?
—I couldn’t quote you.
—An open rebuke, she said, is better than a secret love. Now tell me, Doctor, why would a man keep such a thing from a woman?
He opened his mouth to defend himself but couldn’t manage a word. He felt he’d been pulled wrong-side out like a wet sweater, that all his insides were in plain view.
Mary Tryphena said, It’s the only thing the world gives us, you know. The right to say yes or no to love.
A memory of stitching Bride together came to him, how Mary Tryphena hovered at his shoulder to watch. She spoke as if she knew something where Bride was concerned that he did not and it occurred to him she might carry enough influence to swing things in his favor. His career, the hospital, his credibility, every shred of personal integrity, all of it seemed a fair wager for that kind of help. He tried to think how it might be worded to not sound like a threat. —Mrs. Devine, he said, if I determine your husband is competent. Treason is a hanging offense, he said. —On the other hand if I make a finding of insanity.
—Judah is never going to leave that room he’s locked up in.
—That’s one possibility. But if you could do something to settle things, he said and he shifted in his chair. —With myself and Bride, he said. —I could perhaps arrange to have Judah placed in the hospital’s care.
Mary Tryphena nodded at him, not following. —Judah’s mind is set.
—I’m sorry?
—They could take the locks off tomorrow, she said, and he won’t be moved out of there.
Newman could barely hear her over the roar in his ears. —That makes no sense.
—And I suppose that makes your report easier to write, Doctor.
Mary Tryphena saw him to the door as he left, handing him his rifle from the corner where he’d laid it. He felt like a fool, like an absolute pig of a man. She said, I’ll have a word with Bride if you like.
—No, he said, turning back to her. —Under no circumstances, he said.
She shrugged. —You’re welcome any time, Doctor.
He was still trying to slow the conversation down in his head, to understand what had passed between them. Denial and silence were his only defense and they were useless to him now. He might as well have declared himself to Bride from the roof of the clinic while the entire harbor trooped past on their way to Sunday services. He went over the Tolt Road at a run, as if there was a chance the news of how he felt might reach the clinic before him. He came into the kitchen out of breath and wild-eyed, like someone chased over half the shore by Mr. Gallery. Bride turned from the stove, taking him in with a calm stare of appraisal. —You’ve gone and missed your supper, Doctor.
He raised his eyes to the ceiling to hide the emotion playing like a magic-lantern show behind them. He said,