The Anatomy of Deception - Lawrence Goldstone [13]
“Quite a story,” said Turk.
“Yes.”
“And so,” Turk continued, “you became a doctor to provide better treatment to strangers than your father had received. You are an admirable fellow.”
“Do you consider sarcasm obligatory?” Like the Professor, I was prepared to give Turk a certain latitude, but I would not be made the butt of offensive wit.
He sat back, looking hurt. “Not at all. I was being quite sincere. I think of you always as an admirable fellow.”
“And a prig.” But my irritation had passed. Turk had an uncanny facility to behave rudely without engendering lasting enmity.
“An admirable prig then.”
I shrugged. “As you wish. What about you?”
Turk’s smile vanished. “Me? Carroll, there is no me. I am a creation.”
“A creation?”
“Yes. Just that.” Turk’s eyes went cold. “I am a creation of the base instincts of two people I never knew, and of the guilt and cruelty of others.”
“I’m sorry for asking,” I said. “It must be painful to speak about.”
“Painful? Not painful at all,” Turk replied casually, regaining his demeanor as if the previous moment had not occurred. “Merely facts. Someone like Osler might consider it scientific truth. But it turned out not to be truth, because, in the end, I’ve become a creation only of myself.”
I thought of my reading, my practiced speech and dress, my deportment … were we not all creations of ourselves? “I suppose that’s the best way to be,” I agreed.
“The only way.” He drained his glass and signaled for another. “And my creation fully intends to enjoy his life in wealth and comfort.”
“Wealth and comfort have their place, certainly,” I said. “But so does excellence. You could be a fine doctor.”
“Are you implying that I am not a fine doctor now?”
“Not at all. You are obviously highly intelligent with excellent medical instincts….”
“Better than yours?”
“I don’t know.” I considered the question. “Perhaps. You certainly have many qualities that I admire.”
“Thank you.”
“But I have something that you don’t seem to,” I persisted.
“And what might that be?”
“A love of the profession … a desire to heal. Perhaps that is what makes me such a prig in your eyes. We can do things in medicine today that would merely have been dreams even fifty years ago. I want to take the best advantage possible of every innovation, master every new technique.”
“Bravo,” Turk replied. “A fine speech worthy of an admirable fellow. So, what you are saying, Carroll, is that being a doctor is important. For special people in society. A higher calling. With a higher morality.”
“I feel privileged to be a physician, not superior. Morality has little to do with it.”
“In that I agree. Osler is your model, I presume.”
“One could do far worse. Dr. Osler is committed to medicine and the good it can do.”
“For its own sake?”
“For the sake of his patients.”
“His patients?” Turk leaned back. His face had flushed from the beer. “You really think Osler doesn’t care about making money? Then why did he come here in the first place? Weren’t there enough patients in Canada?”
“He came for the opportunity,” I said heatedly. “It was an honor to be asked to come to Philadelphia.”
“A very lucrative honor,” he retorted. “And if he gets a more lucrative honor somewhere else, he’ll go there.”
“No, Turk. You’re wrong.”
“Anything you say.”
I decided to change the subject, to try to determine whether Turk’s invitation had anything to do with his odd behavior in the Dead House, but I was clumsy in execution. “No, I apologize,” I said. “Perhaps you’re correct. Who can know the mind of another? To that very point, I certainly hadn’t expected Dr. Osler to send us all home so early this afternoon. I wonder why he did that.”
Turk shrugged, but our eyes met and for