Turn of Mind - Alice LaPlante [80]
The young man hits her playfully on the arm.
Okay, okay, I shouldn’t say that. It’s just that you look like you’ve been out in the world more.
The young man hits her again.
Oh, did I say something else stupid?
No, you say. The words come out smoothly. You are saying what you mean to say. Relief. The path between your brain and your tongue is open.
And, yes, I am most definitely not a housewife, you tell her.
You realize your voice sounds contemptuous. James always warns you about this. You wrap another length of pasta around your fork. You take another bite. You have not been this hungry in a long time. There were only five women in my program, you explain.
What type of program was that? No, let me guess. The young man is enthusiastic. I’m good at this. You’ll see. My guess is . . . English literature. Medieval poetry.
The girl rolls her eyes. How sexist can you be? A woman, she must be an English major, must be poetry.
Well, what would you guess, Einstein?
The man behind the bar breaks in. Given the way she throws back her drink, I’d say something a little tougher. Engineering. You built bridges, right?
No, no. You are laughing. It has been so long since you have enjoyed yourself so much. These fresh young faces, their ease, no trepidation around you. You realize, suddenly, that you have been frightening people. That thing you see in their eyes, it is fear. But what have they to fear from you?
What’s your guess, Annette? The young woman pretends to think hard. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say lawyer, she says. I bet you defend the poor and defenseless of the world against unfair prosecution.
No, no, you say. Never a lawyer. Words have never been my forte. That’s my husband.
See? I was close!
Well, I wouldn’t exactly call him a friend of the underprivileged, you say. The thought makes you smile.
Then what would you call him? asks the girl.
The last resort of the rich and powerful. And he’s very good at what he does. He always gets them off. He’s worth every one of the considerable pennies he charges.
Something closes down in the girl’s face. And you? she asks.
You realize that you have erred. That you have forgotten the hypersensitivity of the young. Fiona and Mark were inured to it early. The cynical joking about it around the dinner table. During Mark’s teenage years, he insisted on opening up every meal with a particularly egregious lawyer joke. He was hoping to get to James, but that wasn’t the way. He’d bring his own to the table.
How can you tell the difference between a dead skunk and a dead attorney on the road? Then, after a pause, he’d triumphantly bring out the punch line: The vultures aren’t gagging over the skunk.
The girl is still waiting for your answer.
I’m a doctor, you tell her. An orthopedic surgeon.
That’s bones, right? the young man asks.
Yes. It’s more than just the bones. It’s everything to do with injuries, degenerative diseases, birth defects. I specialize in hands.
Annette does hands, too.
The girl laughs. He means I read palms. I took a Learning Annex class in psychic skills. Most of us were there as postmodern cynics. But I learned some things.
Chiromancy, you say. You’d be surprised how many believers there are. There’s been a considerable amount of research into palm creases and fingerprint whorl variations published in medical journals.
Really? The girl leans forward. She turns slightly and it’s her turn to hit the young man. See? I told you! She turns back to you. Like what?
For a long time scientists have been interested in exploring whether phenotypic markers can diagnose genetic disorders.
Can you say that in English?
Certainly. Doctors have always been interested in whether they can use the lines in your hands and the length of your fingers and even your fingerprints as a way of diagnosing illness.
Like what kind of illnesses?
Mostly genetic.