Read Online Random Winds by Belva Plain - Free Book Online Page B

think I got it all out.”
    Martin knew he probably had, but no surgeon would ever say, “I know I have.”
    He was awestruck.
    A fine surgeon is an artist, thought Martin. All eyes areon him. He may be a simple, modest man like Albeniz or a bully like some others I’ve seen. But either way he is respected: he has a great gift. What I should wish is to be like Dr. Albeniz.
    What am I dreaming of?
    In such limited free time as he had, Martin observed Dr. Albeniz. He went to his laboratory and to his clinic. With curiosity and fascination he followed some cases through surgery and into ultimate rehabilitation—or else to postmortem. He asked questions, but not too many.
    Someone asked, “You going in for neurosurgery? That why you’ve been hanging around Albeniz?”
    Not very likely! Who could afford to go in for graduate work? Only very special people, types who could drift through Europe from clinic to clinic, spending a half year here and a half year there with the great authorities of Germany or England, steeping themselves, acquiring knowledge and finally, a name. For that sort of thing you needed independent means. Certainly you needed time. Probably too you needed a mentor to foster and advise.
    He was about to go off duty one afternoon when he was summoned to Dr. Albeniz’s laboratory. Perplexed by the summons, he went at once. The doctor was hanging up his lab coat.
    “I was wondering whether you like Italian food. There’s a place just a few blocks down Third Avenue.”
    “I’ve never had any,” Martin said.
    “Good! It’ll be a new experience, and everybody likes Italian food, even Spaniards like myself.”
    Outside on the windy street Albeniz explained, “In case you’re wondering about this occasion, it’s just because I like to talk to the rising medical generation now and then.”
    “It’s very good of you, sir.” Martin hoped he didn’t appear as awkward as he felt.
    When they were seated with a clean, darned cloth and a basket of bread between them, Albeniz asked, “Would you like me to order for you?”
    “Please do.”
    “All right then. Clams oreganata to begin. Pasta, ofcourse. Salad. Do you like veal? Veal pizzaiola, then. Isn’t it ridiculous to eat like this without wine? A fine, dry wine with the sunshine in it? You Americans are such Puritans with your Prohibition.” He sighed, rubbing his hands to warm them and was silent a moment. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
    “You know, I’ve been watching you watch me these last months. You find my work interesting, don’t you?”
    “Yes, I—” Martin began, but Albeniz interrupted him.
    “Tell me why you wanted to be a doctor.”
    Martin said slowly, “It always seemed, as far back as I can remember, the most exciting thing I could imagine.”
    “Yes?”
    “And I was curious. It’s like solving puzzles. You want to go to the next one.” He stopped, feeling the inadequacy of his explanation.
    But the other man smiled. “I’m glad you didn’t say to help humanity,’ or ‘because I love people.’ Some such rubbish. I hear young men say that and I don’t believe them.”
    Martin was silent.
    “Of course you rejoice when you’ve done something good for another human being! And of course you feel pity when things go wrong! But if you feel too much pity, you break your heart. Or you go crazy.” He waved an admonishing finger. “You have to be disciplined, controlled and expert, a puzzle-solver, as you just said. Then, when the mind is beautifully clear and very cool, then you can really do some good. Sometimes. You understand me?”
    “I think so.”
    The clams were brought. Albeniz took a mouthful, then laid the fork down. “We know so little. Take my field. It’s only for the last thirty years or so that we’ve dared to go very far into the brain. Neurosurgery is a new discipline and most of what we know we’ve learned since the war.” He paused, picked up the fork and put it down