Continuing with sharing short stories. This story is one
that could only have written in 1968 since much has changed. The story was
triggered by an article I read in one of my husband’s medical journals. The
story also is one that sounds like the synopsis for a story rather than a
story. The amount of passive writing surprised me when I re-typed the words.
The urge to re-write became strong but I refrained.
No “Good Samaritan” I
Dr.
Thomas Brand held the steering wheel so tightly the knuckles of his hands were
white. As he drove along, he stared at the road without seeing it. Why had he
decided to go to that meeting? He had known what Judge Sloan was going to talk
about. It would have been better if he had stayed at home. The meeting had
brought back bitter memories.
It
was a rainy night in early November and the moon remained hidden. The blacktop
glistened in the beams from the car’s headlights. The road twisted and turned
past scattered farm houses, most of them were dark but I few still had porch
lights visible.
Dr.
Brand let out a deep sign. Judge Sloan had spoken of the physician’s
responsibility when stopping to give aid at the scene of an accident. He felt
that a doctor was obligated to stop. Dr. Brand had felt a wave of resentment
pass over him. During the discussion that had followed, he had given his views.
Of
course, his views were bitter but what else could they expect? If any of his
fellow doctors had agreed with him, they hadn’t spoken out. Many had disagreed
with him but they didn’t know what it was like to have given up something for
which you had worked so hard. He didn’t know any of them who had to sit in an
empty office waiting for patients who didn’t come or watching people’s
embarrassment when they met him on the street. Not many of them knew what it
was like to leave your home and friends, not because you wanted to but because
you were forced to.
They
spoke from their ideals and their dreams. They didn’t know. They’d never had to
be “Good Samaritan.”
Dr.
Brand knew and he knew he was one doctor who would never again play that role.
He would close his eyes to suffering and see patients by appointment only.
Those
idealistic doctors didn’t have that night vividly etched in their memories. He
would remember it as long as he lived.
After
his evening office hours, he had driven out to the Howard farm. Mr. Howard had
broken his leg and it had swollen. Now the cast seemed too tight.
* *
*
The
July night was hot and humid. Everyone was hoping for signs of rain. When Dr.
Brand had finished loosening Mr. Howard’s cast. He said, “If you have any more
trouble with the cast, let me know and I’ll make arrangements to put a new one
on.” As he spoke, he closed his medical bag and got up to leave.
There
was a loud crash outside. “Thunder?” asked Dr. Brand.
“I
hope so,” replied Mr. Howard. “It’s been a hot, dry summer. My crops are dying
in the fields and I can’t do a thing about them.”
They
were interrupted by the steady blare of a car horn. “There go those darn kids
again,” said Mr. Howard. “They come down this road almost every night blaring
that horn.”
As
Dr. Brand walked to his car, the horn’s blare continued, not fading a bit. A
nagging thought began to forming Dr. Brand’s mind and he stopped to peer into
the darkness.
The
Howard farm was bordered along the road edge by a brown stone wall. An elm grew
near the gate. As Dr. Brand peered into the darkness, he could make out the
shadowy outline of a car among the scattered stones. Someone in that car must
be honking for help, he thought.
Dr.
Brant turned and dashed back to the house. “Mrs. Howard, call Memorial and have
them send an ambulance right now. There’s a wreck at the end of your lane. Tell
them I’m here.”
He
drove down the lane as fast as he dared. When he reached the road, he slammed
on his brakes to avoid hitting a girl with red hair who lay in a grotesque heap
on the road. Wandering aimlessly was another girl. And the horn continued to
blare.
As
Dr. Brand stared at the wreck, he knew how a battle surgeon must feel when he
looked at the chaotic scenes of war. He controlled his panic and tried to
decide what to do first. While thinking, he pulled nervously at his right
earlobe. From beside him he grabbed his medical bag and hurried to where the
red-haired girl lay. He knelt beside her and felt for a pulse. He stood up
slowly. She was dead.
He
walked slowly over to the twisted wreckage of the car. What had once been a
bright, shiny convertible was now covered with a thick coat of dust and bits of
stone. The front end was smashed in.
Then
he saw the blonde boy wedged behind the steering wheel with his head and chest
lying across it. A sudden feeling of panic overcame Dr. Brand when he saw the
boy was Allen Randel, son of Circle’s leading lawyer and one of its most
influential citizens.
Allen
had played football for Circle
High School. He
outweighs me by at least thirty pounds, thought Dr. Brand. I’ll never be able to move him by myself.
I’ll have to wait until the ambulance arrives. He put his hands to his
ears. Oh, God, is there no way to stop that horn.
The
girl who was wandering in the road began to call out. “Watch out! Allen! Stop!”
Dr.
Brand left Allen’s side and half-carried her to the side of the road. Blood
oozed from scrapes and cuts on her hands and face. She cried hysterically.
Dr.
Brand searched through his bag and gave her a sedative. Then he dressed her wounds.
Some of them would have to be sutured when they got to the hospital. Her face
would scar, he thought. Gently, he helped her to his car.
At
the sight of her friend, the girl began to scream again. Dr. Brand covered as
much of the dead girl as he could with his jacket. He soothed the young girl
and then hurried to Allen again. Would this nightmare ever end?
He
checked his nausea and tried to figure a way to move Allen, even though he knew
it was impossible without help. I wish the ambulance would hurry, thought Dr.
Brand as he felt the boy’s pulse. The boy needs to get to a hospital. I can’t
do a thing for him here.
A
low, whimpering puppy-like sound drew his attention from Allen. He turned to
see a boy huddled against the broken stone wall, near the front of the car. The
boy held his hands to his face. He continued to whimper while Dr. Brand
examined him.
“Come
on, son. Stand up. I’m here to help you,” said Dr. Brand. The boy’s cries
continued as Dr. Brand led him to his car.
As
Dr. Brand hurried back to Allen, he heard the wail of an ambulance in the
distance. He breathed a sigh of relief.
When
the ambulance reached the scene, the driver and attendant helped Dr. Brand move
Allen into the ambulance and they went to take the red-haired girl. The
cessation of the horn’s blare made Dr. Brand almost as nervous as its steady
blare had.
“Horrible
accident,” said the attendant. “I wonder what they were trying to probe. Must
have been going very fast.”
Dr.
Brand finished checking the extent of Allen’s injuries and tossed his car keys
to the attendant. “There’s another couple in my car. The girl’s face and arms
are lacerated and the boy’s in shock. He has no evident injuries. I’d better go
in the ambulance. I’m not sure young Randel’s going to make it.” He placed a tourniquet
around the blond boy’s arm.
The
fifteen minute ride to the hospital seemed endless to Dr. Brand. Allen’s
condition grew progressively worse. Dr. Brand started an intravenous and
administered stimulants but nothing seemed to help.
Allen
died shortly after they reached the hospital before he could be taken to the
operating room. A feeling of helplessness engulfed Dr. Brand. How do you tell the
parents of an only child that he was dead? Slowly, he left the room and went to
find Allen’s parents.
He
saw the Randels in the waiting room. Mrs. Randel was leafing through a magazine.
She was an imposing woman who wore her gray hair in a chignon. Her sharp aristocratic
features suited the long mink coat and the jeweled hands.
Mr.
Randel stood in the doorway, talking to a nurse, gesticulating wildly. His
portly face was red and he ran his fingers through his balding blonde hair.
As
Dr. Brand approached, he heard Mr. Randel say, “I want to see my son. That was
an expensive car he wrecked and I want an explanation. I don’t care if the
doctor is with him. My wife and I were called away from an important party and
would like to return as soon as possible.”
“Mr.
Randel,” interrupted Dr. Brand. “I’ve just come from your son.”
“Can
I see him now?”
“I
would like to talk to you and yoru wife first.”
As
they entered the waiting room, Dr. Brand cleared his throat. He still didn’t know
how he was going to tell the Randels. He looked at them and began pulling at
his right earlobe.
“I’m
sorry… Allen just died. We did everything possible for him but we couldn’t;’
get him here in time. One girl was killed and another couple injured.”
Mr.
Randel sat down heavily. His face was ashen. Mrs. Randel looked at Dr. Brand
with cold blue eyes.
“How
did you let this happen?” she demanded. “You’re a doctor. Why did you let my
son die?”
Dr.
Brand motioned to the nurse. “Get Mrs. Randel a sedative, please.”
Mrs.
Randel’s voice rose to a high pitch. “I don’t want anything from you. You’re
responsible for Allen’s death. I know it.”
“I’m
sorry,” Dr. Brand said as he turned away. He didn’t want Mrs. Randel to see the
anger on his face. There were things he could have said, her son’s recklessness
had killed a girl and injured two others but Allen was dead and those things
were petty. His anger changed to pity as he walked to where his other two
patients were waiting.
When
the Randels sued him for malpractice, Dr. Brand was taken by surprise. Surely
by now, they must realize he had done everything he could for their son.
His
practice began to decline before the trial. Appointments were cancelled and
only a few new ones were made. He had known this would happen but he hadn’t
expected it.
Dr.
Brand won the suit and his heard was full of pity for the Randels. They looked
so old.
He
was stunned and then angered when his patients didn’t return. Wasn’t he the
same doctor he had been before the whole mess began? He knew he was but he wasn’t
being giving a chance to prove it. When he heard John Howard had gone to
another doctor to have his cast removed, he knew he would have to leave Circle.
The
decision was a hard one to make. He would have to throw away five years of hard
work that it had taken to build his practice. Si, he left and moved to Stonedge
to start over again.
* * *
A road sign
indicating a double curve ahead roused him from his bitter memories. He slowed
down and as he rounded the first curve, he gasped. A blue coupe had crashed
into a large oak tree. Nearby, a gray sedan was parked and two people stood
helplessly by the wreck.
Dr. Brand
continued around the bend. Why did this have to happen to him? Why God, why?
His questions echoed in his head as he pulled his car off the road. He left the
headlights on. A find misting of rain rapidly covered the windshield. Groping
shadows reached out from the trees as though they were pleading for help.
I’ve got to drive
on. I don’t want to be involved. He began pulling at his right earlobe. What
should I do?
He opened the door
of the car and stepped out. I can send those people to go call for an
ambulance. At least I can do that much. No one has to know I’m a doctor. His
hand unconsciously grasped the medical bag.
As he walked
through the chilling November drizzle, his thoughts raced. Why am I doing this?
Why did I pick up my bag? He controlled an impulse to return to the car and
drive away.
Je walked over to
the couple. “Would you call an ambulance? There’s a farm house down the road a
little way.” As an after thought, he added. “I’m Dr. Brand.”
The couple got
into their car and drove away. Dr. Brand knelt in the road beside the patient
and began to examine him.
The End
http://wwweclecticwriter.blogspot.com
http://www.bwlpublishing.ca/authors/lane-walters-janet-romance-fantasy-usa/
