Crime and Punishment. Heâd spent most of the previous evening reading it. It wasnât for any of his courses, which was probably why he was enjoying it. He should have studied chemistry because he was in danger of flunking. God, what would Charles say if he did! There had already been a huge blowup when Chuck had not been able to get into Charlesâs alma mater, Harvard. Now if he flunked chemistry . . . Chemistry had been Charlesâs major.
âI donât want to be a goddamn doctor anyway,â Chuck snapped, as he stood up and pulled on dirty Leviâs. He was proud of the fact that theyâd never been washed. In the bathroom he decided not to shave. He thought maybe heâd grow a beard.
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Clad in a terrycloth lava-lava, which, unfortunately, emphasized the fifteen pounds heâd gained in the last ten years, Charles lathered his chin. He was trying to sort through the myriad facts associated with his current research project. The immunology of living forms involved a complexity which never failed to amaze and exhilarate him, especially now that he thought he was coming very close to some real answers about cancer. Charles had been excited before and wrong before. He knew that. But now his ideas were based on years ofpainstaking experimentation and supported by easily reproducible facts.
Charles began to chart the schedule for the day. He wanted to start work with the new HR7 strain of mice that carried hereditary mammary cancer. He hoped to make the animals âallergicâ to their own tumors, a goal which Charles felt was coming closer and closer.
Cathryn opened the door and pushed past him. Pulling her gown over her head, she slipped into the shower. The water and steam billowed the shower curtain. After a moment she pulled back the curtain and called to Charles.
âI think Iâve got to take Michelle to see a real doctor,â she said before disappearing back behind the curtain.
Charles paused in his shaving, trying not to be annoyed by her sarcastic reference to a ârealâ doctor. It was a sensitive issue between them.
âI really thought that marrying a doctor would at least guarantee good medical attention for my family,â shouted Cathryn over the din of the shower. âWas I wrong!â
Charles busied himself, examining his half-shaved face, noticing in the process that his eyelids were a little puffy. He was trying to avoid a fight. The fact that the familyâs âmedical problemsâ spontaneously solved themselves within twenty-four hours was lost on Cathryn. Her newly awakened mother instincts demanded specialists for every sniffle, ache, or bout of diarrhea.
âMichelle still feeling lousy?â asked Charles. It was better to talk about specifics.
âI shouldnât have to tell you. The childâs been feeling sick for some time.â
With exasperation, Charles reached out and pulled back the edge of the shower curtain. âCathryn, Iâm a cancer researcher, not a pediatrician.â
âOh, excuse me,â said Cathryn, lifting her face to the water. âI thought you were a doctor.â
âIâm not going to let you bait me into an argument,â said Charles testily. âThe flu has been going around. Michelle hasa touch of it. People feel lousy for a week and then itâs over.â
Pulling her head from beneath the shower, Cathryn looked directly at Charles. âThe point is, sheâs been feeling lousy for four weeks.â
âFour weeks?â he asked. Time had a way of dissolving in the face of his work.
âFour weeks,â repeated Cathryn. âI donât think Iâm panicking at the first sign of a cold. I think Iâd better take Michelle into Pediatric Hospital and see Dr. Wiley. Besides, I can visit the Schonhauser boy.â
âAll right, Iâll take a look at Michelle,â agreed Charles, turning back to the sink. Four weeks was a long