The Mark of Merlin
- Автор: Маккефри Энн
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «The Mark of Merlin». Краткое содержание книги:
Dr. Karsh straightened, having bent double to work, interminably it seemed to me, on his patient. The shadows of the kerosene lamps jumped around as his upward ascent caused a draft. The doctor took two long strides to the sink and stripped off the gloves. He had to stand sideways as he did not fit under the canopy across the sink. As I hurriedly got him a towel, still speechless, I realized I came only to his belt. I hastily backed away. Way up, he smiled down at me as he handed back the towel. Then he turned and scooped Merlin up again, depositing him on his quilts, giving the dog a stern signal to stay. Merlin licked his chops, whined very softly, rolled to his good side, sighed, and fell asleep.
Dr. Karsh stood staring down at his patient and, pivoting in place, favored us with his full attention.
“Evans was right to say I should see Merlin myself. I do not mean to imply,” he hastily assured me in his mellifluous way, “that the dog is in any danger. But, my dear, I have been searching for such an animal no, no not to deprive you of his company, but as fit mate for a lovely young thing of my own. I had despaired of ever matching her size and color, not to mention her temperament for she is, above all, amiable and affectionate. Evans knew at a glance that Merlin was the dog to husband her. I am grateful to him.”
“I’d be willing, very willing, Dr. Karsh,” I answered breathlessly. My voice, which I had always considered rather light and childish in tone, sounded unexpectedly harsh in contrast to his. “I’d be delighted. I never thought you’d actually come so far on such a miserable day.”
“My dear, I serve the animal needs of this community and my patients rarely can come to me. They are not your pampered bench pets in shows. They are working beasts and when they are ill, they need me,” he said simply. He started to leave. “My word, I am so forgetful. The lieutenant who called to add an unnecessary but concerned plea that I attend brave Merlin asked me to tell you he will be back tomorrow. He said to say that something unusual has developed that he must check out. I trust his cryptic message reassures you. His tone was confident. I know I remembered his phrasing right, once I remembered I was to tell you something.”
“Yes, yes, thank you,” I assured him, bemused.
He started to bend out of the room.
“Keep him as quiet as you can. And major, for his comfort, carry him outside soon. By morning, he’ll be no worse for wear.”
And he was leaving. The major and I started after him but, with his long strides, he was out the front door before we could cross the dining room. “He’ll know when he’s well enough to be active. Feed him what he wants. I’ll look in later this week, never fear, to feast my eyes again on a fine, fine dog.”
He said these last words as he telescoped back into his car. Both the major and I stood, half dazed on the front step, oblivious to the cold, as he drove off slowly, in second gear, up the snowy road.
“He’s unbelievable,” I muttered. It was the sight of my breath in the cold that broke the spell. I moved out of the doorway and the major closed it, hurrying me by the arm back into the kitchen.
“I’d heard about him but I didn’t believe it until now,” the major said, slowly shaking his head.
“Merlin just let him sew him up,” I exclaimed.
“I think I would, too,” the major admitted with a bemused chuckle.
“I can’t get over Merlin just letting him. The man’s a genius,” I said dazedly, and went to check the dinner in the oven. “Did you notice his car?”
“What about it?”
“It was top-heavy.”
“It’d have to be for that beanpole.”
“How can you say that?”
“Don’t get your back up. Stands to reason he wouldn’t fit in a regular car.”
“He doesn’t fit, period. He’s unique. You said you’d heard about him?”
The major had poured himself a drink, offering me one which I declined. He settled himself at the table while I set our places.
“He’s one of the local legends.”
“He hasn’t got a local accent.”
“Educated. I don’t have one either and I’ve lived around here all my life.”
I said nothing but the major obviously hadn’t heard himself speak. Still he didn’t have much of an accent.
“In Orleans?” I asked hastily. “Summers. Winters in Waltham.”
“And you’d never seen Dr. Karsh?”
“At a distance. Never been introduced.”
“Are there other vets around?”
“No, just never had any reason to call one.”
I stared at him. “Didn’t you have a dog as a boy?”
He grinned at me and the expression, distorted by the scar, reminded me I had all but forgotten his wound. He sensed the distraction and his smile faded. He leaned back, his bad side hidden in the shadows.
“No,” and his voice was flat with a return of the cold cautious neutrality that had marked his manner towards me until just recently. I felt ill that I had been so gauche.
“Maybe one of Merlin’s pups?” I tendered in a small voice.
He looked at me, quick to sense this obtuse apology for my unintentional offense. He thawed.
“I’m sorry, Carlysle. You didn’t deserve that of me. I’ve come to understand, in a way I never would have before, why Karsh prefers the quiet life here where people are so used to him they no longer notice his extreme height. He’s accepted in a community that would defend him to a man against outsiders’ curiosity. And he is a downright genius with animals. I knew that long before I heard a mutter about his size.” He took a long pull at his drink. “It was all so easy when I thought you were a boy. It wouldn’t be wrong to bury you down here along with me for a few months. But it won’t work out now!” He drank again, his mood bitter.
I sank into the chair by him, just listening because I couldn’t think of a thing to say although there was much I’d’ve liked to say.
“I’ll have to reopen the house in Waltham and get a housekeeper.” A return to Waltham appeared to be exceedingly distasteful to him.
“But you’ve lived a long time there? Surely they know you,” I suggested, implying that his friends and acquaintances certainly wouldn’t avoid him because of his scars.
His lips compressed into a thin line and I knew I was wrong. He drained the glass.
“Oh! How could they!” I cried angrily.
His glass came down to the surface of the table with a loud crack. He splashed in more whiskey, moodily swirling it around the ice cubes.
“I never considered I was particularly vain before this,” and for the first time in our acquaintance, he fingered the scarred side of his face. “But then, war changes a lot of values.”
“You’re going to Walter Reed soon and they’ll be .”
He glared at me, opened his mouth to snap something out, and stopped.
“They might even improve on the original,” I suggested ruthlessly, suddenly conscious that sympathy was the worst comfort I could offer him. “Your nose is a bit too aquiline. While they’re about it, can’t they reduce that hook?” I reached over and tapped his very aristocratic nose disparagingly. “I think you might possibly be able to achieve a Robert Taylor, smooth, suave look of distinction. Or perhaps the rough-hewed Gary Cooper type. You haven’t got the basic structure for Cary Grant, of course. And next time, do get a proper haircut. The length is disgraceful,” and I flipped up the long hair that covered the baldness of the scar tissue.
His fingers caught my wrist in such a vise I thought he’d break bones. The anger in him was white hot and I glared right back at him, daring him, knowing the anger he would vent on me was anger suppressed from whatever hurt he had suffered elsewhere.