Nightwork

I never made up my mind whether or not I was in love with her. If she hadn't badgered me continually about curing my stutter, I think I would have asked her to marry me. The coming weekend, I felt, was going to rise - or fall - to some sort of climax. I had decided to be cautious, leaving all options open.

'Great,' Wales was saying. 'Let's all have dinner together tonight.'

Thanks, G ... George,' I said. He had insisted from the first time I met him that I call him and his wife by their first names. Th ... that w ... would be very nice.' Dinner with another couple would postpone decisions, give me time to sound out Pat's mood and re-assess my own feelings.

'We're driving up as soon as we land,' Wales said. 'We can get in a few runs this afternoon. How about you? Should we wait for you at the inn?'

‘I ... I'm afraid n ... not. I have my six-m ... month physical checkup at the doc's and ... and I don't know when I c ... can split.' '

'Dinner, then?' Wales said. 'D ... dinner.'

'Doug,' Wales said. 'Do you ever get three weeks off at a time? In the winter, I mean?'

'N .., not really,' I said. 'It's a busy season. Wh ... Why?' 'Beryl and I're going over on a charter flight to Zurich the first of February.' Beryl was his wife. 'We always try to man-" age three weeks in the Alps.... You ever ski in the Alps?'

'I've never b ... been out of the country. Except Canada for a f ... few days.'

'You'd flip,' he said. 'The slopes of Heaven. We've been talking it over and we'd love to have you with us. There's this club I belong to. It's surprisingly cheap. Under three hundred dollars round trip. The Christie Ski Club. It's not just the money, of course. It's the people. The nicest bunch of people you could ever travel with and all the free booze you can drink. And no worrying about a baggage allowance or Swiss customs. They just wave you through with a smile. You're supposed to belong at least six months in advance, but they're not sticky about it. There's a girl in the office I know, her name's Mansfield, and she fixes everything. Just tell her you're a friend of mine. They have nights just about every week in the winter. We made St Moritz last year and we're doing St Anton this year. You'll dazzle the Austrians." I smiled. I b ... bet,' I said.

"Think it over,' Wales said. 'You'd have the time of your life.'

'S ... stop tempting a working man,' I said.

'What the hell,' Wales said. 'Everybody need» a vacation.'

‘I... I'll think it o ... over,' I said.

He went back to his seat, leaving the smell of whiskey in the cockpit. I kept my eyes on the horizon, sharp against the bright blue of the winter sky, trying not to be jealous of a man who was as untalented on the slopes as Wales, but who could take three weeks off from work to spend thousands of dollars to ski in the Alps.

* * *

After I checked into the office and confirmed that there was nothing for me that weekend, I drove into town in my Volkswagen for the biannual ritual of the physical examination. Dr Ryan was an eye-specialist, but kept up a limited general practice on the side. He was a slow-moving, gentle old man who had been listening to my heart, taking my blood pressure, and testing my eyes and reflexes for five years. Except for one occasion when I bad come down with a mild case of grippe, he had never prescribed as much as an aspirin for me. in shape for the Derby.' he would say each time when he finished with me. 'Ready to run for the roses.' He shared my interest in the horses and was an impressive student of form. Every once in a while he would call me at my home when he would discover a horse that was outrageously underpriced or carrying, in his opinion, much too little weight.

The examination followed its usual routine, with the doctor nodding comfortably after each stage. It was only when he came to my eyes that his expression changed. I read the charts all right, but when he used his instruments to look into my eyes, his face became professionally sober. His nurse came into the office twice to tell him that there were patients in the waiting room with appointments, but he brusquely waved her aside. He gave me a whole series of tests that he had never used before, making me stare straight ahead while he kept his hands in his lap, then slowly lifting his hands and asking me to tell him when they came into my field of vision. Finally, he put away his instruments, sat down heavily behind his desk, sighed, and passed his hand wearily across his face.

'Mr. Grimes,' he said finally, 'I'm afraid I have bad new» for you.'

The news old Dr Ryan had for me on that sunny morning in his big, old-fashioned office changed my whole life.