The Bully of Order by Brian Hart Read Free Book Online Page A

held it open.
    â€œDuncan, take off your shoes.”
    â€œLeave them,” the doctor said.
    Duncan held my eyes, waiting for my instruction, muddy almost to his knees. “Go on. Off with them.”
    â€œHe’s fine.”
    â€œI’m telling you, he’ll bring in the whole street with those shoes. You’ll be sorry.”
    â€œNever.” Haslett put his keys away and rubbed his hands together, smiled down at Duncan. “William Pitt professed that necessity is the plea of every infringement of human freedom.”
    â€œI’d say children are the infringement he was referring to. Duncan. Shoes.”
    The doctor smiled at me, and I could see the blue streaks in his teeth, the cracked skin on his lips. “I insist, Mrs. Ellstrom; it’s of no consequence. Let’s get us all inside. I don’t do the cleaning anyhow.”
    â€œI won’t have you apologizing for me to whoever it is that does.” I knelt down and took off his little boots and cleaned my own as best I could on the mat. The doctor gave me his handkerchief for my hands.
    I thanked him and ushered Duncan inside, into a mildewed blanket of old cigar smoke.
    â€œIt’s unavoidable,” he said, motioning to my feet, “all this mess. They’re trying to clean it up by planking the streets, but we’ll never escape it. The patterns of the weather, you know, they’re different all over the country. Here we have rain. Sometimes it feels like we have all the rain in the world.”
    I smiled as best I could and watched the doctor’s face change as I filled his thoughts, all of him; I knew this trick. Then I said something to him about necessity being hastened and shaped always by the weather, make hay while the sun shines, and all that nonsense.
    He cleared his throat, touched his stomach. “‘Necessity is the argument of tyrants, the creed of slaves.’”
    I again studied his face, his eyes, looked into them one and then the other, green with flecks of gold, yellow where they should be white. “Which are we, Dr. Haslett?”
    â€œWe’re both, my dear. Operating on several planes, all of us. Come in and sit down. No more lollygagging.” He feigned a kick at Duncan’s backside, and my boy ran squealing weirdly down the hall. The running legs of children are a miracle to behold. If he chose, I believe Duncan could kick himself in the nose while he stood.
    We passed by a dozen or so framed pictures in the entryway, strange men with dogs, stranger women without, and into the warmth of the living room. The doctor motioned to a chair near the fire. I sat Duncan on the ottoman and sat myself in the chair but he wouldn’t stay put so I held him in my lap like a squirming piglet. He had a scratch on his cheek and was making bulldog faces.
    â€œI’ll make tea. Stay right here.”
    When the doctor was gone, Duncan moaned and squirmed and kicked me in the thigh.
    â€œStop it right now.”
    â€œRot rot rot,” he said. “Crummy rot.”
    â€œPlease, Duncan. Quiet now.” There’s no shame in this, I was thinking. I don’t have anyone else to talk to. Not a soul. I’m not here for—I wasn’t sure why I was there and why I wasn’t. I’d been betrayed, is why, abandoned. I felt sick, so I came to the doctor. My usual one was indisposed.
    Out of his coat and dried off, the smartly dressed, slightly gray and waddling doctor returned with a silver tea service and milk for Duncan.
    â€œWell, here we are,” he said.
    â€œHere we are.”
    â€œAnd to what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Mrs. Ellstrom?”
    â€œJust a visit, really, because I’m fine, you know—my husband sees to my health. I’m in good health. And Duncan’s well, hale enough to run me ragged. I believe I liked him better when he only crawled.”
    Dr. Haslett sat patiently with his back an inch or so off his