"How many children do you have?" said Joe.

"Four," she said. And then she added, "So far."

"You're very lucky," said Joe.

"I keep telling myself so," she said.

"You see," said Joe, "my wife and I don't have any."

"I'm so so sorry," she said. sorry," she said.

"That's why my wife and I have come to see your husband," said Joe.

"I see," she said.

"We came all the way from Ohio," said Joe.

"Ohio?" she said. She looked startled. "You mean you just moved to Chicago from Ohio?"

"Ohio's still our home," said Joe. "We're up here just to see your husband."

She looked so puzzled now that Joe had to ask, "Is there another Dr. Abekian?"

"No," she said. And then she said, too quickly, too watchfully, too brightly to make Joe think he really had come to the right place, "No, no-there's only one. My husband's the man you want."

"I heard he'd done some wonderful things with sterility cases," said Joe.

"Oh, yes, yes, yes-he has, he has," she said. "May-may I ask who recommended him?"

"My wife heard a lot of talk around about him," said Joe.

"I see," she said.

"We wanted the best," said Joe, "and my wife asked around, and she decided he was was the best." the best."

She nodded, frowned ever so slightly. "Uh-huh," she said.

Dr. Abekian himself now came out of his office, shepherding a mournful, old, old woman. He was a tall, flashily handsome man-flashy by reason of his even white teeth and dark skin. There was a lot of the sharpness and dazzle of a nightclub master of ceremonies about him. At the same time, Dr. Abekian revealed an underlying embarra.s.sment about his looks, too. He gave Joe the impression that he would have preferred, on occasion anyway, a more conservative exterior.

"There must be something I could take that would make me feel better than I do," the old, old woman said to him.

"You take these new pills," he said to her gently. "They may be just what you've been looking for. If not, we'll try, try, try again." He waved the boy with the broken arm into his office.

"Len-" said his wife.

"Hm?" he said.

"This man," she said, indicating Joe, "this man and his wife came all the way from Ohio to see you."

In spite of herself, she made Joe's trip seem such a peculiar thing that Joe was now dead certain that a big, foolish mistake had been made.

"Ohio?" said Dr. Abekian. His incredulity was frank. He arched his thick, dark eyebrows. "All the way from Ohio?" he said.

"I heard people from all over the country came to see you," said Joe.

"Who told you that?" he said.

"My wife," said Joe.

"She knows me?" said Dr. Abekian.

"No," said Joe. "She just heard about you."

"From whom?" said the doctor.

"Woman talk," said Joe.

"I-I'm very flattered," said Dr. Abekian. "As you can see," he said, spreading his long-fingered hands, "I'm a neighborhood general pract.i.tioner. I won't pretend that I'm a specialist, and I won't pretend that anyone has ever traveled any great distance to see me before."

"Then I beg your pardon," said Joe. "I don't know how this happened."

"Ohio?" said Dr. Abekian.

"That's right," said Joe.

"Cincinnati?" said the doctor.

"No," said Joe. He named the town.

"Even if it were Cincinnati," said the doctor, "it wouldn't make much sense. Years ago, I was a medical student in Cincinnati, but I never practiced there."

"My wife was a nursing student in Cincinnati," said Joe.

"Oh, she was?" said the doctor, thinking for a moment that he'd found a clue. The clue faded. "But she doesn't know me."

"No," said Joe.

Dr. Abekian shrugged. "So the mystery remains a mystery," he said. "Since you've come all this distance-if there's anything I can do-"

"They want children," said the doctor's wife. "They haven't had any."

"You've no doubt been to many specialists before coming all this distance," said the doctor.

"No," said Joe.

"At least your own family doctor, anyway-" said Dr. Abekian.

Joe shook his head.

"You haven't taken this matter up with your own doctor?" said Dr. Abekian, unable to make sense of the fact. "No," said Joe.

"May I ask why not?" said the doctor.

"You'd better ask my wife when she comes," said Joe. "I've been after her to go to a doctor for years. She not only wouldn't go-she made me promise I wouldn't go, either."

"This was a religious matter?" said the doctor. "Is she a Christian Scientist?"

"No, no," said Joe. "I told you-she was a nurse."

"Of course," said the doctor. "I forgot." He shook his head. "But she did agree to see me-under the impression that I was a famous specialist."

"Yes," said Joe.

"Amazing," said Dr. Abekian softly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Well-since you haven't even seen a general pract.i.tioner, there is is a chance I can help." a chance I can help."

"I'm game-G.o.d knows," said Joe.

"All right-fine," said the doctor. "After Peter, then, comes you."

When young Peter was gone, Dr. Abekian called Joe into his office. He had a directory open on his desk. He explained it. "I was trying to find," he said, "somebody with a name remotely like mine-somebody who might be really famous for handling cases like yours."

"What luck?" said Joe.

"There is is Dr. Aarons-who's done a lot with a psychiatric approach," said Dr. Abekian. "His name is vaguely like mine." Dr. Aarons-who's done a lot with a psychiatric approach," said Dr. Abekian. "His name is vaguely like mine."

"Look," said Joe, patiently, earnestly, "the name of the man we were coming to see, the name of the man who was going to do so much for us, the name wasn't Aarons, and it wasn't a name we could very well mix up with another name, because it was such an unusual name. My wife said we should come to Chicago and see Dr. Abekian-A-b-e-k-i-a-n. We came to Chicago, looked up Dr. Abekian-A-b-e-k-i-a-n-in the phone book. There he was-A-b-e-k-i-a-n-and here I am."

Dr. Abekian's sharp, gaudy features expressed tantalization and perplexity. "Tst," he said.

"You say this Aarons uses the psychiatric approach?" said Joe. He was undressing now for a physical examination, revealing himself as a chunky man, with muscles that looked powerful but slow.

"The psychiatric approach is meaningless, of course," said Dr. Abekian, "if there's anything physically wrong." He lit a cigarette. "I keep thinking," he said, "this whole mystery has to have something to do with Cincinnati."

"I'll tell you this," said Joe, "this isn't the only crazy thing that's happened lately. The way things have been going, maybe Barbara and I ought to go over and see Dr. Aarons no matter what the physicals turn up."

"Barbara?" said Dr. Abekian, c.o.c.king his head.

"What?" said Joe.

"Barbara? You said your wife's name was Barbara?" said Dr. Abekian.

"Did I say that?" said Joe.

"I thought you did," said the doctor.

Joe shrugged. "There's one more crazy promise down the drain," he said. "I was supposed to keep her name a secret."

"I don't understand," said the doctor.

"Who the h.e.l.l does?" said Joe, showing sudden fatigue and exasperation. "If you knew all the fights we've had this past couple of years, if you knew how much I had to go through before she'd agree to see a doctor, to find out if there was anything we could do..." Joe left the sentence unfinished, went on undressing. He was quite red now.

"If I knew that?" said Dr. Abekian, himself a little restless now.

"If you knew that," said Joe, "you'd understand why I promised her anything she wanted, whether it made sense or not. She said we had to come to Chicago, so we came to Chicago. She said she didn't want people to know what her real name was, so I promised I wouldn't tell. But I did tell, didn't I?"

Dr. Abekian nodded. Smoke from the cigarette in his mouth was making one eye water, but he did nothing to remedy the situation.

"Well-what the h.e.l.l," said Joe. "If you can't tell a doctor the whole truth, what's the point of going to one? How's he going to help you?"

Dr. Abekian responded not at all.

"For years," said Joe, "Barbara and I were about as happily married as two people could be-I think. It's a pretty town where we live, full of nice people. We've got a nice big house I inherited from my father. I like my job. Money's never been a problem."

Dr. Abekian turned his back, stared at a rectangle of gla.s.s block that faced the street.

"And this no kid thing-" said Joe, "much as we both want kids, not having 'em wouldn't be enough to break us up. It's this doctor thing-or was. Do you know she hasn't gone to a doctor for any any reason? For the whole ten years we've been married! 'Look, sweetheart,' I'd say to her, 'if you're the reason we can't have children, or if I'm the reason-it doesn't make any difference. I won't think any the less of you, if you're to blame, and I hope you won't think any the less of me, if I'm to blame, which I probably am. The big thing is to find out if there's anything we can do.'" reason? For the whole ten years we've been married! 'Look, sweetheart,' I'd say to her, 'if you're the reason we can't have children, or if I'm the reason-it doesn't make any difference. I won't think any the less of you, if you're to blame, and I hope you won't think any the less of me, if I'm to blame, which I probably am. The big thing is to find out if there's anything we can do.'"

"It really wouldn't make any difference?" said Dr. Abekian, his back still to Joe.

"All I can speak for is myself," said Joe. "Speaking for myself-no. The love I've got for my wife is certainly big enough to rise above something accidental like that."

"Accidental?" said Dr. Abekian. He started to face Joe, but changed his mind.

"What the heck is it but an accident, who can have kids and who can't?" said Joe.

Joe came closer to Dr. Abekian and the gla.s.s block window, was surprised to see in every dimple of every gla.s.s block a tiny image of his wife, Barbara, getting out of a taxicab. "That's my wife," said Joe.

"I know," said Dr. Abekian.

"You know?" said Joe.

"You can get dressed, Mr. Cunningham," said the doctor.

"Dressed?" said Joe. "You haven't even looked at me."

"I don't have to," said Dr. Abekian. "I don't have to look at you to tell you that, as long as you're married to that woman, you can never have children." He turned on Joe with startling bitterness. "Are you a marvelous actor, Mr. Cunningham?" he said. "Or are you really as innocent as you seem?"

Joe backed away. "I don't know what's going on, if that's what you mean," he said.

"You came to the right doctor, Mr. Cunningham," said Dr. Abekian. He gave a rueful smile. "When I told you I wasn't a specialist, I was very much mistaken. In your particular case, I'm as specialized as it's possible for a man to be."

Joe heard the sharp heels of his wife as she crossed the waiting room outside. He heard her ask someone else out there whether the doctor was in. A moment later, the buzzer rang in the back of the house.

"The doctor is in," said Dr. Abekian. He raised his arms in mock admiration of all he was. "Ready for anything," he said.

Out in the waiting room, the door to the back of the house opened. The baby was still crying. Dr. Abekian's wife was still hara.s.sed.

Dr. Abekian strode to his office door, opened it on Barbara and his wife. "The doctor is in, Mrs. Cunningham," he said to Barbara. "He can see you right away."