Albert stared at the brown rubber of the doctor's stethoscope. Once Doctor Harris let him use it. He listened to his own heart, then the doctor put the metal piece on his chest and Albert listened to Doctor Harris' heart. It beat much slower and louder, and it scared him. He thought about going home. He liked the hospital except for the needles. He could watch TV all day and play sick. The nurses were pretty and nobody yelled at him to eat. He liked Doctor Harris except when Doctor Harris looked worried. He was afraid that meant Doctor Harris was getting angry because Albert didn't eat all his food. Doctor Harris had a beard. Stony had a beard once, but Daddy made him shave it off. Doctor Harris was fat too. Not as fat as Uncle Chubby, but fatter than Daddy. He didn't want to go home. He wanted to stay in bed here and watch cartoons and read Superman and have Stony visit him with presents every day and play checkers with the ladies in striped dresses.

Harris had been hung up on that dream Albert told him three days ago in which the kid's teacher made him drink a glass of milk which turned to blood. Albert had said the dream was recurrent. There was something in that, some connection to what must have happened on Monday, but he couldn't piece it together without more information. Albert couldn't remember any of the events on any of the days preceding any of the nightmares. Or so he said. Jerry Rosenberg was coming back from vacation next week. He would love to have Jerry talk to Albert. But Albert would be gone by then. Maybe Jerry could see him as a clinic patient.

Harris smiled at Albert, tousled his hair and said he'd be back later.

"Doctor Harris?" Harris wheeled around. "Could you please turn on the TV?"

***

"No. Uh-uh. No way, no day." Marie had been shaking her head in the negative since Doctor Harris started talking.

"Will you please explain to me why not?" Doctor Harris was trying to control himself, but he held his Bic pen like a dagger, shaking it in front of her face.

Marie regarded him through half-closed eyes. "O.K., O.K., you wanna know why not?" She puffed on a cigarette as she talked.

"Last year, when Albert was in second grade, his teacher thought he should see a psychiatrist, the school had one." She blew a cloud of smoke around them both in the hospital corridor. "She, Mrs. Becker"—she sneered—"called me in one day at lunchtime to tell me. She said Albert was too nervous, didn't get on with the other kids, was starting to stutter, the whole thing, whatever, she said that the shrink the school had maybe it would be a good idea to talk ... you know. I said, 'Maybe, but ah, don't you think the other kids would tease Albert? You know how vicious kids can get.' " She looked to Harris for agreement. None was forthcoming. "Anyways, she said, 'Oh no, oh no, Mrs. De Coco. I promise you nobody will know about it but me, you, Doctor Huzinga and Albert' ... Huzinga yet. I had no reason to doubt her word, so I said O.K. I mean it wasn't like he was getting shock treatment." She raised her eyebrows at Doctor Harris as she took a long drag from her cigarette. "Two days later, he comes home from school laughing, laughing, laughing. 'O.K., what's so funny?' 'I went to the nut doctor today, Mommy.'" Marie glared at Harris. Harris frowned. "I said, 'What?' He said Mrs. Becker told him, 'I was excused from math because Doctor Huzinga wanted to talk to me, and William Temple heard her and told everybody that I was gonna see the nut doctor and the whole class was saying I was gonna see the nut doctor, but that's O.K. because it's funny an' I don't care anyway,' an' then that poor kid bursts into tears. That baby was so humiliated. I felt my heart break into a million pieces."