“Morning, Garrison,” Alex said, entering the crowded conference/library room, the walls filled with medical books and bound journals. A thick mahogany table capable of comfortably seating twelve occupied the center of the room with extra chairs crammed in behind the ones at the table. A side-table pushed against a bookcase held stainless steel serving dishes of scrambled eggs, bacon, grits, and a twenty-five-cup coffee urn with a stack of inverted white Styrofoam cups on its right. The smell of salty grease stoked Alex’s appetite after having slipped out without waking Lisa. He was famished.
“Morning, Alex. Glad you could make it,” Garrison said. Clarence sat directly to Garrison’s left, all bright eyed and eager.
Alex spooned eggs, bacon, and two slices of toast—he hadn’t been able to develop a taste for grits and doubted he ever would—onto a paper plate and poured a cup of black coffee. He settled into the one unoccupied seat, which happened to be on Berger’s right. He immediately speared a fork full of eggs to pop into his mouth.
“Down here, folks say the blessing before they start eatin’.”
Still chewing, Alex glanced up to see where the loud voice came from. Hill was sending him a serious dose of laser-eye. The room fell silent, the other partners either avoiding eye contact or simply studying their folded hands. No one else had touched their food, Alex realized. Clarence turned to Garrison. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Majors?”
Alex swallowed. He felt betrayed and alienated, as if someone had purposely led him into a social trap. In the meetings prior to Clarence’s arrival, no one said a damn thing before eating. Why were things now different? Then he remembered Dave’s words: He’s very spiritual.
He decided to not take the bait and tell Hill to fuck off. Clearly, Clarence’s presence was the only difference from previous meetings. Interesting. Even more interesting was that no one seemed up to the task of challenging him. In the next instant Alex intuitively grasped the significance of the moment: a battle line was now drawn. Setting down his fork, he sat back. “Knock yourself out, Clarence.”
Head bowed, Clarence reached for the hands of the surgeons to either side of him. “Thank you, heavenly father, for the bounty we are about to receive.”
Alex was sorely tempted to bite off a hunk of bacon. Don’t be juvenile. He glanced at Berger, who simply stared at his plate of bacon and eggs, hands clasped in his lap. Neither he nor Alex held the hand of the partners to either side.
Meeting over, Alex walked with Martin Berger to the sky bridge, the other partners having abruptly dispersed to start their busy days, which, for most, would end sometime after 7:00 p.m.
“Have we always done that?” Alex asked.
Martin shot him a sideways glance. “Done what?”
“Say the blessing or grace or whatever it’s called before breakfast business meetings. It wasn’t done for the ones I attended.” He still hadn’t grown used to seeing people pray before meals in restaurants or at the University Club, and certainly not with Clarence’s apparent fervor. Did people feel obliged to make these public displays out of deep religious conviction or simply because it seemed the socially expected norm here, making them afraid to be pegged as different if they didn’t? A societal lemmings phenomenon. Good question, one he suspected would remain unanswered. The cynical side of him suspected the latter.
Martin scratched the side of his chin. “Do now, now that Hill’s back. He used to make a huge point of it as a resident, so I reckon people figure we’re back to the way things were then.”
“And you’re okay with that? I mean, being Jewish.”
Martin checked his fingernails. “Makes no never mind to me. Why? Bother you?”
Not the answer he expected. “You bet it does. I don’t like being forced to participate in other people’s religious rituals. I resent it.”
“How come? Doesn’t hurt anyone.”
Is he kidding? He studied Martin’s craggy poker face. “Guess it comes down to what I just said; I don’t like people forcing their personal religious beliefs on me. I find that obnoxious. It’s saying there’s good religion and bad religion and his is the good one. Where does the Christian belief of tolerance come into play the way he’s running things?”
“He can believe what he wants. Doesn’t bother me.”
“To tell you the truth, that surprises me.”
Martin shrugged. “Didn’t see anyone else object. After all, this ain’t called the Bible Belt for nothing.”
Alex continued to stare at him. “There’s more to it than just religion.”
“Like what?”
“You’re all empowering him every time you sit back and let him dictate something as trivial as a blessing. The problem is, once a person like him starts to gain that kind of power, it becomes a momentum thing. Next thing you know, he’ll have Garrison’s job. You happy with that idea?”
“I’ll be retired by then.” He looked serious.
Fuming, Alex headed to the stairs. “Unbelievable. Catch you later.”