Under the Tree

‘If there’s a particular prize you desire in life, Graham, you must seize it. Should you want to be a surgeon, for example, you’d have to put all other considerations to one side for a few years.’

Mr Nahir, the renowned surgeon, glanced at me over his shoulder while walking the corridors of Edenvale Hospital. He was a strikingly handsome and imposing man: there were only a few silver threads among his dark hair; he was wearing an expensive blue suit. I used to go with him as his companion on ward rounds – he needed a polite (and physically unimpressive) apprentice to carry his diary. 

We made our way from ward to ward, through the long corridors, up staircases and down staircases. As usual, everyone greeted the surgeon with respect and perhaps a little fear. As he went past, he nodded graciously to them as befitted the perfect gentleman although I knew very well that he could be hard and ruthless at times – once or twice, he had come down on me like a ton of bricks for no good reason. It was best not to go against him.

We were leaving a general medical ward after giving advice to a man suffering from heartburn when a nurse said to him cheerfully, ‘Happy Christmas, Mr Nahir. I hope that Santa will bring you a nice present.’  

This gave him a start. ‘Dear oh dear, Graham. I’d nearly forgotten – it’s almost Christmas Day. We should look in on Dr Ashington. Her clinic must be finished by now.’

Dr Eve Ashington was a consultant heart specialist, a doctor of Mr Nahir’s age who was both skilful in her work and a very attractive person. She was the wife of the anaesthetist Dr Adam Gardiner, a gentle and unassuming man who frequently worked with Mr Nahir both at Edenvale Hospital and at the private clinic nearby. 

As the surgeon had expected, Dr Ashington was in her office. She greeted us warmly and insisted that we have a cup of tea and a piece of cake with her.

While the tea was brewing, however, I noticed that Mr Nahir was becoming increasingly pale and restless. Dr Ashington was obviously aware of this – she looked anxious too. I didn’t know what was going on between them but there was undoubtedly something there. It was Mr Nahir who broke the awkward silence.

‘I’m deeply in love with you, Eve,’ he said, ‘but you know that already.’

Dr Ashington glanced at me briefly. Not surprisingly, she was mortified.

‘Really, Mr Nahir, I don’t think this is a suitable occasion on which to speak …’

‘I know that you love me, too, and that you have loved me ever since we dated as medical students.’

I was flabbergasted. I had never heard a word of this before. Was Mr Nahir serious?

‘I’ll never understand why you jilted me, or why on earth you got involved with that wimp, Adam …’

She interrupted him. ‘I think you have said quite enough, Mr Nahir, and I would ask you to choose another subject of conversation please … please.’

‘If you reject me again, I can make things difficult for your husband. You know that I’ve been offered the position of medical director at the private clinic. I’ll have influence.’

I was wishing that the floor would swallow me up.

‘Are you threatening me, Mr Nahir? I’m sure that my husband and I can manage quite well without your help. I’m sorry, but you should leave my office. At once!’

At that very moment, however, there was a light knock at the door and Dr Gardiner, Dr Ashingon’s husband, entered the room. He smiled shyly. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘I hope I’m not disturbing an important meeting.’

‘Not at all, Adam,’ said Mr Nahir standing up to welcome the anaesthetist. The angry look on his face had disappeared in the blink of an eye, replaced by a warm and friendly smile.

The three senior doctors stood together in the middle of the room, chatting. Mr Nahir was his usual witty self and soon they were all laughing. It was as if his impassioned conversation with Dr Ashington five minutes beforehand had never happened. I was dumbstruck by the surgeon’s outrageous effrontery – and by his self-control.

Half an hour later, I was following in Mr Nahir’s footsteps as he strode down the corridor back to the surgical block. 

As we reached the door of his office, he turned to me, ‘As I said to you earlier, Graham, if there’s a particular prize you desire in life, you must seize it. And don’t worry if there are one or two small obstacles to brush out of your way.’ 

(The idea for this story came from ‘Frau Bähni’ by Robert Walser, Berlin Stories, New York Review of Books 2006)