The Thanatos Syndrome

Sprite because it has sugar,” says Margaret.
    â€œLucy, tell me about the examinations,” I say patiently. “Tell me medically. Now. Do you hear me? Now.”
    â€œIt was easy, since I had to do fecal smears for salmonella.”
    â€œI understand.”
    Silence.
    â€œWell,” I say.
    She is gripping the wheel tightly, sighting the road, chin up, like a novice driver. Her voice is not steady.
    â€œWell, it was in a sort of rec room that had a bathroom. I examined them in the bathroom. There was a Mrs. Cheney there, and a spooky couple named Brunette came in later. And somebody they called Coach, an oafish type with a whistle who looked as though he’d gone to summer camp for ten years and finally made counselor.”
    â€œThe children, Lucy?”
    â€œYes, the children. I examined six children.”
    â€œA perineal examination, Lucy?”
    â€œYes, because I was taking smears for salmonella.”
    â€œI understand. Your findings?”
    â€œYes. Two girls, perhaps ten and twelve. One with recent hymeneal rupture, the other with marital introitus. You understand?”
    â€œYes. Any histories?”
    â€œNo time for histories.”
    â€œThe boys?”
    â€œTwo had anal lesions. One, a recent laceration; the other, a fissure of some duration.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œHistory?”
    â€œNo histories there either, but—”
    â€œYes?” Lucy’s voice is more focused. She is using her doctoring to catch hold.
    â€œThere were two behavioral items.” She has found her medical voice.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œOne of the girls made an oral advance to me.”
    â€œOral to oral?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œIt was as if she thought it was expected of her—in the bathroom, that is.”
    â€œI understand. And the other item?”
    â€œOne of the boys gave an unmistakable pelvic response to my digital examination, from the knee-chest position. It was quite startling. Do you understand?”
    â€œI understand.”
    Lucy looks at me for the first time. “Tom, they were lined up. They wanted to be examined. I could have examined twenty.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œTom, do you know what they reminded me of ?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œDo you remember that scene in the Alexandria Quartet where the child prostitutes were all reaching for him, clinging?”
    â€œYes.”
    We are silent. The road runs through a loess cut, twilit, worn deep as the Natchez Trace.
    I look down at Margaret and Tommy. They are picking at each other and seem fine, Margaret her prim prissy self, Tommy pesky normal.
    â€œLucy, do you have any idea who was—culpable?”
    â€œMr. and Mrs. Brunette, who just happened to come in, seemed very agitated. They left, and then Coach What’s-his-name came in—”
    â€œCoach Matthews,” says Margaret.
    â€œRight,” says Lucy. “I think the Brunettes called Coach Matthews to come over. He too seemed nervous.”
    â€œHow do you like Belle Ame?” I ask the children.
    â€œIt’s all right,” says Tommy. “I like the horses but not treat-a-treat.”
    â€œWhy don’t you like treat-a-treat?”
    â€œThey play too hard.”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œCoach. And I don’t like sardines.”
    â€œWhat’s wrong with sardines?”
    â€œThey play it wrong.”
    â€œHow do they play it wrong?”
    â€œWhen you’re it and then somebody finds you in the attic, they’re not supposed to close off the place with a trunk.”
    â€œWho closed off the place?”
    â€œMrs. Brunette.”
    â€œDid they do that to you?”
    â€œNo, I wasn’t it. But Claude told me.”
    â€œWhat did you do?”
    â€œI told Uncle Van.”
    â€œUncle Van? What did Uncle Van say?”
    â€œHe said it was okay, that was the rule.”
    â€œWas Claude it?”
    â€œOnce, but he wouldn’t play anymore.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œWhat’s treat-a-treat?” asks Lucy.
    â€œYou know,” says Margaret. “First you go treat-a-treat on your knee, then gallop-a-trot, then hobbledehoy. It’s all right for little kids, but later on it’s dumb.”
    Lucy looks at me.
    I explain. “You hold a kid on your knee and say, This is the way the ladies ride, treat-a-treat, starting off easy.”
    â€œI see,” says Lucy.
    Margaret cranes up to whisper