"It _was_." She looked down at her gingham-covered bulge. "You won't
believe me. Put your hand there. No, a little lower."
Under the cloth, her flesh was warm and solid against his palm.
"Kicks?" he inquired.
"Not yet. Now," she said in a strained voice, "you in there--if you
want your milk, kick three times."
Len opened his mouth and shut it again. Under his hand there were
three explicit kicks, one after the other.
Moira closed her eyes, held her breath and drank the milk down in one
long horrid gulp.
* * * * *
"Once in a great while," Moira read, "cell cleavage will not have
followed the orderly pattern that produces a normal baby. In these
rare cases some parts of the body will develop excessively, while
others do not develop at all. This disorderly cell growth, which is
strikingly similar to the wild cell growth that we know as cancer--"
Her shoulders moved convulsively in a shudder. "_Bluh!_"
"Why do you keep reading that stuff, if it makes you feel that way?"
"I have to," she said absently. She picked up another book from the
stack. "There's a page missing."
Len attacked the last of his medium-boiled egg in a noncommittal
manner. "It's a wonder it's held together this long," he said, which
was perfectly just.
The book had had something spilled on it, partially dissolving the
glue, and was in an advanced state of anarchy. However, the fact was
that Len had torn out the page in question four nights ago, after
reading it carefully. The topic was "Psychoses in Pregnancy."
Moira had now decided that the baby was male, that his name was
Leonardo (not referring to Len, but to da Vinci), that he had informed
her of these things along with a good many others, that he was keeping
her from her favorite foods and making her eat things she detested,
like liver and tripe, and that she had to read books of his choice all
day long in order to keep him from kicking.
It was miserably hot. With Commencement only two weeks away, Len's
students were torpid and galvanic by turns. Then there was the matter
of his contract for next year, and the possible opening at Oster High
which would mean more money, and the Parent-Teachers thing tonight at
which Superintendent Greer and his wife would be regally present.
Moira was knee-deep in Volume I of _Der Untergang des Abendlandes_,
moving her lips; an occasional guttural escaped her.