It was very nice in the sanitarium. The day nurse was Miss Parsons. She
had hair that was like straw, both in color and texture. She pretended
to be greatly annoyed by requests and scolded with mock severity when
extra trouble was made for her. She was really very obliging. Her
father had a comfortable amount of money; so she did not need her
position and often flouted rules to make a patient she fancied more
comfortable.
It was Miss Parsons who came over to Dot’s bed on that first morning
and said, “How would you like to get your face washed?”
“I’d like to,” said Dot. “I only put this make-up on in case my husband
came.”
“If he did,” said Miss Parsons, “he’d cool his heels downstairs until
you were properly fixed. How do you feel?”
“Fine,” said Dot. Her head was splitting with a sickening ache that
reached from her eyebrows to the back of her neck, but it was scarcely
noticed in the excitement of being in a strange place and of having had
a baby.
Miss Parsons brought a basin of water. She rummaged among Dot’s effects
and found the toilet articles. Dot wanted to wash her own face, but
Miss Parsons was a strong-willed woman. Dot wondered how Miss Parsons
could brush another person’s teeth. She couldn’t, it appeared. Dot was
permitted to do that for herself. Miss Parsons attended to a few other
matters of pressing import and turned to the patient in the next bed.
“That’s only a once-over,” she said to Dot. “You’ll get your real
cleaning later.”
Bill came in with Dot’s breakfast tray. A spoonful of Wheatena, a cup
of weak coffee, and a slice of toast.
“Gee,” said Dot, “what’s the matter? Food scarce?”
“Wait till you see what the other ladies get,” said Bill. “You’re being
treated mean just because you have the youngest baby.”
Dot ate her breakfast, finding it difficult to manage in the reclining
position upon which Miss Parsons insisted.
The two other patients had boards in back of them to bolster them up.
But they had not been delivered of their children as recently as Dot.
The woman in the next bed was going to be allowed to sit in a chair
that afternoon. The other woman had a baby six days old. Dot looked at
the woman interestedly. The one to whom the privilege of sitting up
was about to be given was a Jewess of nineteen or twenty. She had very
black, very curly hair and shining brown eyes. Her nightgown sagged
from the weight of lace upon it.
Across from her was the mother of the six-day-old son. She had a jagged
mop of blazing, red-gold hair and very full red lips that curved in a
pleasing smile. Dot did not know why, but the woman with the red-gold
hair reminded her of the girl in the bright blue slicker who had
admitted her to Eddie’s rooming-house on that rainy night ten months
before. Silly, of course, but the impression persisted.
The nurse came in with a baby in her arms. She walked to Dot’s bed with
it. “Isn’t this a cute one?” she asked.
“Awfully cute,” said Dot.
The Jewess smiled graciously at the applause and lifted her arms for
the baby.
Miss Parsons left the baby with the mother and went out to fetch
another.
“This one has dimples,” said Miss Parsons, returning.
Dot admired it until it was claimed by the bright-haired woman.
“This one’s a lamb.” Miss Parsons had another baby now.
“Yes,” said Dot, gazing at it obligingly.
“He has such tiny hands,” said Miss Parsons.
She made no move to take the baby away, and it suddenly dawned upon
Dot that this was her baby. She put up her hands to take him, but Miss
Parsons waved them away and laid the baby gently at Dot’s side.
Dot looked at him. Oh, such a red little face, such a tiny, tiny little
mouth, such a perky little nose, and the golden down on his little pink
scalp. His eyelids opened just the tiniest bit, and she saw how blue
his eyes were. He had tiny hands indeed, and beautifully shaped little
nails. Alas, she could see no more of him, for he was blanketed and
pinned beyond hope of even the smallest glimpse. She was almost afraid
to touch him; he seemed so fragile and breakable.
“Say,” Miss Parsons’ voice cut in on the exploration, “what are you
going to do? Play with the baby all morning? Aren’t you going to feed
him?”
“Feed him!” echoed Dot.
“Certainly. Do you think he lives on air?”
Dot looked around. The other babies were placidly nursing at their
mothers’ breasts.
Dot quickly untied the ribbon on her nightgown. Miss Parsons hurried
over and applied boric acid to the breast for the baby’s safety. It was
by this that Dot knew that Miss Parsons had been teasing her. She would
have been made to wait for the boric acid had she attempted to feed her
baby any sooner.
He wouldn’t nurse. Blindly his little hands groped against her breast
and pushed. His head wobbled and rocked with objections.
“He won’t eat,” said Dot.
“That’s all right,” said Miss Parsons. “You haven’t anything to feed
him. We’re just trying to get you two used to each other.”
The babies were collected again after twenty minutes. There was nothing
to do now but lie blissfully still and think about the baby. It was
cool in the room. Cool and very white and clean. No flies got through
the careful screening, and the dark neighbors of the sanitarium were
very quiet.
Dot cast an interested glance along the lines of her figure. Her
stomach was flat! They had bound her tightly, and her hand roved
lovingly over the place where had been the precious but uncomfortable
lump. It didn’t feel perfectly normal, of course; there was a little
pain now and again, and her body protested if she tried to move, but
that was nothing. Nothing. She had her baby.
She wondered what Eddie was doing. He would probably not be able to see
her till evening. What would he think of the baby? It was so sweet, so
pathetically tiny and defenseless. How could he help but love it? The
best thing, however, was to go slow, see how he felt about it first
before going into any ecstasies. If he still didn’t like the baby, any
enthusiasm she showed would probably alienate him still further.
No visitors came all morning. Dot and the other women held a desultory
conversation. The topic was, of course, childbirth. The Jewess was the
main speaker. The other woman preferred a book to conversation, but
Dot regretted that she wasn’t permitted more opportunity to air her
experience.
The Jewess had a sister-in-law who had had eleven abortions. Dot was
promised a glimpse of her; she was coming to visit that very evening.
Dot would know her by the big diamond she wore. Her husband, the
brother of Dot’s informant, was very good to her. They had an apartment
on Riverside Drive. How much was Dot’s doctor charging? What was she
going to name her baby? The Jewess, who had now revealed herself as
Mrs. Lensky, was going to name her daughter Shirley out of respect to
the departed mother-in-law whose name had been Sarah.
Around eleven o’clock the phone rang. There was a telephone outlet on
either side of the room into which the instrument could be plugged.
Miss Parsons now attached it on Dot’s side and handed her the phone.
It was Eddie.
“Hello, Kid, how are you?”
“Fine. Are you at work?”
“Yes. I was dead for sleep, Dot, and I got up late and had to rush
right to the shop.”
“That’s all right. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”
“Listen, I’m going to get off an hour early and come right up.”
“What about your supper?”
“Oh, I can get that any time. I’ll be there as soon as I can make it.
’Bye.”
Dot hung up the receiver. Not a word about the baby! Oh, but he’d have
to care for it when he saw those blue eyes and tiny hands. Dot thought
the baby looked like Eddie already.
The next time the phone rang it was for Dot again.
Edna this time.
“Hello, there. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“Have you had the baby yet?”
“Sure. A little boy.”
“That’s wonderful. I just came from your house. I figured that since
you weren’t there, you must have made a trip to the sanitarium. What
time did it happen?”
Dot gave Edna all the details. After twenty minutes of conversation,
Edna announced her intention of coming up and straightway did so.
She came, bringing a little wicker cradle full of blue flowers. She
kissed Dot and asked, “Well, how was it, Kid? Not bad, eh?”
“No,” replied Dot, “not bad.” And she believed it.
Luncheon arrived via Bill. There was soup for Dot and crackers.
The babies would be fed again at one o’clock. Edna simply had to wait
to see the baby.
Edna waited. The babies were brought in.
“Oh, Dot, he’s grand,” Edna said. “He has a beautifully shaped head.”
Dot hadn’t thought of it that way before. Now she took to delighting in
the shape of his head.
“Look at his hands, Edna. Aren’t his hands too cute?”
Edna kissed his hands. “Just see his eyes, Dot. Blue as anything.”
“Yes, aren’t they blue? I love his little mouth best, I think.”
“Wait till you see his feet, Dot. There’s nothing in the world cuter
than babies’ toes.”
“His fingers have such tiny nails.”
“They look as though they’d been manicured.”
The baby punched at Dot’s breast for twenty minutes and was then
whisked away nursery-ward by Miss Parsons.
Then Edna had to go. It was time for the patients to be sponged,
powdered, and changed into clean nighties.
“I’ll come tomorrow,” she said.
It was pleasant to lie on the bed and be bathed with cool water, rubbed
briskly with alcohol, and powdered with soft, scented talcum. The
nightgown Miss Parsons picked was a pale orchid with filet lace. Edna’s
favorite. Now was a moment that fairly screamed for a few drops of Ed
Pinaud’s Lilac. Still, Dot was happy enough. She combed her hair and
rouged and powdered her face.
Dr. Stewart found her cool and cheerful.
“Well, we had a lot of fun last night, didn’t we?” he smiled. “What do
you think of your baby?”
“I think he’s wonderful. Do you know what? I saw him get born.”
“Did you?” asked Dr. Stewart.
“I saw and heard everything that went on,” Dot said.
Dr. Stewart’s smile grew into a light laugh. “Everything?”
“Yep.”
“Sure of that?”
“Well, I think so.”
“Maybe we put over one or two things you didn’t notice, Mrs. Collins.
But don’t worry about it. You have a fine boy.”
The little white screen was called into service, and Miss Parsons
assisted Dr. Stewart in his examination. He found everything in correct
order.
“You’re a perfect textbook case, Mrs. Collins,” was Dr. Stewart’s
comment. He smiled at her and made Dot very glad that she was a perfect
textbook case.
Dr. Stewart went to the nursery to have a look at the infant.
He came back to say good-by to Dot. “The boy is fine,” he said. “Of
course he’s lost a few ounces, but they always do the first day. Don’t
think about him, he’s all right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
So her baby had lost a few ounces. If they always did, as the doctor
had so confidently assured her, then there could be no harm in it,
but still it would have been nice if her child had acted a little bit
differently and had gained. Dot wished she could take a little nap. It
would be another hour before the baby was brought in again. She closed
her eyes and tried very hard to attract a little doze, but failed.
Mrs. Lensky was reading a newspaper which Bill had brought for her.
She was sitting in a chair beside her bed, elaborately kimonoed and
bored-looking. She was going home in a few days, and the sanitarium had
become dreadfully tiresome.
The girl who was so puzzlingly reminiscent of a bright blue slicker was
also reading. She had a feathered negligee thrown carelessly over her
shoulders, and Dot thought her prettier than any real woman she had
ever seen before. Her table had several books and magazines piled upon
it, and Dot thought that perhaps she, too, could read if she had one.
“Could I borrow one of your books or something?” she asked timidly.
The girl looked up at her and smiled. “Certainly. What would you like?”
“What have you got?”
“Well.” The girl looked at her books thoughtfully and passed on to the
magazines; then her eyes returned to the books again. “Do you like
poetry?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Dot. She really had no opinion at all about poetry, but the
other girl had given her the impression that she just couldn’t stand it
if Dot didn’t like poetry.
“Well, here’s something nice. A rather delightful anthology.”
Dot held out her hands to catch it, but the owner of the book
apparently wasn’t in the habit of hurling it about.
“Ring for the nurse,” she said to Dot.
Mrs. Lensky essayed the office of messenger, and Miss Parsons caught
her in the act and scolded her.
“Who told you to walk around? Sit down and don’t move till you’re told.”
Mrs. Lensky sat down and sulked. Miss Parsons had no right to talk to
her that way. Mrs. Lensky guessed that Miss Parsons didn’t know what
the name Lensky meant in the cloak-and-suit world. Hm! She could have
had the best private room in the house and a special nurse if she’d
wanted it, but she had preferred the company of other mothers and had
taken this instead. Mrs. Lensky guessed that there were a lot of things
Miss Parsons didn’t know.
Dot looked the anthology over. She looked it over twice. She decided
she might just as well pick one poem out and begin. She picked
“Portrait of a Lady” by T. S. Eliot.
When Miss Parsons brought Dot’s baby in at four o’clock, she found the
baby’s mother deep in gentle sleep and thought it rather a shame that
she had to awaken her.
Eddie walked in a few minutes after five. He had gone home first
and had shaved and changed into his new blue suit. To Dot’s anxious
question he answered that he had had sandwiches and coffee.
“You look wonderful, Kid,” he said in honest amazement.
Miss Parsons brought him a chair and got a vase for the bouquet of
which Eddie had gratefully relieved himself upon first glance at Dot’s
table.
He sat down on the edge of the chair and tried to keep his eyes fixed
on Dot. The two other women, so much at ease in their nightgowns, so
unaffected by the presence of a male stranger, confused him. Surely he
ought not to look at them, but he couldn’t keep his back turned when
Mrs. Lensky, who was once again in bed, thought it only courteous to
inform him that he had a wonderful son. There had been no introductions
made, but Mrs. Lensky was at heart a sociable woman.
Miss Parsons returned with the flowers properly arranged in the vase.
They were roses.
“Oh, Eddie, they’re beautiful.”
“I wanted to bring you the first flowers,” he said, “but I see somebody
beat me to it.”
“Edna.”
“Oh. Who in hell wouldn’t know that she’d get here first?”
Dot laughed. Her laugh wasn’t quite under control. It was nervous,
shaky. He hadn’t asked about the baby yet.
“Did you get a nap today?” he asked.
“Yes. I was asleep a little while ago.”
“Isn’t it hard to sleep with the kids crying?”
“No. They don’t cry much.”
“Where do they keep them?”
“Right down the hall.”
“Do they bring the kids in and wish ’em on you much?”
“No, they’re only brought in at feeding time.”
“When’s that?”
“Every three hours. The last one was at four o’clock.”
“Oh.”
“Dr. Stewart says I’m fine.”
“Gee, I’m glad.”
Silence fell between them. Eddie wasn’t permitted to smoke in the ward,
and he tore at his nails nervously. Dot looked out the window. The
house in back was just beginning to show signs of life. The negroes had
slept the day away.
“Did you have a hard day?” asked Dot.
“Not very,” said Eddie.
Silence again. A stifling restraint clamped down upon them.
Eddie hitched his chair close to Dot and spread his legs comfortably
under the bed. He was glad of the silence. He wanted to figure out
something. Could he ask about the baby now without making her think he
was more interested in him than in her? He didn’t want to arouse that
little jealousy which on a former occasion she had certainly felt.
Could he declare his intentions of remaining to see the baby? She might
think he had only come to see the kid. She hadn’t mentioned it at all.
Was it well? How could she be so uninterested, so unexcited!
“Would you like me to get you something?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Some ice cream?”
“I don’t think they’d let me have it.”
“How about some fruit?”
“No, Eddie, honest.”
“Well, listen, Dot, I think I’ll go down in front of the door and get a
smoke. All right?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll be right back,” he promised.
He grabbed his hat and hurried from the room.
Dot heard his quick step descending the stairs. Suddenly her eyes
filled with tears. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow.
She had not expected questions. Mrs. Lensky had fallen asleep. Dot was
shocked by the voice of her other roommate.
“What’s the matter, honey?”
Dot faced about and pecked at her eyes with a handkerchief. “My husband
don’t love the baby,” she sobbed.
“Has he seen it?”
“He just caught a glimpse of it last night, but it isn’t that. He hates
the idea of it and always has.”
“Well, don’t cry. Watch him fall for it when it grabs his hand and
smiles at him.”
Dot shook her head. “My husband isn’t the soft kind,” she said.
“Then just let him alone. If he doesn’t love the baby, you’ll get no
interference in the raising of it, and that’s something.”
Dot returned to her crying. There wasn’t any consolation in the
red-haired girl’s words. What kind of woman wants to raise her baby
without her husband’s comments and advice on the matter? What kind of
woman can devote her life to two mortals who care nothing about each
other? The book of poems which the girl had called an “anthology”
floated before Dot’s misty vision.
“That kind,” Dot answered herself. “That kind.”
Eddie came back. He had smoked and had mapped out his campaign. He
wouldn’t say a thing to Dot about the baby. He’d just stick around till
feeding time and get a good look at the kid. Maybe he could tell by
looking at it if it was well or not.
He found Dot lying idly on her pillow. She was freshly powdered and
rouged, and she had combed her hair again. That was all the poor kid
could do to pass the time. He’d go out again and get her a movie
magazine. But no, if he did he might miss seeing the baby. He was
pleased to observe that the talkative woman had fallen asleep, but the
other one had given him a funny look as he passed her bed. What was
that for?
“Did you have your smoke?” asked Dot.
“Yes.”
“Say, Eddie, while you were waiting last night, did you hear the music
coming from the niggers’ house?”
“Yeh, wasn’t it awful?”
“It nearly drove me nutty. Gee, it’s bad enough to be in pain without
having to listen to rotten music.”
“Was the pain terrible, Dot?”
“Not so terrible, no. It was bad, but it was worth it.”
“What do you mean, worth it?”
“Well, I mean to have it over. You know, the waiting and the worry and
all.”
“Oh.”
“Was you terribly worried about me?”
“And then some.”
“You poor darling. It must have been awful, waiting.”
“It must have been awful having the pain.”
The atmosphere was less strained now. They could look at each other.
They could smile. So long as neither of them thought of the little
one who lay sleeping in the nursery, all was well. Eddie asked many
questions about the delivery. It was from his questions that Dot
learned how much she had really missed, how blinded by pain she had
been. No wonder Dr. Stewart laughed at her proud boast that she had
seen and heard everything.
“It’s a very nice delivery room,” said Dot. “Of course I never saw any
other, but I think this is a nice one. They have a cabinet full of
instruments down there, and the cabinet is so big it covers one whole
wall.”
“Is that so?” said Eddie. “That’s some cabinet.”
Conversation perished. But it was a more pleasant silence that followed
than on the occasion before Eddie had had his smoke.
A trio of black-haired women with heavily rouged mouths swooped down
on Mrs. Lensky’s bed. They all wore large diamonds. Dot could not find
the one who had eleven abortions to her credit. They talked loud and
laughed frequently. The red-haired girl scowled into her book.
“What time is it, Eddie?”
“It’s six o’clock,” said Eddie. And as he spoke, Bill came in with
Dot’s dinner tray. There was a poached egg, toast, tea, and some sliced
peaches.
The other trays carried chops and vegetables and a very inviting
dessert. In a few days she, too, would be getting a regular meal. The
thought inspired her to do the best she could for the poached egg.
After the tray had been carried away, Dot began to grow restless. She
wanted the baby. More visitors had arrived at Mrs. Lensky’s bed. Her
husband, a small young Jew already bald, was peeling an orange for her
and bragging to the company about his Shirley.
The number of guests permitted in a ward at one time was restricted to
twelve. But one bed was empty, only one visitor was with Dot, and the
red-haired girl had none; so Mrs. Lensky was within the law.
Miss Parsons came into the room, and Mr. Lensky coaxed for Shirley to
be brought in.
Miss Parsons looked at her watch. “Well,” she said, “it’s quarter to
seven. I’ll change her and bring her in a few minutes early.”
Shirley came. So did the two other babies.
Dot grabbed hers with eager hands and laid it beside her. She exposed
her breast, and Miss Parsons sponged it with boric, and together they
pleaded with the baby to go after some dinner.
Dot had forgotten to watch Eddie’s expression. She was busy with the
baby. She didn’t see him rise and bend over for a better look at the
tiny red face and the squinty blue eyes. Gee whiz, that was his kid!
Actually his kid. He wanted to hold it, wanted to look at its hands and
feet, and wanted to talk to it. He wanted to hear it cry, wanted to see
its head turn. He wanted to feel the hair that lay so soft and silky on
its head. He wanted to hold its hand. Gee, it was a little beauty, too.
“He won’t eat,” Dot said.
Miss Parsons said, “He will tomorrow. You’ll have milk then.”
“How does he get along without eating?” asked Eddie, but Miss Parsons
had joined the group around Shirley.
“Well, that’s the baby,” said Dot.
“No kidding,” Eddie smiled. “I thought it was a battleship.”
“Red, ain’t he?”
“Yeh, he’s red.”
“That fades, though.”
“Does it?”
“Sure.”
“That’s good.”
“It’s time for him to go back,” said Dot.
“Don’t you want me to take him back?” Eddie’s hands reached out for the
baby.
“No, you might drop him,” said Dot, “and then Miss Parsons would holler
at you.”
“I wouldn’t drop him.”
“Well, we’ll wait for her to take him.”
“All right.”
Miss Parsons came and took the baby.
“That’s what we saved all the money for, Eddie.”
“Yeh, that’s it.”
Why the hell didn’t she say something that a fellow could judge whether
or not she liked the kid?
Why the devil didn’t he say something that a woman could judge whether
or not he liked the kid?