The Laments (3 page)

“He’s not a
thing,
Mother,” replied Julia. “He’s a boy.”

“He’s a thing until he has the
dignity
of a name,” said Rose. “And who is this doctor? He needs a new suit, a haircut, and a
proper
pair of shoes!”

Julia turned to Howard for support; deflecting her mother’s verbal assaults required more energy than she could muster.

“Dr. Underberg is the head of obstetrics, Rose,” explained Howard. “He has quite a few things to teach the medical establishment in this country.”

“Really, Howard? How marvelous.” Rose brightened. Howard always had this effect on her. Julia found her mother’s awe of Howard disquieting—and rather predatory.

There was a squeak at the doorway as Nurse Pritchard, the matron of the ward, prepared to announce the end of visiting hours. But the striking resemblance between Rose and Julia gave her pause; she simply tapped her watch and continued on her rounds.

“What about his name?” continued Rose. “Do you need suggestions? I always thought Harold would be a fine . . .”

Julia shot Howard another desperate glance.

“We’ve
got
names,” Howard interjected, “just none that we agree on.” Almost immediately he realized his faux pas as Julia closed her eyes in anticipation of Rose’s next charge.

“Julia”—Rose smiled in reproach—“can’t you
defer
to your husband for a change?”

“Why?” snapped Julia. “
You
never did.”

“You’re tired, dear,” Rose said. “You always snap when you’re tired.”

“I want to go home,” whispered Julia as she rested her head against Howard’s shoulder.

“Imagine,” Howard said, his face shining at the wonder of his little son. “We’ll go home tomorrow—a family!”

WALTER BOYD WAS NOT
a spontaneous man; he and Mary might have worked at Eldridges for years—he in Accounting, she in Jewelry and Lingerie—before he made a pass. Mary was impulsive and forward, however; she sat on his desk, folded her legs beside his liverwurst sandwich, compelling him to introduce himself if only to retrieve his lunch. The following spring, when she announced that she was pregnant, Walter took a full day to express his surprise.

“Really?” he said the next morning with a dim smile. “Are you
really
pregnant, Mary?”

“Bloody hell, Walter,” she replied. “I’ve been
chucking up
every morning for three days!”

Though Walter was grave and humorless, Mary liked his intellect and earnest nature. He lacked deceit, and he didn’t make her feel stupid, as some men did. With melancholy eyes and a sweet, affectionate nature, he was as stable as a continent. Walter moved an inch a year.

Only an accidental pregnancy could have provoked Walter to propose marriage, but he did the right thing, as Mary had hoped; he even gave her a ring with a sapphire setting. But then that little cloud appeared, the cloud that seemed to follow Mary everywhere. When Mary miscarried, she wailed; she wanted to beat the walls at the cruelty of life. She needed to be held, to be cradled, but Walter just shook his head and rolled the lint from his pocket linings.

“Bloody hell, Walter,” she said. “Sometimes I don’t think you love me at all!”

When he looked back at her with those sorrowful eyes it made her furious. She slapped him. How dare
he
be the suffering one?

“One two three, one two three,” counted Walter softly, staring at the second hand on his wristwatch.

“It was
my
baby!” she roared.

“One two three, one two three,” murmured Walter. “My baby too, one two three, my baby too.” But Mary didn’t hear him. The only way Walter knew to get through his grief was to count. Until, one day, Mary woke up to find him gone, and it appeared that Walter
was
capable of a decisive act.

WALTER BRUSHED THE BLUE JACARANDA BLOSSOMS
from the roof of his black Volvo and climbed in. A gardener was clipping the trunk of a date palm on a nearby lawn. After sitting behind the wheel for a few moments, Walter gave him a brief nod. In this quiet white neighborhood in Lusaka, it might seem odd for a man to be sitting in a hot car counting his fingers.

Walter added the weeks since they had slept together, then broke them down into days, and hours. Numbers didn’t lie; they might well have produced a baby—though it must have been born prematurely.

He estimated 420 miles to Salisbury from Lusaka. If he drove without stopping, he could do it in seven hours. All he needed was the resolve.

MARY’S BREASTS WERE ALWAYS
throbbing by the time her little Jack arrived. The minute she heard his cry, her nipples would start dripping with milk, and by the time the little urchin was in her lap, her nightie would be drenched in two big splotches.

“I can do this by myself,” she said to the nurse who had brought the baby in, eyeing her haughtily as the woman’s shoes squeaked away on the linoleum.

“Oh, Jackie, you little troublemaker. Mother thought you’d never come. Here I am, like two balloons! Mother thought she was going to burst!”

She had been thinking all day about her baby. It seemed to her that fate had matched her up with this child. Certainly the baby she bore was meant for someone else and little Jackie was for her. Perhaps the mother of little Jackie would be better suited to the creature inside the incubator.

“Want to run away with me, Jackie boy?” she whispered. “I think we were made for each other. What do
you
think?”

When Dr. Underberg appeared a few minutes later, Mary smiled.

“Well, look at you!” he declared. “You’re
glowing,
Mary.”

“Oh, go on!” Mary giggled.

“What a change,” said Dr. Underberg.

“
This
baby is the best medicine,” she gushed.

The doctor’s expression changed.

“Yes . . . fortunately, by the time he leaves tomorrow, you’ll have your very own fellow to nurse.”

“Tomorrow?” she replied.

“Yes,” said Dr. Underberg. “His mother’s ready to go home.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Mary broke into an anxious smile. “I’d like to thank her. Do you think I could? I’d
so
like to thank her,” she repeated.

“Thank her?” said Dr. Underberg cautiously. “Well, it’s rather unusual, but I see no reason why not.”

“Which room?” asked Mary. “I’ll just pop in by myself.”

JULIA WATCHED A DUMPY FIGURE
edge along the perimeter of the room, footstep by footstep. She had a disheveled mop of mouse-brown hair, flushed cheeks, and a loopy smile.

“I just wanted to see the baby’s mother,” Mary said with a nervous laugh.

“How’s
your
baby?” asked Julia.

“Fine,” said Mary with a wilted smile. “But little Jackie’s a wonder. I
so
love him.”

Julia stiffened, but nodded politely. Mary covered her mouth like a schoolgirl.

“It’ll be nice to go home. I’m sure you’ll feel that way, too,” said Julia.

Mary nodded, and swallowed. “I wonder,” she began, “if perhaps I could nurse him one last time before you go?”

Julia was about to say no, but she checked herself. “I’ll speak to the doctor,” she said, sensing that the woman might not take her answer well. Mary rose to leave, then reached for Julia’s hand in farewell. Julia noticed the raw fingertips and the woman’s trembling lips.

“Room 303,” sang Mary softly as she tiptoed out.

TWO HOURS LATER
,
the sun was simmering on the horizon; Walter parked his car under a solitary euphorbia tree. A drop of poisonous sap dribbled down the window. He slept as a herd of giraffe crossed the road with stilted poise; their legs merged into the glittering tarmac while their heads ducked gracefully beneath the telegraph wires.

He dreamt he and Mary were in a garden of paradise. Enormous white birds with elegantly curved beaks were crying through the trees as the couple walked along a weaving path with topiary flamingos on either side.

“I’m pregnant,” Mary said, and this much of the dream seemed true to his memory. She
had
told him this in a garden somewhere.

“How?” said Walter.

“Screwing three times a day’ll do it,” she replied with a girlish smirk. That was Mary, all right: thirty-six and rude as a tart.

“What’ll we do?” he asked, though he knew the answer. He would marry her, because that would be doing the decent thing.

“But do you love me?”

“I think so. I hope so. Why wouldn’t I?” he asked.

She gave a small cry and embraced him; suddenly they were walking, man and wife, through a park in the Cape. Walter wore a straw hat and a jacket and tie. Mary held her sapphire ring up to the sun, casting rays on the stern bronze face of the Boer hero who stood, cornered by four fountains, in a goldfish pond. The pavement was scorching. Mary removed her sandals and paddled into the pool; water cascaded around her, soaking her white linen dress until it stuck to her skin. She giggled in the spray—adopted a pose and spat water from her mouth, held up her sodden tresses and pranced across the pool like a duchess, a ridiculous figure, drenched, her wet belly glistening.

Walter stood by the pond, as rigid as the Boer statue.

“Come here, Walter. Forget yourself and jump in!” Mary shouted.

He watched her, torn between his composure and the naughty glee of his pregnant wife. Then he kicked off his shoes, deciding she was his antidote, the cure to his torpid nature; he tossed his hat and jacket into the air and clambered into the pool. Mary was his liberator, and he thanked fate and embraced her.

The elderly bench sitters winced at this shocking abuse of a public garden. Even the bronze Boer had to suffer this foolishness, with Walter’s straw hat perched rakishly on his head. Tears of laughter rolled down Walter’s cheeks as Mary blew raspberries at a frowning matron. He was freed from himself and in love with Mary. God bless her silliness and her vulgar language.

“Walter!” cried Mary suddenly.

Walter turned and saw Mary’s dress turn red between her legs.

Her scream was deafening. He opened his eyes.

A marabou was screeching at him through the windshield. Walter jerked in his seat and started the Volvo’s engine. The bird, unimpressed, raised its enormous wings in a languid shrug and hopped lazily to the ground. Walter had hunted many times for impala and zebra, and he knew that the minute an animal was down, the marabous and vultures would be first on the scene.

As the Volvo shuddered forward he wondered if the marabou had sensed the blood in his dream.

MARY BOYD TOSSED IN HER SLEEP
.
She regretted calling Walter; Walter didn’t care about her anymore. She’d offered him all her love and he had rejected her. The last time they’d made love she’d suspected that he was really just saying good-bye.

“Well, I don’t need you now!” she said out loud. “I’ve got little Jackie!”

Meanwhile, Walter was driving around the grounds of the hospital in the early morning light, wondering how to find his wife and baby. A sign read,
VISITORS ADMITTED
9:00
TO
3:00. He counted the minutes, converted them to seconds, and decided to take a stroll around the rhododendrons to make the time pass.

JULIA WAS IN A LIGHT SLEEP
at six
A.M.
She was used to the sound of the nurses squeaking in their plimsolls past her room; it was a surprise to see a nurse enter the room silently.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Just changing the nappy, dear,” whispered the nurse as she picked up the bundle beside her.

Julia listened to the nurse’s footsteps and thought about her rather loopy smile. Where had she seen it before?

MARY’S BREASTS ACHED
.
It had been over twelve hours since she had nursed; the white uniform she had taken from a linen closet grew damp around her nipples the very moment she thought about nursing. As she approached the reception desk, she lowered the large canvas bag casually to her side, praying that little Jackie would be quiet.

The night attendant rose to unlock the door for her. He noticed the two large wet spots on her chest, and averted his eyes as she walked out.

THE FRAGRANT ARCH OF PINK ROSES
that greeted visitors to Mercy Hospital was glorious; Julia loved roses, and had paused to breathe them in whenever she came for her appointments with Dr. Underberg. Mary, however, appreciated them only for the concealment they offered. She walked quickly along the length of the whitewashed building with its terra-cotta shingles. An enormous purple rhododendron bush gave her cover as she paused to catch her breath. Her heart was beating furiously. Oh God, what had she done? She checked the baby: his gaze was confident; he beamed at her. Such a happy fellow; she was obviously doing the right thing. But which way to go? How could she hitch a ride with little Jackie in a bag?

“Mary?” called a familiar voice from among the rhododendron blossoms.

“Walter!” she gasped.

He replied with an abashed grin. “Surprised you, didn’t I? Didn’t think I’d come, did you? Well, here I am, Mary. Here I am!”

He was about to take her in his arms when a small whimper came from inside the bag at Mary’s side.

“This is Jackie, Walter. Our baby,” she said. “Say hello to your daddy, Jackie.”

Walter blinked. Tears clouded his eyes, and he struggled to find words to express this joy while Mary peppered him with questions and demands. Where was the car? Could they leave now? Let Mummy nurse the baby. Walter was overcome, and eager to be Mary’s hero again. In a few minutes they were on the road, Mercy Hospital was receding, and a bundle of happiness was smiling at him from Mary’s lap.

“
WHAT KIND OF A BLOODY HOSPITAL IS THIS?
”
roared Howard, who had never roared before, but felt
somebody
should be roaring under the circumstances. “How could someone bloody
walk out
with our baby?”

“This is most unfortunate. No mother has ever taken someone else’s baby before,” Dr. Underberg confessed.