Greg Bear - Darwin's Radio

“I’m listening.”

“I’m troubled by you calling yourself a laboratory. That sounds cold and maybe a little out of it, Kaye.”

“I hope you see through the words. See what I hope to say and do.”

“I might,” Mitch said. “Just barely. The air feels very thin where we are, right now.”

“Like being on a mountain,” Kaye said.

“I don’t like mountains much,” Mitch said.

“Oh, I do,” Kaye said, thinking of the slopes and white peaks of Mount Kazbeg. “They give you freedom.”

“Yeah,” Mitch said. “You jump off, and you get ten thousand feet of pure freedom.”

As Mitch was paying their bill, Kaye walked toward the rest rooms. On impulse, she pulled her phone card and a piece of paper from her wallet and lifted the receiver on a pay phone.

She was calling Mrs. Luella Hamilton at her home in Richmond, Virginia. She had persuaded the number out of the hospital switchboard at the clinic.

A deep, smooth male voice answered.

“Excuse me, is Mrs. Hamilton in?”

“We’re having an early supper,” the man said. “Who wants her?”

“Kaye Lang. Dr. Lang.”

The man mumbled something, then called out “Luella!” and a few seconds passed. More voices. Luella Hamilton picked up the phone, her breath briefly pounding on the mouthpiece, then familiar and calm. “Albert says this is Kaye Lang, that right?”

“It’s me, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“Well, I’m at home now, Kaye, and don’t need no checking up on.”

“I wanted to let you know I’m no longer with the Task-force, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“Please call me Lu. Whyever not, Kaye?”

“A parting of the ways. I’m heading west and I was worried about you.”

“There’s nothing to be worried about. Albert and the kids are all right and I’m just fine.”

“I was just concerned. I’ve been thinking about you a lot.”

“Well, Dr. Lipton gave me these pills that kill babies before they’re very big, inside. You know about the pills.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t tell anybody, and we thought about it, but Albert and me, we’re going ahead. He says he believes some of what the scientists say, but not all, and besides, he says I’m too ugly to be messing around behind his back.” She let out a rich, disbelieving laugh. “He don’t know us women and our opportunities, does he, Kaye?” Then, in an undertone, to someone beside her, “Stop that. I’m talking here.”

“No,” Kaye said.

“We’re going to have this baby,” Mrs. Hamilton said, coming down heavy on have. “Tell Dr. Lipton and the folks at the clinic. Whatever he or she is, he or she is ours, and we’re going to give him or her a fighting chance.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Lu.”

“You are, huh? You curious, too, Kaye?”

Kaye laughed and felt her laughter catch, threaten to reverse to tears. “I am.”

“You want to see this baby when he comes, don’t you?”

“I would like to buy you both a present,” Kaye said.

“That’s nice. Then why not go find yourself a man and get this flu, and we’ll visit together and compare, you and me, our two fine youngsters, all right? And I’ll buy you a present.” The suggestion carried not a hint of anger, absurdity, or resentment.

“I might do that, Lu.”

“We get along, Kaye. Thanks for caring about me and you know, looking at me like I was people and not a lab rat.”

“May I call you again?”

“We’re moving soon, but we’ll find each other, Kaye. We will. You take care.”

Kaye walked down the long corridor from the rest rooms. She touched her forehead. She was hot. Her stomach was unsettled, as well. Get this flu and we ‘II visit and compare.

Mitch stood outside the restaurant with his hands in his pockets, squinting at the passing cars. He turned and smiled at her as he heard the heavy wood door open.

“I called Mrs. Hamilton,” she said. “She’s going to have her baby.”

“Very brave of her.”

“People have been having babies for millions of years,” Kaye said.

“Yeah. Piece of cake. Where do you want to get married?” Mitch asked.

“How about Columbus?”

“How about Morgantown?”

“Sure,” Kaye said.

“If I think about this much longer, I’m going to be completely useless.”

“I doubt it,” Kaye said. The fresh air made her feel better.

They drove to Spruce Street, and there, at the Mononga-hela Florist Company, Mitch bought Kaye a dozen roses. Walking around the County Magistrates Building and a senior center, they crossed High Street, heading toward the tall clock tower and flagpole of the county courthouse. They stopped beside a spreading canopy of maples to examine the inlaid and inscribed bricks arranged across the courthouse square.

“ ‘In loving memory, James Crutchfield, age 11,’ “ Kaye read. The wind rustled through the maple branches, making the green leaves flutter with a sound like soft voices or old memories. “ ‘My love for fifty years, May Ellen Baker,’ “ Mitch read.

“Do you think we’ll be together that long?” Kaye asked.

Mitch smiled and clasped her shoulder. “I’ve never been married,” he said. “I’m nai’ve. I’d say, yes, we will.”They walked beneath the stone arch to the right of the tower and through the double doors.

Inside, in the Office of the County Clerk, a long room filled with bookshelves and tables supporting huge, scuffed black and green volumes of land transactions, they received paperwork and were told where to get their blood tests.

“It’s a state law,” the elderly clerk told them from behind her broad wooden desk. She smiled wisely. “They test for syphilis, gonorrhea, HIV, herpes, and this new one, SHEVA. A few years ago, they tried to get the blood test removed as a requirement, but that’s all changed now. You wait three days, then you can get married at a church or by a circuit court judge, any county in the state. Those are beautiful roses, honey.” She lifted her glasses where they hung on a gold chain around her neck and scanned them shrewdly. “Proof of age will not be required. What took you so long?”

She handed them their application and test papers.

“We won’t get our license here,” Kaye said to Mitch as they left the building. “We’ll fail the test.” They rested on a wooden bench beneath the maples. It was four in the afternoon and the sky was clouding over swiftly. She laid her head on his shoulder.

Mitch stroked her forehead. “You’re hot. Something wrong?”

“Just proof of our passion.”

Kaye smelled her flowers, then, as the first drops of rain fell, held up her hand and said, “I, Kaye Lang, take you, Mitchell Rafelson, to be my wedded husband, in this age of confusion and upheaval.”

Mitch stared at her.

“Raise your hand,” Kaye said, “if you want me.”

Mitch swiftly realized what was required, clasped her hand, braced himself to rise to the occasion. “I want you to be my wife, come hell or high water, to have and to hold, to cherish and to honor, whether they have any room at the inn or not, amen.”

“I love you, Mitch.”

“I love you, Kaye.”

“All right,” she said. “Now I’m your wife.”

As they left Morgantown, heading southwest, Mitch said, “You know, I believe it. I believe that we’re married.”

“That’s what counts,” Kaye said. She moved closer to him across the broad bench seat.

That evening, on the outskirts of Clarksburg, they made love on a small bed in a dark motel room with cinder block walls. Spring rain fell on the flat roof and dripped from the eaves with a steady, soothing rhythm. They never pulled back the bedcover, lying instead naked together, limbs for blankets, lost in each other, needing nothing more.