Дэймон Найт - Orbit 12

Mrs. De Vries was in the hall outside his apartment. He thought she had been waiting for him.

“Mr. Tillich, is your wife better? Such a pretty girl.”

“Yes, yes. She’s coming along.”

“I heard her screaming. Couple nights ago. Poor child-”

He started to move on. She caught his arm. “Mr. Tillich, I’m only thirty-three. Would you believe that? Thirty-three.” She looked fifty. Her fingers on his arm were red and coarse. “I . . . You need a woman, Mr. Tillich, I’m around. Wouldn’t charge you much.”

“No. Mrs. De Vries, I have to go in. No. I’m not interested.”

“What am I to do, Mr. Tillich? What? They won’t give us more money. I have two jobs and my kids are in rags. What’m I to do?”

“I don’t know.” He moved forward a step. She motioned and her daughter approached.

“She’s a virgin, Mr. Tillich. Been having periods for six months now. All growed up inside. Five dollars, Mr. Tillich. Five dollars and you can keep her all night.” She motioned the child closer. The girl pulled up her shift. Pale fuzz covered the mound. She turned around to show her round buttocks. They were covered with hives.

Tillich pushed Mrs. De Vries aside. “Bitch! Bitch! Your own daughter!”

“What’m I to do, you bastard? You tell me that. What’m I to do?” He saw her yank the child to her and slap her hard. “Go get some pants on. Pull down your dress.”

Tillich got his door open and slid inside. He was breathing hard. Norma didn’t look up. She was watching TV. The baby was on the floor with the smooth blocks.

“Mr. Rosenfeld, don’t you have any relatives?”

“None able. Brother’s been in a house for twenty years.”

“No children?”

“Son’s dead. Cancer of the larynx. They didn’t have a bed for him. He had to wait almost two years. By then it was Katie bar the door.” He looked thoughtful. “Two daughters, you know. Don’t know where they are. Their husbands won’t let them come around. First one shows up, state says I’m hers.” He chuckled.

“Mr. Rosenfeld, don’t you read the newspapers?”

“Watch it on TV.”

“They miss some things, Mr. Rosenfeld. Starting next month there won’t be any visiting nurse service. Too expensive. Not enough nurses.”

Mr. Rosenfeld looked frightened. After a moment he said, “Not the necessary visits.”

“All of them, Mr. Rosenfeld.”

“But . . . Look, son, I’ve got a tube in me that has to be changed every day. Y’know? Every day. Takes someone who knows how. Good clean tubes. Dressings. Who’s going to do all that except a nurse?” He picked at his sheet. “And change that? And give me a bath? Who?”

They stared at each other.

“Not you. Not you. I didn’t mean that,” Mr. Rosenfeld said. “You’ve been good to me. But you’re not qualified for the tube job. Takes special training.” He was paralyzed from the waist down.

“You’d better apply for a home,” Tillich said finally.

“Did. Four years ago. I’m on the list.”

“Well,” Tillich said, “I have to go. I’ll be by in the morning.”

“Sure. Sure. Good night. Good night.” Before Tillich got out he asked, “Your wife? I guess she wouldn’t be able to have the training?”

“No. She’s ill. Impossible.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” He was staring fixedly at the ceiling when Tillich left

“Do you walk here often?”

“When I can. That isn’t very often.” She looked at him. “How about you?”

“Not often enough. Not enough time.”

“I’ve seen you a few times. Your wife is very pretty.”

He didn’t reply. There was nothing he could say. They were getting near the exit path that he would take. “Do you suppose you’ll have time tomorrow to take a walk?”

She was silent so long he thought she hadn’t heard. Then: “I think I will tomorrow.”

“Maybe we’ll see each other. I always come in at path number one-oh-two.”

“That’s near where I enter. Ninety-six.”

“I’ll wait for you at ninety-six.”

She crouched in the doorway staring at him and shrieked. She didn’t close her eyes. He could see her stomach muscles tighten, her hands clench, then the shriek came. There was a glistening streak across her white thigh. Her legs were beautifully shaped. She shrieked. He pulled the cover over his head, pressing it against his ears. Twice or three times he had tried to comfort her, to quiet her, and it had been worse. He pressed harder on the covers. When she fell asleep on the couch, he covered her. She was thinner than she had been in the winter.

“Please verify fourteen . . .”

“You weren’t in the park all week.”

“Please sign. I was busy.”

“When do you get off? I’ll wait for you.”

“Ten. Your wife and child. They need you. Who will make their dinner? Please, you must sign the forms and move on. Don’t wait for me. I don’t want to see you. I’m busy.”

He signed and moved on.

The waiting room of the pediatrics center was an auditorium with all the sections filled to capacity. Tillich had to stand with the baby for half an hour before there was a vacant seat. The din in the hall was constant, very much like the sound of a high-powered motor. The loudspeaker was on steadily: “UN three seven four two A one twelve. UN two two nine seven A/C seven nine seven. UN one two nine six A/F seventeen. UN three nine one six D two thousand.”

The smells of formula, vomit, urine, feces hung in the air, combining and recombining. The baby’s screams were hardly noticeable here.

“Please refresh your memory regarding your child’s identification number. You will be admitted to the doctor’s examination rooms by number. Please refresh your memory regarding your child’s identification number.” “UN six nine four A/D four nine two one. UN seven one two nine A/F one nine six eight.”

He had to wait nine hours before he heard his number. He started; he had dozed; holding a screaming baby in the stinking auditorium amidst the bathroom and sickroom odors, he had dozed.

“Please strip the child and place it on the table. Keep on the far side of the table. Do not ask any questions, or give any medical detail at this time. Thank you.” It was a recording, activated by the closing of the door.

Tillich had barely finished undressing the baby when the second door opened and a woman came in. She was stooped, white-haired, with a death’s-head face. The baby was screaming more feebly now, exhaustion finally weakening him. He was revived by her approach.

She held him with one hand and did a rapid and thorough eye, ear, nose and throat examination. She went to his genitals, studied his feet. She pushed his legs up to his chest, then spread them apart. She sat him up and felt his back, then tried unsuccessfully to stand him up. Finally she made notations on his card. Only then did she glance at Tillich.

“We must make other tests. You will wait outside, please “ She pressed a button. The door she had used was opened and an orderly motioned for Tillich to follow him.

“Why? What’s wrong? What is it?”

The orderly touched his arm and wearily Tillich followed him. The baby wailed. This waiting room was even more crowded than the auditorium had been, but there was only a scattering of children; most of them were somewhere inside undergoing specialized diagnostic procedures. His head ached and he was very hungry.

He didn’t know how long he waited this time. Finally the orderly motioned for him to come.

“Please dress your child as quickly as possible and exit through the door marked B. An attendant on the other side will be happy to answer any questions. The time for your next appointment is indicated in the upper right-hand corner of your child’s identification card. Thank you for your cooperation.”