Evan Hunter - The blackboard jungle

“Yes,” Dr. Bradley answered. Anne’s mother drew in a sharp sigh, and Rick said, “Dead,” dully, and Dr. Bradley said “Yes” again.

“It’s...” Rick started, and then he forgot what he was going to say, and he thought only The baby is dead. A boy. And dead.

“A perfectly healthy, normal child,” Dr. Bradley said. He clasped Rick’s shoulder warmly and said, “You can have others, Mr. Dadier. You’re both young and... I... I know this is a shock, and believe me, I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

“It’s... it’s all right,” Rick said softly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“An unfortunate...”

“It’s all right,” Rick said.

“Your wife is doing very well. She...”

“Anne is all right? You’re sure...”

“Yes, she’s fine. I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Dadier. This is always the saddest part of obstetrics, and believe me, I wouldn’t...”

“No, that’s all right,” Rick said too hastily. “Please, it’s ail right. May I see my wife? May I talk to her?”

“She’s a little weak,” Dr. Bradley said, “but she asked for you. I... she... she doesn’t know about the baby yet, Mr. Dadier. I wouldn’t tell her until tomorrow, if I were you. You see, she’s been through a shock and it’s better if we wait. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I understand. May I go to her?”

“I would also suggest that you take her home as soon as possible. It’s not a healthy atmosphere, you understand, being on a maternity ward where the other women...”

“I understand,” Rick said, wanting desperately to see Anne, wanting to see her and to touch her. “Please, may I...”

“Come along,” Dr. Bradley said.

He followed the doctor down the corridor and they waited for the elevator, and he thought The baby is dead, the baby is dead . And then the elevator took them to the fourth floor and he stepped out into a dim corridor, and his heels echoed on the floor, and the high-vaulted ceilings carried the echoes. He waited while Dr. Bradley went inside, and he heard a woman screaming with her labor pains, and then a nurse in a crisply-starched white uniform wheeled Anne out. She lay back on the table with the sheet tucked up under her chin, and the sheet was flat over her stomach, and her head was twisted to one side. Her hair was damp on her forehead, and she smiled weakly when she saw him, and the nurse said, “Not too long now. She needs sleep.”

He took her hand, and she brought it to her chest and held it there, clung to it tightly. He kissed her damp forehead and there were suddenly tears in his eyes for no good reason, and he leaned over the table and held her close, and she pressed her cheek to his and he could feel the tears on her skin also.

“It was terrible, darling,” she said, half-sobbing and half-laughing. “Oh, Rickie, it was really very hard.”

“Do you feel all right?” he asked.

“I feel tired. I feel so exhausted, Rickie, I never knew there could be so much pain. Oh, Rickie, I’m so glad it’s over, so glad.” She laughed sleepily, and then she bit her lip, and the tears came again, unchecked.

“And you feel all right?”

“Just tired, darling. Darling, I want to sleep for a year.”

“All right, honey, you go to sleep.”

“No,” she said, “no, don’t go. Please don’t go yet, Rickie. Wait until they chase you.”

“All right,” he said.

“Did you see the baby?” she asked suddenly.

“Honey, I think you ought to get some sleep. I think...”

“It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it, darling?”

“Yes. Honey, why don’t you...”

“Are you happy, Rick?”

“Yes, darling.”

“I’m glad. I knew you wanted a boy.” She smiled and closed her eyes, and he thought she was asleep for a moment. He made a slight movement away from her, but she opened her eyes and held him tight. “Does he look like you, darling?” she asked.

“I... I don’t know,” Rick said.

“I’ll bet he does. Oh, he was so much trouble, Rick. The little stinker.” She laughed and then said, “Are you happy, Rick?”

He was ashamed of the tears that ran down his face, and he buried his face in her shoulder to hide the tears. “Yes,” he said, “I’m very happy.” He held her closer to him and said fiercely, “Anne, I love you so much, so terribly much.”

“I know, darling,” she said soothingly.

She stroked the back of his head idly, and they were silent for a few moments, and then Rick heard the click of the nurse’s heels on the floor, and her voice said, “We want her to rest now,” gently, because the nurse knew what had happened, too.

“I’ll come tomorrow,” Rick said.

“All right, darling. Take care of yourself, please. Promise. Is my mother here?”

“Yes.”

“Tell her I’m all right, just sleepy. Tell her it’s a boy, Rick.”

“I will.”

“They wouldn’t let me see him. They had to clean him up. Is he big, Rick?”

“I... yes, Anne.”

“You’ll come tomorrow? You will, won’t you?”

“Yes.”

“All right now,” the nurse said gently, “time for bed.”

He leaned over and kissed Anne again, and she clung to him for a moment with a happy smile on her face, and then she leaned back and the nurse wheeled the table down the corridor. He stood under the high-vaulted ceiling, thinking nothing, feeling nothing, empty, empty, drained.

He had not known the boy, not known it as Anne had, had never felt the kicks against his stomach, had never felt the life mushrooming within him. But he felt now a great loss and a great sadness, and he stood alone in the high-vaulted room, and he wanted to say something more to his wife, wanted to share this thing with her, wanted to talk it out. He watched the table wheel out of sight, and he stood there helplessly with the sadness inside him, a weary sadness, a sadness beyond tears. He turned at last and walked toward the elevator, and on the way down to the main floor he did not look at the elevator operator, nor did he hear a word his mother-in-law said on the way home. He thought only of the son he had never known — the son he had lost.

He told Anne the next day.

They’d put her in a private room even though he’d originally arranged for a semi-private one. They felt it would be better for her, alone, without seeing another mother and her infant. When he came during visiting hours, he brought flowers, a gigantic bouquet of roses — which were her favorite — and the nurses oohed and ahhed over the bouquet and then arranged the flowers expertly in a vase beside her bed.

He sat near the bed, and she had prettied herself for the occasion. She was still pale, but her hair had been combed and it framed her face with soft gold, and she had put lipstick on her lips, and she looked very pretty even though she looked very tired.

She shifted her weight uncomfortably after he’d kissed her, and then explained, “I’m on a rubber cushion. They cut you all up, did you know, Rick? To make it easier for the baby to come out. I have stitches down there.”

He smiled with a great effort and said, “They’ll heal.”

“My God, I hope so,” she said, opening her eyes wide.

She chatted about the hospital and about one nurse she didn’t like, and then she asked, “When do I see the baby, that’s what I’d like to know? After all, creation is something...”

“Anne...”

“... I don’t do every other day. The least they could do is...”

“Anne...”

She stopped talking and looked at him curiously, and he knew that she knew in that moment, or at least suspected, or perhaps suspected something worse, a deformed child perhaps, something worse than death could have been.