Stephen Dixon - What Is All This? - Uncollected Stories

Then take him to Lucine and Dave’s for dinner.”

“You know they invited me and not him. And I’ve already imposed on them by getting there so late.”

They wouldn’t mind that much.”

“I’d mind. They didn’t know your old man was coming down. No, it wouldn’t be right.”

“So who knew?” She pointed to her chest. “I knew?”

“Okay, so nobody knew, but must everybody suffer? Why did he even come down so quickly in the first place?”

“Maybe because you sent him a telegram of the birth.”

“But I didn’t know he’d rush right down. And you told me to telegram him.”

“I think he had a right to know — don’t you?”

“Of course. I didn’t say no.”

“So think, then. Think of something.”

“I’m thinking,” he said. “I’m thinking.”

He sat in the chair facing her and put his hand on his forehead. Sylvia lay on her back, her belly, knees and feet making large bumps in the sheet, her head propped up on two pillows. Think of anything yet?”

“I’m still thinking.” His eyes followed the second hand on his watch.

“Maybe you can get him to go back earlier. Tell him you got something important to do. You know: something involving business and that the dinner you’re going to is part of it. He knows business and respects it.”

“Oh yeah. Your dad really knows business.”

“Just tell him that!”

“I can’t think of anything better, so I guess I’ll have to.” He looked at her. “You know, you really look like you’re struggling. You need anything to help?”

When Mr. Hyman returned, his hand on his cheek and his head shaking back and forth and smiling, Hank offered him the chair.

“Don’t need it,” he said. “After seeing that boy I could stand and dance all night. I’ll tell you, he’s something. A knockout.”

“I’m glad you like him, Dad,” Sylvia said.

“Like him? Out of all the kids there, and I studied each of them, he was the nicest looking of all. I don’t want to start anything again, but where he got that nose from, I’ll never know. A small one like that you don’t often get in my family. And when Sylvia married you, Hank, nice a nose as you got, I thought a very small nose your kids will never get. But you got. And two gorgeous blue eyes also.”

The doctor doesn’t think they’ll stay that way,” Sylvia said. “Probably get darker the next few months.”

“Maybe it’s for the better. Because what would my neighbors think if I brought around a grandson like that with blue eyes and such a small nose. ‘So Sylvia married a Gentile?’ they’d say.”

“Tell them not to worry,” Hank said.

“Worries like that I should have all my life. But let me tell you, worries about Sylvia’s birth I had plenty. Did I worry.” He looked around, tried sitting on the arm of the chair Hank was in, then stood and said “You know, it’s really beyond me why they don’t have more than one chair in the room.”

“Take mine,” Hank said, getting up.

“No, sit, sit.”

Then I’ll call someone here and get you one.”

“Don’t bother. A big hospital chair like this one is too heavy for someone to lug in. But tell me. What are you paying for all this, if it’s all right to ask?”

“Too much,” Hank said. “But thanks to your gift, we’ll be able to squeak through just fine.”

“I wish I could’ve given more. Sylvia tells me your folks gave a real nice little something also. That’s very kind of them, tell them from me. In fact, when I get back I was thinking I’d phone them and say everything here is just dandy.”

“I called and told them,” Hank said, “and they’ll be here in a couple of days.”

“So I’ll call them also and tell them. No harm in that. But let me tell you how surprised I was when I got your wire. I nearly fell off the chair I read it in — that’s the truth. ‘A boy,’ I said. ‘My first grandchild and it’s a boy, and weeks early, no less.’ Her mother in Boston should only feel as happy as I did. And that little weasel she married also.”

“You should have heard her,” Hank said, laughing. “She called before you got here and first thing she says is all this psychological stuff she’s always reading about and spouting, and what’s good for the newborn infant and so on — things like that.”

“I hope you took it all with a grain of salt.”

“Mom only meant well,” Sylvia said. The baby was a little premature, so she was naturally worried.”

“Of course she meant well,” Hank said. “And she’s been all right. Helped us out plenty when we needed it, plenty, so I’m not about to gripe. But when she gets into that psychiatric and Freudian and Dr. Spock bushwah, well, let me out — know what I mean, Dad?”

Mr. Hyman nodded, took a candy from the box, peeled off the gold wrapping, and stuck it into his mouth. “It’s cream filled. I thought it was a cherry.”

“You want one with a cherry?” Sylvia said.

“Sure, if nobody else does. They have them in the box? Didn’t know. Just bought it without asking.”

They do, and a whole set of instructions also. That’s why it’s called a Whitman’s Sampler — so you can sample any of their assortment. Here,” and she pointed to the chart on the inside cover of the box.

“Chocolate Butter Cream — third square in, second row from the top; that’s what you just got.” She dug into the box where the chart said Liquid Cherry would be, removed the wrapping and gave the candy to her father. He bit the top half off, held the bottom half, which still had white liquid in it, and said “You know, you’re right. It’s a cherry. I got it in my mouth right now.”

“Told you. You can get whatever you want just by looking at the squares here, and it has an identical layer underneath.”

“It’s really something,” he said. “Anyway, Hank’s telegram was a terrific surprise. I thought three weeks from now, a month. I immediately dropped what I was doing, called you — you weren’t home, of course, or at work — and took the bus to Washington, though when I got off I realized I didn’t even know what hospital Sylvia was in. Hank didn’t say so in the telegram — just his congratulations. So I called a couple of hospitals I found in the phonebook and they didn’t know, till I asked one operator what’s the biggest hospital in Washington, because I remember you once said that’s where you’d be. She said ‘Washington Hospital Center you must mean,’ so I called and they said you were here. You should’ve told me what hospital, Hank, but doesn’t matter. And it’s some place, eh? Biggest and nicest for its size I ever saw.”

“Dad,” Sylvia said. “What are your plans for later tonight?”

“I thought I’d take the proud papa out for dinner before leaving.”

“I can’t,” Hank said. “I already got some place to go to. A sort of dinner-business engagement, you might say. Something I couldn’t put off even if Sylvia were having the baby tonight, and I’ve already delayed it a couple of hours.”

“So you go even an hour later. For coffee and cake — around then. Business deals always work out best around that time.”

“You got a good point, Dad, but I can’t. Let’s face it — the kid’s here now and I can’t afford to pass up any chance for a sure buck.”

“So you can’t, then.”

“But what are you going to do?” Sylvia said. “I don’t want you walking around alone and maybe getting mugged. This can be a dangerous city.”

“I’ll go home by bus like I planned.”

“Why not take an earlier one?”

“Because I want to take it at eleven or twelve. I’ll have dinner in some nice place near the station and then sleep on the bus. It sort of rolls you, you know?”