Эд Макбейн - Mothers and Daughters

“How do you feel?”

“Foolish. I think this is a humiliating experience. I think women should have their babies in the fields where no one can see them.”

“Listen, Amanda, you do everything they tell you to do, do you hear? You listen to what they say, and you do it.”

“Matthew, women have babies every day of the week.”

“Well, you don’t.”

“Don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Button your collar.”

“The important part is bearing down,” Matthew said, buttoning his collar. “I read that someplace.”

“Yes, I’ll bear down,” Amanda said, smiling.

“I don’t know what you find so amusing about all this, Amanda. I really don’t see—”

“Matthew, you sound like a stuffy old—”

“Are you all right? Do you feel all right?”

“I feel fine.”

“How are the pains?”

“Tolerable,” Amanda said, and again she smiled.

“Here’s your wheel chair.”

“I won’t get in that thing.”

“Amanda, do what they tell you to do.”

“Mrs. Bridges?” a nurse said.

“Yes, she’s Mrs. Bridges,” Matthew answered.

“Do you want to get in the chair?”

“No, I don’t.”

The nurse smiled. “It’s a hospital rule,” she said.

“Go ahead, Amanda.”

Amanda pulled a face and got into the chair. “They’ll probably send me right home,” she said.

“Can I go with her?” Matthew asked.

“We’ll ring down for you as soon as she’s changed, sir,” the nurse said.

“Where are you taking her?”

“The sixth floor, sir. The maternity floor.”

“Oh. All right. You won’t forget to call down, will you?”

“No, sir.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few minutes, Amanda.”

“Yes, Matthew.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yes, Matthew.”

“Okay. I’ll see you in a little while.”

“Yes, Matthew.”

“Is that her bag, sir?”

“What?”

“The suitcase. Is that—?”

“Oh, yes. Yes.”

“I’ll take it, sir.”

“Sure. Sure.” He handed her the suitcase.

“Now just relax, Mrs. Bridges,” the nurse said, and she wheeled her toward the elevators.

In the elevator, Amanda said, “I’m not getting very many pains.”

“Well, let’s not rush it,” the nurse said. The elevator door slid open. “Here we are. We’ll just go down the hall here.” She wheeled Amanda into a room that was bare save for a bed and a night stand. “Would you take off your clothes, please?” she said. “I’ll bring you a hospital gown.”

“I brought my own gown.”

“Yes, but these are different. They’re sort of slit up the side.” She paused and smiled. “It’s hospital rules. Did you bring your own slippers?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You may wear those. And a robe?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I’ll be right back.”

Amanda undressed silently. The nurse seemed so young. She wondered suddenly if she had ever had a baby. When the nurse returned, she asked her.

“No,” the nurse said. “Never. Dr. Kohnblatt phoned to say he’s on the way. Here’s your gown. Would you like to see your husband now?”

“Yes, I would.”

“I’ll call down.”

A sudden groan came from the corridor outside. Amanda turned toward the door sharply. “What was that?”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“No, no, what was it?”

“Someone in the labor room.”

“My God!” Amanda said.

The nurse smiled. The groan came again. “She’s having a particularly bad time,” the nurse said.

“Well, can’t you close the door or something?”

“Would you like me to close the door?”

“Yes. Yes, I would.” The groan came again. “What are they doing to her?”

“She’s having a particularly bad time,” the nurse said again. She went out, closing the door behind her. The groan sounded down the corridor again, muffled somewhat, but the same animal cry, frightening, primitive. I wonder if I’ll scream, Amanda thought. I don’t feel anything at all yet. Well, a few little tremors down there, but nothing to speak of. The women say it’s like gas pains. I don’t think I ever had a gas pain in my life, my God, listen to her scream, you’d think they were pulling out all her teeth!

The door opened suddenly. A middle-aged nurse with a starched look and a toothy grin poked her head into the room. “Hello, mother,” she said, and Amanda winced. “I’m Mrs. Ogilvy, the delivery-room nurse. Are you Dr. Kohnblatt’s patient?”

“Yes, I am.”

“He phoned to say he’s on his way over. How do you feel?”

“Fine. Listen, can’t you do something for that poor woman down the hall?”

“Oh, she’s fine,” Mrs. Ogilvy said cheerfully. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“Yes, a taxi,” Amanda said, and she rolled her eyes.

Mrs. Ogilvy smiled. “It’ll be over before you know it,” she said. “You’re a nice healthy girl.”

“Thank you,” Amanda said. “Oooh!”

“A little pain?”

“Yes. Yes. A little... stronger than the others.”

“Have you broken water yet?”

“No.”

“Well, don’t let it frighten you when it happens.”

“I’m not frightened.”

“Of course not, that’s a good mother,” Mrs. Ogilvy said, and she vanished.

Amanda made a sour face as soon as she was gone. Well, where’s Matthew? she wondered. She said she was going to phone down for him, and it’s only six floors, so what’s...

The groan came again.

Oh, you poor creature, Amanda thought, why don’t they give you something to knock you out?

“Amanda?”

There was a worried look on his face as he came into the room. She felt suddenly protective of him and thought this rather odd. She was the one having the baby, and yet she felt it was Matthew who needed the protection. She almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of the idea.

“Should we begin timing the pains?” he asked.

“No, I think there’s time yet.”

“Honey, if you’re in pain, don’t try to hide it.”

“I won’t, Matthew.”

“It’ll be over before you know it,” Matthew said, and smiled.

“That’s what Mrs. Ogilvy said.”

“Sure.” Matthew paused. “Who’s Mrs. Ogilvy?”

“The delivery-room nurse.”

Matthew nodded. “There was somebody screaming in the hall.”

“Yes, I heard her.”

“You’d think they’d have soundproof rooms.”

“I don’t mind,” Amanda lied.

Mrs. Ogilvy came into the room again. She ignored Matthew completely. “Are you ready for your prepping, mother?” she asked Amanda.

“My what?”

“Well, you come along with me, won’t you, dear?”

“Where are you taking her?” Matthew wanted to know.

“Mr. Bridges, she’ll be all right.”

“Shall I wait here?”

“Yes, won’t you, please?” Mrs. Ogilvy smiled. “There’s a nice view from that window.”

Amanda followed Mrs. Ogilvy down the corridor. They went into a small room with a table and a sink.

“Would you get up on the table, mother?” Mrs. Ogilvy said.

Amanda got onto the table silently. She felt suddenly embarrassed.

“We’ll just shave you first, and then you can have your enema, all right, mother?”

Amanda did not answer. Mrs. Ogilvy came back to the table with a bowl of lather and a safety razor. “Pull up the gown, won’t you, dear?” she said, and Amanda complied silently, certain she was blushing. She could feel the scrape of the razor and every now and then a sharp pain that rippled through her abdomen. It won’t be bad, she thought. I won’t scream, she thought.

They had taken Matthew downstairs again and given Amanda an injection of something, but the injection did not help to kill the pain. The pain was a constant thing, it seemed, a steady ebb and flow, but the valleys of comparative painlessness were brief and the pain seemed to roll in immediately, mounting to a shrieking crest and then dropping swiftly into a short restful trough and then rising hysterically again to a needlepoint sharpness. Her body seemed to be moving of its own accord, the pain was something beyond conscious will or direction, even the screams that came from her throat, which she recognized as her own screams, fueled by her lungs, propelled by her breath, voiced by her tongue and her lips, even the screams seemed to be connected to the convulsive area below her waist. Her abdomen, her vagina, her lungs, her throat, all seemed to be manipulated by something beyond her and outside her, yet intricately bound with her body, a single sharp pull of razor-honed steel thread and the pain would rumble upward from her crotch to a white-hot spot near her navel, the scream would gather force and burst from her lips, “Shhhh, shhh,” the young nurse said, and Amanda shouted, “You never had a baby!” and screamed again. She no longer felt foolish and she no longer felt embarrassed, nor did she feel as if she were in the hands of heartless torturers, she accepted the pain as a part of this thing that was happening to her, this half-glazed, half-drugged thing that was all pain and sweat so far, something stripped of modesty and sex appeal and attraction, something somehow stripped of all the vacuum-packed sterility of the twentieth century, something that was entirely animal, and yet more than that, more than animal because she did not think of herself as bestial, she grunted and she screamed and she twisted in pain and once she swore at her own doctor who had become only a voice beside her, a pair of gentle hands holding her own, she squeezed his hands each time the pain struck her, she could not remember what Dr. Kohnblatt looked like, she could only hear his voice beside her. She did not think of Matthew as they wheeled her into the delivery room, and she did not think of her mother or her sister or her sister’s child Kate, nor did she even think of the baby she was trying so hard to produce.