Pamela Erens - Eleven Hours

And Lore murmurs in her half sleep, the Dilaudid bringing her pictures, atmospheres. Diana approaches Lore with a bowl of fruit, saying that they called her and of course she came in right away. The fruit is for Soleil, she says. Soleil must be hungry. She will go to Soleil and feed her right now. Bring me! Lore calls. Unhook me! But Diana disappears down the hall, trailing a wash of dirty water behind her.

Lore wades into the water, going deeper and deeper, and now she is swimming far out into the waves. A foam board, like the board Asa taught her to ride on, tumbles by, and she tries to catch it, to hold onto it, but misses. She snatches at another board — no. A wave flips her under the water. Asa reaches out his hand and pulls her onto his chest as he back-kicks toward the shore. He is solid and unafraid; he will keep her head above water. She was never a good swimmer, but he made her a better one.

Ach! cries an orderly, disgusted at the water covering the hospital hallway. Messes, always messes. Nothing but messes in this place. A pigsty. A slaughterhouse. And no one thinks to clean anything up. It all falls to me. He gets out his mop of white tails, his sprays and suds and sponges and cloths. The blood is coming up through the tiles, and no matter how quickly he mops it up, it seeps back more copiously. Faster , Lore urges. Hurry .

Waiting in the corridor are Asa and Julia, nodding at her from a distance. We didn’t mean for there to be so much blood , they say. We had no idea . Their voices grow thin on the wind. And Lore replies with her eyes: But how did you not expect blood?

Then Franckline is talking to her, slowly and clearly, saying the baby is in some sort of special place, that her lungs are strong and that she is waiting for Lore. They must test the child, they must torment her, but one day they will let Lore come and soothe her and hold her. This is real, Lore thinks. Franckline is in the world: solid, permanent. Lore tosses between the waters and this still bed. She tries to wake and listen. For as long as Franckline sits by her Lore will know what is real and what is not. I am coming , says Lore, but her arms are tied down and her tongue will not create the words. I am coming , she says all the same, sure she will get there, knowing she need do nothing more than wake up from this dream and she will be able to hold her Soleil.

Wake up, wake up , she whispers to herself, but she cannot yet quite wake.

My heartfelt gratitude once again to my agent, Anna Stein, and my editor, Tony Perez of Tin House Books, both of whom pushed this book to become the best it could be. Also to Anna’s assistant, Alex Hoyt, and to Nanci McCloskey, Diane Chonette, Jakob Vala, and all the Tin House folks who continue to make the process of publishing such a pleasure.

Thanks to the large number of people who spent their time to ensure that my portrait of a hospital labor would be accurate; any errors are my own. These helpers include Jan Kaminsky, RN, Ilena Kasdan, RN, Laurie Konowitz, MD, Jennifer Lublin, MD, Einat Manor, MD, Johanna McCarty, RN, Laura Ratner, Pamela Schachter, Claudia Taubman, MD, JoAnn Yates, CNM, and above all the extraordinary Tracy Claxton, RN. Rabbi Hannah Orden aided me with my inquiries about Jewish prayer. Thank you to Reverend Rose-Marie Dominique, who patiently answered my questions about Voudon, and Professor Elizabeth McAlister, who referred me to her. Thank you to Tara Lissade for general knowledge about Haiti, and to Enrique Urueta for his preternatural sleuthing skills. Thank you to Jonathan Ratner for his rigorous spousal copy editing.

Thank you to Margot Livesey, Randall Kenan, and Paula Whyman for invaluable feedback, and to my irreplaceable writers’ group — Joanne Fisher, Therese Eiben, Lynn Schmeidler, and Philip Moustakis — for nursing Eleven Hours along.

Thank you to the many members of Mothers & More — too many to name individually — who helped me with various labor-related questions, some of them ridiculous.

Profound thanks, as always, to my nearest and dearest, Jonathan, Abraham, and Hannah, who support and encourage me and keep me on the right track in the ways that count.

PAMELA ERENS’s second novel, The Virgins , was a New York Times Book Review Editor’s Choice and was named a Best Book of 2013 by The New Yorker, The New Republic, Library Journal , and Salon . The novel was a finalist for the John Gardner Book Award for the best book of fiction published in 2013. Erens’s debut novel, The Understory , was a finalist for the Los Angeles Times Book Prize and the William Saroyan International Prize for Writing. Her essays, articles, and reviews have appeared in publications such as Elle, Vogue, The New York Times, Los Angeles Review of Books, Virginia Quarterly Review , and The Millions .