Orphans of the Carnival

by Carol Birch

  “Oh, sorry, sir.”

  Stupid woman.

  “Let me,” said the doctor, opening the bedroom door for her, ushering her in and closing it sharply behind her. “Now,” he said, “where were we?”

  “Danger,” said Theo sharply.

  “Of course. Birth is, of course, always dangerous. She’s probably a little more at risk than the average woman but not as much as many.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Exactly what it says.” Trettenbacher walked to the door. “There’s always danger. She’ll be fine. Make sure she gets plenty of rest. She’s not still dancing, is she?”

  She was, not as much, a little, slower. Three more stops on the tour. “Of course not,” Theo said.

  “Mr. Lent,” said Trettenbacher, “I must stress that your wife will have the finest available medical care, the absolute best of modern obstetrics.” He buttoned his overcoat. “I can assure you I have no shortage of extremely talented volunteers to assist me.” He smiled. “Scientifically,” he said, putting on his hat, “this is a fascinating case. A tremendous opportunity.”

  Theo imagined them all craning to see what came out. She could die, he thought, as the doctor’s footsteps faded away in the stairwell.

  “I’m off now, Mr. Lent,” said Polina, coming out of the bedroom. “I’ve taken her some cocoa and she’s having a nice lie-down.”

  “Thank you, Polina.”

  “Are you all right, Mr. Lent?”

  Theo blinked. “Of course I am, why do you ask?”

  “I don’t know, I thought you looked a little—upset.”

  “No, no, I was just thinking,” he said, then realized he was standing, gaping at the girl in a vacuous sort of way. “Good, good,” he said, reviving, “we’ll expect you on Christmas Eve then, as arranged. Very good. Thank you, Polina.”

  By Christmas Eve, Julia’s cold had settled in, and she had an awful headache and was beginning to wheeze. There was no question of her attending the party at Volkov’s, but Theo went anyway. She didn’t mind. They’d be together all day tomorrow. Polina came to make hot drinks and see to the fire. She’d brought a cake and some nuts, and after she’d puttered about at the stove for half an hour they sat down and ate the cake while Julia drank some awful milky buttery thing that Polina said would do her good. The slippery texture made her gag but she sipped away obediently.

  “You get that down,” Polina said, “and you’ll be better before you know it. I dare say this must be the coldest winter you’ve ever seen.”

  “I wanted to go to Vienna,” Julia said, “but the schedule won’t allow. Not yet.”

  “It’s a shame you can’t go where you please.”

  “Who can?” said Julia.

  “Some can.”

  “Can you?”

  “I’m going to my father’s tomorrow,” Polina said, as if that answered the question. “My sisters and brother will be there.”

  “Oh, well, you mustn’t stay up late, you know. You’ll be wanting to make an early start tomorrow.”

  “Not that early.” Polina took the empty cup from Julia. “They don’t live far. Shall I make you some more of that before I go?”

  “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”

  “How’s your head?”

  “Better, I think.”

  “You should have a sleep,” Polina said. “There’s nothing a good sleep doesn’t improve.” She stood up.

  “This creature’s kicking me,” Julia said. “He doesn’t want me to sleep.”

  “Calm down, you bad baby.” Polina leaned over and patted Julia’s huge drum of a belly. “Let your poor little mother sleep. Now. I’ll just tidy up a bit in there and then I’ll be off.”

  But after she’d gone there was no chance of sleep. A boy. Big boy. Elbowing, kneeing, sticking his feet everywhere. Kicking right where all the milky slop lay and making her feel sick. She put her hands over him. Theo Junior. Don’t let him be like me. Make him normal. It would not be so bad, she thought, to live in Moscow. A house here, instead of Vienna. It was quiet, no sound but the snow, placidly falling, kissing the window. “Look at your cradle, little man,” she whispered. A baby’s smooth head, her dark hairy hand, an indrawn breath. Elisio. Solana holding her hand. Come away. “I’m your mother,” she said. “Now go to sleep.” But he was restless under her ribs.

  Theo came back drunk at midnight, face glowing with cold. “Merry Christmas!” he cried. “It’s Christmas Day!” striding to the window and flinging the shutters wide. “Listen to the bells.”

  “Theo! Don’t open the window, we’ll freeze.”

  “Sorry.” He knocked against the chiffonier, yanked at his collar. “Did I wake you?”

  “I wasn’t asleep,” she said. “How was it?”

  “Oh, wonderful. You know Volkov. Only the best when he puts his mind to it. Everyone dressed up. You know. Games and all that jolly stuff. Plenty to eat. We all sang Christmas carols. Liliya Whats her name was there, and she asked after you. Sends her love. How’s your cold?”

  “The same.”

  He sat on the side of the bed, grinning at the floor and chuckling to himself. He had danced with Liliya Grigorievna Levkova, this smooth fragrant creature, her slender waist a thing of beauty. She’d smiled in his face the whole time, chatting brightly. He hadn’t got the foggiest idea what she was talking about, her words were floating somewhere in the air above his head. One dance.

  “Want anything?” he asked. “Shame you weren’t there. A drink?”

  She shook her head.

  “Poor old Julia,” he said, patting her knee, “never mind, it’ll pass. You should have gone to sleep.”

  “Every time I start dropping off, he kicks me.”

  “Oh, he does, does he? You’re that sure it’s a boy?”

  She smiled, taking his hand. “I have a feeling.”

  “Give the little bastard some vodka,” Theo said, “knock him out.”

  She settled back on the pillow. “I think he’s quieting down a bit now. He doesn’t like it when I cough.”

  “Cough no better?”

  “On and off. I’m afraid I’ll be tossing and turning.”

  “I’ll sleep in there,” he said, “give you some peace.”

  “You should. You don’t want to catch it.”

  “It’s nice in there by the fire,” he said, “I’ll take this other pillow.”

  “Look at you,” she said fondly, “you’re reeling.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Get yourself another blanket from the chest,” she said. “Now that you’re back, I think I can sleep.”

  By the time he’d made the chesterfield comfortable and got ready for bed, she’d fallen asleep. He poured himself one more drink, lit a cigar and stood in his dressing gown looking out of the window. It had stopped snowing. Everything was still, and the moon made the snow-covered street blue. His heart raced. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he told himself aloud, swaying slightly, “nothing at all to worry about.” He drank some more and didn’t remember going to bed and falling asleep till the bells woke him. Julia was up making tea, padding about in her nightie, unaware that he was watching her. Her strangeness could still strike him breathless.

  Three more months, give or take. Lyublino, Pushkino, Mytisci. Three more months, my little trouper.

  It was a Tuesday in March, a very cold morning, and she’d just gotten up. She’d woken early, Polina wasn’t here yet, and she was stirring the still-glowing embers of last night’s fire back into life. Suddenly she was soaking wet. Everything was soaking wet. She took the candle from the mantel, went back in and touched Theo’s shoulder. He was frowning in his sleep, mouth open, a faint snore back in his nose.

  “Theo.” She shook him gently. “I think it’s starting.”

  Theo blinking, scowling at the candlelight, his hair in his face.

  “It’s early,” he said, grunting, sitting up in a groggy fuzz, “are you sure?”

&nbs
p; She stood shivering, holding her wet nightdress away from her body. “Look at this.”

  “It’s too soon,” he said.

  “I know.”

  Theo groaned. First sign, Trettenbacher had said, bring her in. We won’t leave anything to chance, her being so small. He swung his legs out of bed and the cold hit him.

  “What time is it?”

  “About five.”

  “Oh God!” He started dressing, semiconscious. Julia stood quietly, holding her stomach with both hands and looking down at it. It felt heavy, ridiculously so, but then it had for ages. She listened for pain within her body, but there wasn’t any, just a great cold that made her tremble all over.

  “Quick,” said Theo, “put a dry nightie on.”

  She took one from underneath the piles of bibs and booties and neatly folded baby dresses in the chiffonier.

  “Right,” he said, running out to fetch a carriage with his coat half on, “get yourself all muffled up. Be ready.”

  She wiped herself clean with a towel and was ready by the time he came back. In the carriage she felt something shift inside. “Theo!” she said, gripping his arm.

  “Nearly there,” he said. But the first real pain she’d ever known began, and she tightened her grip so much on his arm that he clenched his teeth. The pain soared, made her close her eyes, tense every muscle and hiss. “Nothing at all to worry about,” he said with more confidence than he felt. “You’re getting the best possible medical attention.”

  The pain ebbed but came again at the door of the hospital. Trettenbacher himself came out to greet her, flanked by nurses. She was doubled over, Theo holding her up.

  “My dear, your teeth are chattering,” Trettenbacher said, rubbing her cold hands. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

  “I’m not afraid,” she gasped. “I’m cold.”

  “Well, we shall warm you up! This way—”

  “You’re in good hands now, Julia,” Theo said, shifting from foot to foot in the cold. “Trettenbacher, do you need me for anything? Should I wait?”

  “Not at all. It won’t be for some time.”

  “You’ll keep me informed.”

  “Of course.”

  “Brave girl!” Theo said. “You can do it!”

  “Of course she can!”

  The nurses took her to a room painted white, with a high bed. The pain was gone. They told her to lie down and call them as soon as it came back. A door was open, there were voices. One of the nurses came back with an extra blanket. “Very cold out there this morning,” she said pleasantly, “icy. How are you feeling?”

  “Scared,” said Julia.

  “Of course you are.”

  She was a kind-looking woman with a tired smile and a soft, wrinkled face, deeply hollowed. “Everyone feels scared with their first. Only natural. Don’t worry, it’ll all be over before you know it.” Julia knew her from one of the doctor’s visits.

  Another came and stood looking over her shoulder. This one knew her only by reputation and had been longing to see her. “Poor strange thing,” she said quietly.

  The hollow-faced nurse smoothed down the blanket and checked the water jug. “I’d try to get a bit of sleep, if I were you,” she said.

  Impossible.

  It was hideous. The pain beyond words and imagination, a raw black bubble blowing bigger and bigger, unendurable. Surpassing, turning its monstrous back for the fall like a sea beast. In the respites, the nurses came and went, and Trettenbacher with his assistants. All morning. But what was time? She knew it passed because of the window. She’d watched the light come up, watched the snow so cool and lovely a world away, wanted to roll in it, roll away the heat, watched the flakes grow sparse and slow, watched the white unremarkable sky persist in indifference as she burned, till slowly, scarcely perceptibly, it dimmed toward another evening.

  “I can’t stand it,” she said, tears wetting the front of her nightgown.

  “Not much longer,” a voice said briskly. One of those doctors. There were lots.

  The hollow-faced nurse, smiling kindly.

  “She’s quite the stoic, isn’t she?” someone said.

  Then it was dark and there were no more respites. In the end it was only pain, and the pain was like fire, greedy for air, greedy for the whole world. Julia put back her head and moaned, a long harsh growl that rose to the pitch of a scream.

  “Time to send for the father,” someone said.

  “Chloroform,” said Trettenbacher calmly, calling his students ’round him.

  The pain was taking her away. The voice, urbane, whispered in her ear, “There is nothing to worry about. We’ll give you something for the pain now, your baby is very large and we’ll need to help him along.”

  She couldn’t see or think.

  “Take another look, Dr. Chizh, can you feel the head? Breathe. Breathe in very deeply, very deeply.”

  She was lost in the dark.

  “Heroldstein, check her pulse.”

  Chizh cut and Trettenbacher, stern-faced with concentration, reached in with his metal tongs and slowly pulled into the world a big, hairy boy with screwed-up eyes and clenched fists.

  Peace. No more pain, or if there was it was ignorable, just ordinary pain, tame pain that would one day die. They were sewing her up. The baby had not cried when they pulled him out, though he took in that first mighty gasp of the world audibly. What is this now, and how should I meet it? Steel yourself. He was quiet when the nurse finally placed him swaddled in his mother’s arms, the most beautiful baby in the world. Apart from the soles and palms of his tiny pink feet and hands, he was hairy all over, even the backs of his ears, and his big cone-shaped head bore a great healthy black mop. He was puzzled, perfect.

  That’s how it was when Theo arrived, their two hairy entranced faces staring each at the other.

  “He knows me, Theo,” she whispered.

  “Of course he does.” Theo reached furtively toward the baby’s mop of a head. “You’re his mother.”

  “No, I mean he knows me. Isn’t he beautiful?”

  “He is.”

  “Just look at him. Theo. Theo Junior.”

  “He won’t look at me,” said Theo Senior.

  “He can’t see much yet.”

  “He sees you.”

  “Yes, he does. He sees me. Do you want to hold him?”

  He’d rather not, but couldn’t say. Babies were odd. He might drop it. Well, he’d better do this, so he took it and there it lay, it, him, the baby, warm and heavy in his arms. “Hello,” he said to it.

  “I wanted so much for him to be normal,” she said, “but now it doesn’t matter. His skin’s pale, look. He gets that from you.”

  “So it is.”

  Poor child would suffer, Theo thought. Mine. My child. How did it come to this?

  She burst into tears. “He’s so beautiful and everyone will call him ugly,” she said.

  “No, they won’t.”

  But of course they would. His path was clear. Ape Boy. Remarkable, Unparalleled, the only Mother-and-Child Ape People in existence.

  “He’ll be a wonder like you are.”

  “But I’m ugly. The ugliest in the world. But he’s not, he’s beautiful, but no one will see it. It’s not fair.”

  “Ugly’s only a word,” Theo said.

  “No, it’s not.”

  She wiped her face with one hand.

  “We have to look after him, Theo,” she said. “We have to make sure nobody’s cruel to him.”

  Theo’s own eyes filled up, but he wasn’t sure who he was crying for. “Of course we will,” he said. “It’ll all be fine, he’ll be fine, we’ll be fine.”

  “Don’t let anyone throw stones at him,” she said, and he picked up her hand and rubbed it firmly between his own till the baby started crying and Julia had to feed him. Theo stared in disbelief at the size to which her breast had swollen. She was very tired and started dozing while she fed, head drooping down toward the baby’s pupl
ike face. After a while the nipple slid from the baby’s mouth and both were asleep. Theo covered her breast and went to find Trettenbacher.

  “They’re asleep,” he said. “Everything seems to be fine.”

  “She’s had a nasty time,” the doctor said. He looked tired. “She needs her sleep.”

  “What were the odds, I wonder,” Theo said, “fifty-fifty, eh, Doctor?”

  “What? That the condition would turn out to be hereditary?” He shrugged. “Who knows? We know so very little about it.”

  “Well.” Theo sighed a very deep sigh. There was a flattened look about his eyes. “The world must make a place for these people.”

  “As it does,” said the doctor.

  “Does it?”

  Trettenbacher offered him a cigar, and the two men were quiet for a while. Trettenbacher was thinking about the medical report he would write and where he was going to publish it. Theo went out for a drink. The night was dark and cold, the stars above sharp as ice. A man in the tavern started talking to him about the price of tobacco.

  “I’ve just become a father,” Theo said.

  “Hear that?” the man yelled. “This man’s just become a father.”

  The whole room, glad of a diversion, began drinking his health.

  “What is it? Boy or girl.”

  “Boy,” he said proudly.

  “Congratulations! A man needs a son. Strong boy, is he?”

  “Very.”

  Round after round to the new son.

  He was misty-eyed when he got back to the hospital. Thank God I’ve got a sense of humor, he thought, bursting into laughter standing on the snow-covered steps. There we all are drinking the health of a fine, decent-looking child, son and heir, the sort any man would be proud to own, and little do they know. Boy. Child. Well, it’s true, isn’t it?

  He went in to find Julia crying, and the nurses running about tight-lipped. Not a doctor to be seen.

  “They’ve taken him away!” she said.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t know. The doctors took him. I was feeding him, and he started coughing.”

  “I’ll find out. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing.”

  The corridor was empty. He walked about till he found a nurse to waylay. “What’s going on?” he said. “Why isn’t anyone looking after my wife? She’s very upset. Why have they taken her baby?”