by Victor Koman
"No!" She turned her back on Ron to grasp Fletcher's arms. "When I went to you for an abortion, I signed my child's life away. You and Karen saved her. I should have given you noth-ing but thanks, and instead I tried to ruin your lives. I'm sorry." She turned to Karen and David.
"There is no lawsuit. Renata is your daughter."
"You can't do that!"
All eyes turned toward Czernek. He was not the source of the outburst, though. He was staring in silent bafflement at Johnson.
Black eyes flashing with anger, his hair disheveled, Terry looked like a madman.
"You can't give up the lawsuit," he cried, desperation sear-ing a violent edge into his voice. Fletcher and the Chandlers exchanged puzzled glances. Dr. DuQuette spoke firmly. "We've got to get her prepped."
Johnson followed Valerie and Fletcher down the hallway, the others behind him.
"If you drop this suit," he said, "there'll be no judicial deci-sion. No precedent to use in subsequent cases. We've got the chance to set that precedent. Both sides agree on what the outcome of this suit should be. Can we hope that a future land-mark case would be settled as easily?"
"Just a minute," Czernek said loudly. "Do you expect-"
"You mean you want them to proceed with the lawsuit?" Fletcher asked. "What if we lose?"
"We can't." Johnson nodded at Valerie. She stopped in the doorway to the dressing room, staring back at him. "Not if the plaintiff is on our side."
Ron reached out to turn Valerie toward him. Her cold eyes were no longer fathomable to him. He released her.
"I guess you won't be needing counsel for the rest of this." He turned to leave, then stopped. Over his shoulder, he said, "I'll wait to drive you home."
"Don't bother." Her voice held no emotion, just the flat state-ment of a fact.
XX
Evelyn watched through the observation window. Dr. DuQuette hovered over Valerie while an intent young resi-dent transferred syringes back and forth. A small team of four nurses and technologists kept their attention on the bank of monitors.
She was lucky even to be watching. Dr. Lawrence had only grudgingly allowed Fletcher into the ICU
as a personal cour-tesy to DuQuette. Lon mentioned to her, sotto voce, that he outranked Lawrence "at the lodge." It apparently had some utility at the hospital, too.
So she sat watching DuQuette aspirate the marrow from Valerie while the resident gently shoved the viscous fluid into Renata's IV tubing. Fletcher's hands unconsciously moved now and then, as if her motions could assist in the operation. She saw nothing wrong in their coordinated movements, but she felt she had the right and obligation to be in there doing it herself.
Beside her sat Karen and David, their arms, hands, and fin-gers intertwined in a clutch of fear and support. Karen flinched the first few times the thick needle rammed into Valerie's chest. After the tenth time or so, she grew accustomed to the way the doctor would raise his arm, press the aspirator against her flesh, and shove hard with a quick, powerful motion.
David observed the others at their stations in front of the monitors. He watched for some evidence in their eyes that everything was all right or getting better. What he feared most was to see a look of alarm on one of them, followed by a flurry of activity. The vignette would play over and over in his mind until he knew for certain what it would look like and what it would portend.
They stood there, though, gazing at their equipment with steady eyes. Occasionally, one's lips would move, or another would turn to call out information. DuQuette and the resident nodded, muttered back instructions. Whenever the doctor had accumulated enough marrow, the resident transferred the sy-ringe to Renata's IV tube and pushed firmly. The tubing blushed pink and then deep red. Fletcher whispered to the Chandlers, "They were finally able to get hold of some GM-CSF. That ought to speed her recovery this time around."
"How long will this take?" David asked.
"Another ten minutes or so. Renata doesn't have room for much marrow. But she can use as much as we can give her."
Karen tried to catch a glimpse of Renata. "When will we know if it works?"
"It might be another two to four weeks for the new cells to start up. Or the cells already in her may get a boost and start producing right away. We won't know." She put an arm around Karen. "It's a waiting process more than anything else. We were able to stabilize her temperature for the transplant. I mean, they were."
Renata was not her patient anymore. Sitting there behind a glass wall, unable to participate or even to hear, she could only use her knowledge of medicine to determine that all was going well. She used that knowledge to keep Karen and David informed. It was the best that she could do. It was something.
"
Valerie dreamt. Images raced past her. Or was she running past images of children? A lost legion of children staring mutely, captured in some halfway state between life and death. Crys-tallized, frozen in time.
The lines and ranks of them spread forever, their weight threatening to crush the earth. At the same time, Valerie felt that their tiny shoulders could support the world, their young arms could lift it to new heights. She couldn't decide which it was to be. She only knew that they could not stand immobile forever. And she couldn't run forever.
The crystals shattered with a multicolored electrical spiral of light. She awoke with a start, then closed her eyes groggily, trying to grasp the remains of the dream that had been wrenched from her by the opening of the door.
"Valerie?"
She opened her eyes again to see Dr. Fletcher standing over her. Behind her stood Dr. DuQuette.
"How's Renata?" Valerie asked. The effort caused her chest to ache with familiar pain. She withstood it, even welcomed it. If it helped Renata...
"She's stable," Dr. DuQuette said. "We won't know for a while." Fletcher nodded, gazing into Valerie's eyes with warm af-fection.
"I've got to know she'll be all right," Valerie said. "I had such a strange dream." Evelyn stroked her forehead with a gentle hand. "You've done everything a mother could do for her daughter. Just rest."
"Where's Ron?"
Fletcher's smile faded. She simply shrugged.
DuQuette's pager cricketed in the depths of his coat pocket. He shut it off and excused himself. Alone, the two women gazed at each other. Outside, the sound of birds and street noise drifted through closed win-dows.
"Is it Saturday?" Valerie asked.
Fletcher nodded.
"I can go to court on Monday?"
"Yes. If that's what you want to do."
"I want to help you. I want to help Renata. I want to help the women who can't keep their babies but don't want to kill them."
"It might not help. One lower-court decision won't shift cen-turies of outdated opinion." Valerie smiled in spite of the ache in her chest. "It's a first step." " The hospital became, over the weekend, a refuge for Valerie and for the Chandlers. Stern, granite-faced nurses, muscular Johnny Mason, and other grim orderlies (borrowed from the neuropsychiatric wing) guarded Renata and the trio from re-porters and miscellaneous gawkers with an intransigent glee that bordered on feral savagery. When Karen Chandler's mother and father arrived for a visit, the receptionist sent her a Xerox of their drivers' licenses for confirmation of their sta-tus. They passed. Few others did.
Dr. Lawrence showed up once to "check on the baby's progress." He gazed for a moment through the ICU window, nodded, then glared at Evelyn. She smiled wearily.
He walked away in silence.
XXI
The steps to the courthouse swarmed with reporters, pro-testers, police, the curious, and the unfortunate. People with business that had nothing to do with Dalton Vs. Chandler et al. had to wade through the swamp of humanity, cursing their luck. Some granted interviews solely on the basis of being in the right place just as an opinion-hungry newshound decided to grab a few sound bites for local color.
"And what's your outlook on the Baby Renata case?"
"I dunno, lady. I'm here a
bout my landlord."
The word was out that something big would happen today. The betting was that the defendants would either continue presenting their side of the case or the judge would dismiss the suit. Or something. Rumors flew like pigeons around the courthouse steps.
A Bayside General employee van pulled up to the sidewalk. Audio and video electronics vied with eyes and ears for posi-tion around the blue-and-grey vehicle. The side door slid nois-ily aft and out stepped Johnson, dressed in a grey suit, crisp white shirt, and navy tie. He grinned in triumph, shouted,
"No questions, please!" and urged the crowd to make room. The Chandlers followed him, smiling and waving at the cameras.
This was new. The photographers fired vollies of shots. The videocams captured every motion. Karen looked as if she had just stepped out of the beauty parlor. Every strand of her dark hair was in place, her makeup subtle and perfect. She wore a deep emerald dress with a matching knit sweater, the cowl draped over her shoulders. Her matching handbag and pumps were just a shade darker. If green meant go, the reporters had their signal.
David dressed in beige slacks and yellow polo shirt under a tan cardigan sweater. He looked like a young version of the classic American father figure. It might not have suited him very well, but the way he beamed with joy told everyone that he sensed victory.
Dr. Fletcher was the next to step out. Her outfit was a simple, austere grey suit with a black cowl-neck blouse.
"How's the baby?" someone shouted.
"Renata is stable at the moment." Evelyn gazed around at the farrago of lenses and microphones.
"We still don't know whether her stem cell activity will return, but for now her tem-perature is normal, and she's resting quietly."
She turned to extend a hand into the van. Valerie Dalton nervously made her way to the sidewalk, then looked up into the wall of noise and light. Her light blue skirt and vest over a taupe blouse gave her an authoritative aire that contrasted sharply with her apprehension.
The questions erupted immediately.
"Is it true Ron Czernek walked off the case?"
"Are you in pain from the second transplant?"
"Will you drop the suit?"
"Will you continue the suit without him?"
"Why are you here with the defendants?"
The noise level threatened to overwhelm her. She gripped Evelyn's hand tightly. Evelyn squeezed back with even stron-ger pressure.
For a long moment, Valerie said nothing. Then she seemed to straighten under the onslaught. She shook her head, toss-ing her long hair back over her shoulders. Holding up a hand for silence, she waited.
The reporters quieted down. Most of them. When it was quiet enough, she spoke.
"I intend to see this case through to victory. And by that I mean I intend to lose. Thank you." As if on cue, Johnson pressed forward through the crowd. The protesters had been split far asunder by the wedge of re-porters. Patches of blue that were the police orbited around the periphery, powerless and unnecessary. The circle of dem-onstrators surrounding the center of activity carried signs in support of transoption.
James Rosen stood with them, arguing to an unlikely pair.
"Don't you see?" he said to the cadaverously thin woman carrying a small sign that read Abortion Is Murder-Transoption Is Theft. "It's not theft. It's more like salvage. Res-cue. During the Depression, people found babies on doorsteps and took them in. This just substitutes wombs for rooms." The man wearing a button reading Not With My Liberty, You Don't tried to get a word in edgewise. With the fervor of all new converts, though, Rosen turned to him and continued without interruption.
"Don't you see that the fetus creates a property sphere by enclosing itself in a sac made from its own genetic material? That it is saying, `This is where your body stops and mine be-gins'? Its actions speak where it has no words...."
None of them noticed the passage of the litigants.
"
Judge Lyang entered the courtroom, viewing everything within her domain. The defendants were all present, she noted. And, as the clerk had informed her, Ron Czernek was absent. In fact, Dalton sat at the defendant's table, calmly finishing a bit of conversation with Dr. Fletcher. In the spectator area, amidst reporters and the curious, sat the expert witness Dr. Brunner. Lyang noted that the other two, Decker and Burke, had not shown up today. It seems that word of Valerie's defec-tion spread quickly over the weekend, she mused. Well, let's get this over with. She eyed Johnson. You're not going to like this. She took a deep breath.
"Court will come to order." The judge turned toward the jurors. "In my chambers a few moments ago, the litigants pre-sented this court with a rare opportunity." Her voice was me-tered and assured. She leaned forward, folding her hands on the bench.
"The purported function of the judicial system is to provide peaceful solutions to profound disagreements between indi-viduals. Right or wrong, we have that power. Well or poorly, we use it. The decisions we make, however pleasing they are supposed to be to both sides, are seldom viewed by the losing side as either fair or pleasant. While this may seem trivial in criminal cases, where one side has engaged in violence against the other, it can be disquieting in civil suits, in disagreements among ordinary people. In custody battles, either-or outcomes can be horribly tragic." She looked at each member of the jury in turn. "You have spent several days listening to testimony from both sides per-taining to the question of who is the rightful mother of the baby, Renata. The natural mother has brought suit to reclaim her child, which she claims was taken from her by fraud and deception. The so-called transoptive mother and the doctor involved have built their defense on the fact that the natural mother had contractually surrendered claim to a fetus that is not legally considered to possess human rights. In so doing, they have raised a fascinating collection of legal and moral questions unsettling to our concepts of abortion, definitions of humanity, contracts, abandonment, Good Samaritanism, and even rights of salvage.
"It would seem that your task as jurors will be more difficult than that of a Solomon. Not only must you decide whose claim to Renata is valid, but-in order to make that decision-you must redefine human rights in regard to adults and the un-born. It is a task I would not wish to place upon myself." She turned to gaze at the litigants. "I have, however, been asked by both the plaintiff and the counsel for the defense to grant a directed verdict. However-" She paused, gazing first at Dalton, then at Johnson, the Chandlers, and Dr. Fletcher. "However, a directed verdict has always seemed to me to carry a stigma of arbitrary unfairness. It is a judge's assertion that she doubts the ability of a jury to reach a verdict that serves the interests of justice. Therefore, in the interest of justice, and because I think there are issues to try, I will allow this trial to follow its natural course." Johnson's jaw dropped. He stared as if he had been pole-axed.
Valerie turned in confusion to Fletcher, her composure evaporating. "What?" Fletcher shook her head, smiling. "Well, Terry," she whis-pered, "here's your chance." He stood, clearing his throat and glancing sourly at Lyang. She smiled warmly back at him.
"Ladies and gentlemen of the, uh, jury, the defense would like to call a final witness-Valerie Dalton." Valerie looked from Johnson to Fletcher and back again. "Me?" Johnson nodded.
"You can do it," David said quietly.
Karen nodded in agreement. "Just tell them what you told us in the van." Hesitantly, Valerie arose to approach the stand. Noting that she had been sworn in previously, Judge Lyang merely re-minded her that she was still under obligation to answer truth-fully. Valerie moved as if in a dream.
"Ms. Dalton." Terry's voice snapped her back into reality. "You brought suit against Dr. Evelyn Fletcher, Karen Chan-dler, and David Chandler for custody of Baby Renata. Can you explain to the jury why you are here as a witness for the very people you are suing?" With a quick glance at Judge Lyang, Valerie turned toward the jury. Her stomach quavered. She took a deep breath. I'm sorry, Ron. This is the right thing to do.
"Jud
ge Lyang spoke about the interests of justice. This law-suit was never in the interest of justice. I'd forgotten what jus-tice was."
She looked at Dr. Fletcher. "At first, I didn't want to be preg-nant. Abortion was the easiest way out. I thought. Then, too late, I began to have my doubts. It was as if everything I had been told about abortion didn't matter. I had been told that a fetus wasn't human, that it only had the potential to be human. That made sense before, but then I thought about it. Isn't a baby only a potential teenager? A teenager a potential adult? Did I have the right to draw the line between potential and actual with the stroke of a knife? When I found out that my baby had survived the abortion, that there hadn't been any abortion at all, I felt tricked, robbed. It took me this long to realize that I was the one who was tricking and robbing. I tricked myself into thinking that having an abortion wouldn't be killing a real human being, and I almost robbed Renata of her chance to live." She turned to face Karen.
"I won't rob her a second time."
Looking back to the jury, she said, "I ask you to think about the life Evelyn Fletcher saved. I want you to consider what would have happened to Renata if Dr. Fletcher hadn't rescued that fetus that I wanted killed and implanted it in Karen Chan-dler. I want you to remember that Karen and David wanted this child and I didn't. They took her in when she could not speak for herself or provide for her own survival. I abandoned her to die, and they saved her.
"I had no duty to keep Renata alive. Neither did they. We all made our choices freely. But where I thought my only choice was my freedom or Renata's death, Dr. Fletcher knew there was a third path-freedom and life."
She paused, gazing for a moment at the empty chair at the plaintiff's table.
"I ask you to think of me as someone who abandoned her child with full knowledge of the consequences. And I demand that you acknowledge both my ability to make and my obliga-tion to abide by a simple contract. Then justice will be served."
She looked at Johnson for a sign. He nodded.
"Ms. Dalton, are you making this statement under duress?"
