Death in Florence
Page 20
What was happening to the baby? What was it doing in there? Was it trying to crawl around its little confining cell? Was it grabbing like a baby at the loopy things near its head? They were Brant's loopy things, and she didn't want them grabbed at. She could only hope that the baby would tidy up when it left. The least it could do was leave the place the way it was when it arrived.
* * *
Brant was lying on her bed. The room was very warm. There were two stoves burning wood. The room was smoky, but under the circumstances that was better than freezing cold. Near the bed, Carlo Mazzatti sat in a chair. He was very pale. He wanted to smoke a cigarette, but he forced himself to wait. On the bed, Eileen Brant was in labor.
"Oh, my God!" she cried. Her face was shiny with perspiration. Her expression was contorted by pain and fear. She had never felt anything, she'd never imagined anything as bad as this pain.
"There, there," said Carlo Mazzatti. "It hurts, I know."
"Oh, my God!"
Mazzatti was very uncomfortable. He couldn't bear to see anyone suffer. He didn't know how long he would have to sit with Brant. He prayed that she would be spared the pain, that it would all be over soon, so that he could go home. He was shaken. The blood alone was enough to make him ill. He was helpless. He had a little booklet that described the stages of giving birth, and he watched for danger signs. He saw none, for which he gave thanks. He knew what the best emergency precautions were, and what ought to be done immediately after the delivery. He knew these things, but he was still waiting to learn if he could do them when it came time. He moved his chair a few inches closer to the bed. "Don't worry," he said. That was an important instruction: Reassure the mother. "I'm right here with you. I brought you a gift."
Brant didn't seem to hear. She was oblivious to anything but her own disembowelment. "Make it stop!" she screamed.
"Here," said Mazzatti. "Look here. I've brought you some perfume. It's very expensive."
Brant sobbed and turned her face away.
"It was advertised in Vogue and Redbook," he said. Brant was crying and making little grunting sounds. Mazzatti felt terrible. "Is there anything I can do?" Brant shook her head. He didn't say anything for a while. He sat in the candle-lit room and watched her.
After a few minutes she looked up at him and said softly, "Get Dr. Waters. I'll give him anything he wants."
"You can't, Eileen," Mazzatti murmured. "He's not around anymore."
"Anything," she said, "if he'll make it stop."
"Rugorsky is sending some doctors by helicopter. Try to hang on." She started to cry. "The perfume is very sexy," he said. Brant screamed.
A few more minutes passed. Mazzatti wished that the doctors would come. He wanted to leave. He wanted to be sick, himself. "I have renounced power," he said. "For you, Eileen. You've made me see what a false thing power is. My association with Dr. Waters was a crime against you. I have repented my sins. I want you to forgive me, Eileen." She didn't answer. He looked at the bottle of perfume in his hand. It was not the proper gift. Mazzatti had never made such an error before. He knew that he had a lot to forget and a lot to learn.
There was a knock. Mazzatti looked up, startled. He saw someone looking into the room. "Hello?" he said.
"Hello," said the other man. "Can I come it?"
"Yes, well, I don't know," said Mazzatti. "She's having a baby."
"I know, that's what I came for."
"Are you the doctor Rugorsky sent?"
"No," said the man. "My name is Moore. I'm S. Norman Moore. I've brought a carp."
"What?" said Mazzatti. He was sure he hadn't heard the man correctly.
"A carp. It's a Christmas tradition in Czechoslovakia. That's where I'm living. Prague. I'm a good friend of Miss Brant. That's why I brought the carp."
Mazzatti was a little confused. There was silence for a few seconds. Then Brant moaned and gasped. "Is she having a hard time?" asked Moore.
"Yes, I suppose," said Mazzatti. "I don't know much about this, really. I don't know what's normal."
"You said a doctor is coming?"
Mazzatti nodded. "Yes, and I wish he'd get here."
"Oh, my God!" cried Brant.
"Eileen?" said Moore. He took the chair by her bed. "Eileen? It's me, Norman. I'm not wearing my uniform anymore. I thought a lot about it. You were right. I had to choose between you and my family ties. My mother, I mean. You're very important, Eileen. You're more important than you realize. You are Utopia 3. All over the project, we're keeping it going for you. You brought down Waters. You showed us that our petty interests were standing in the way of the true values. Because of you, Utopia 3 will grow and live in the real world. It will go on and spread until the whole world is involved. Can you hear me?"
Brant sobbed. She clutched the sheet on either side of her body. She turned her head from side to side and cried.
"I've chosen you, Eileen, and all that you and Utopia 3 stand for. It meant rejecting my mother." There was quiet for a moment. "And I brought you a carp, Eileen. I kept it alive in my bathtub. We can make carp soup. That's a Christmas tradition in Czechoslovakia. We'll have mashed potatoes and cooked fruit. And Christmas cookies."
"I think you're disturbing her, Mr. Moore," said Mazzatti.
"I don't think so," said Moore. "Am I, Eileen?"
"Oh, my God!" she said hoarsely.
"Moore!" cried another voice from the doorway. "Merry Christinas!"
"Staefler!" said Moore. "Come in! She's in labor."
Staefler turned to the Arab kid and motioned him to be quiet. Staefler joined the other two men beside the bed. "Eileen?" he whispered. "I've finished the miniature golf course for you. Every single hole. And I have a surprise for you when you're on your feet again. You'll have to come to Venice to see it, though. I've had your face painted into every one of those pictures in the palace. You remember those paintings about Venice. You know. Venice leaning on the world. Now it's Eileen Brant leaning on the world. And we have Eileen Brant receiving the gifts of the sea from Neptune, and Eileen Brant attended by Peace and Justice, and Eileen Brant crowned by Victory, and Jupiter awarding Eileen Brant dominion over the oceans, and Juno showering wealth on Eileen Brant, and a whole lot more. It's terrific. And the Arab kid has something for you, too."
Staefler stepped aside and let the boy near the bed. He was carrying an envelope. Staefler took it and opened it for Brant. "Look," said Staefler, "it's your horoscope for the next year. The kid did it himself. And it's not just one of these general things like in the newspaper. It's day by day, and it tells you exactly what's going to happen. It says who you'll meet, and when you'll be sick, and where you'll go, and all the good things that will happen to you, and all the bad things, too. And the kid threw in the weather predictions and the football scores. I don't know when he worked on it. He wants you to have it."
Brant tried to say something, but her words were smothered by a gasp. She beckoned to the boy, and he bent closer. "What is your name?" she whispered.
"Kebap," said the boy.
"Is this how you found the secret army?" The Arab kid nodded. "Listen, then, Kebap. You are a hero. You will grow up with my daughter, and you and she will join in marriage and rule over the world."
There was a surprised silence in the room. Norman Moore began to hum the tune of "Silent Night."
"What if you don't have a girl, Eileen?" asked Mazzatti.
"Then," said Staefler, "then I guess the kid here will join with her son in marriage and rule over the world."
There was another strained silence. Mazzatti and Moore looked embarrassed. After a while Moore began humming "We Three Kings from Orient Are."
"While we are waiting—"
"Oh, my God!" screamed Brant.
Mazzatti began again. "While we are waiting for something to be born here, we should realize that a lot has died here in Florence. In a sense, Dr. Bertram Waters is dead. In a sense, Utopia 3 is dead, at least the corrupt original version of Utopia 3. Hostility
and jealousy are dead. A good deal of the world's evils have died here in Florence tonight."
"Oh, my God!"
Staefler looked worried. "I wish Courane and the doctor would get here already," he said.
"Is Courane coming, too?" asked Moore.
"He's supposed to be," said Staefler.
"But that will make four wise men."
"Not by a long shot," said Mazzatti.
There was more tense silence. They watched Brant writhing on her bed in the Pitti Palace, as her child moved slowly closer to its own separate life. Brant breathed in ragged gasps, and she seemed unaware of the others around her.
Staefler looked at Moore. Moore shrugged. There was nothing they could do.
The Arab kid cleared his throat. "God bless us, every one," he said.
"Not yet, kid," said Staefler.
We have come to the end of DEATH IN FLORENCE
Please remain seated while the author brings the
novel to a complete stop.
We've enjoyed having you in DEATH IN FLORENCE.
If your future plans include reading another novel,
we hope you will think of GEORGE ALEC EFFINGER again.
On behalf of the author and the publisher,
we'd like to thank you for reading DEATH IN FLORENCE
Good-by, good luck, and may God bless.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1978 by George Alec Effinger
Cover design by Open Road Integrated Media
ISBN: 978-1-4976-0573-2
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
180 Maiden Lane
New York, NY 10038
www.openroadmedia.com
GEORGE ALEC EFFINGER
FROM OPEN ROAD MEDIA
Find a full list of our authors and
titles at www.openroadmedia.com
FOLLOW US
@OpenRoadMedia