by Jane Rule
“We’re doing everything we can,” the doctor said.
“You’ve got to do more.”
“She’s a very strong-willed old woman,” the doctor said.
“She’s a human being in pain,” Peter said.
“Thresholds are different,” the doctor said. “I think she’ll rest a bit better now.”
Peter turned away and went back into the room where a nurse already stood by the bed. Amelia Larson was for the moment quiet, but she was not resting. She lay rigid with strain, her eyes blind with hostility.
“If only she’d give in to it,” the nurse said quietly.
“She can’t,” Peter said.
Though he knew she must be still, he would almost rather have her struggling than lying like this. Sometimes when he was helping to restrain her, his hands ached with murderous love, and in those moments he knew he could kill her if he had to. Quiet, that insane comfort did not come to him. There was only emasculating pity.
“The doctor did give her something.”
Peter nodded.
“You’re not her son?”
It was the second time the nurse had asked that question. Peter simply shook his head. He would not say, to explain, that Amelia Larson had been more a mother to him than his own. She had simply trusted and liked him, leaving him no need to wish for any definition of relationship. He was not here now because she had no son. He was not even here because Cole was dealing with Agate. He was here because he loved Amelia Larson as he had not wanted to love anyone.
“She is quieter,” the nurse said. “Why don’t you get some coffee?”
“Yes, all right.”
As Peter stood at the dispenser in the corridor, he looked at his watch. Five minutes to ten. He should call Harriet. Had he another dime?
“There you are,” Harriet said, hurrying toward him.
“Have you brought Agate down?”
“Yes,” Harriet said. “Cole thought it was too early, but we were all so edgy it seemed better to come along.”
“You didn’t tell them,” Peter said.
“No. How is she?”
They’ve just given her something, but I don’t know that it’s enough.”
“You’re soaking wet!”
“Yes, well, she’s strong.”
“Have you had to…?”
“Sometimes.”
“Should I go in?”
“Wait a minute,” Peter said. “Have some coffee with me first.”
They took their paper cups to the waiting room at the end of the corridor.
“Is she dying, Peter?”
“I guess so,” Peter said. “The doctor won’t commit himself, but he isn’t reassuring at all, either.”
“Then shouldn’t Cole…?”
“I don’t know. She isn’t recognizing anyone at the moment. He couldn’t do anything for her. I don’t know.”
“Just yesterday, she seemed so… steady,” Harriet said.
“She’s worn out her defenses.”
They sat, not saying anything more, until they had finished their coffee. Then they walked back down the corridor to Amelia’s room. She lay, still rigid in the bed, her eyes closed.
“Is she… asleep?” Harriet asked softly.
“I don’t think so,” the nurse said. “But I wouldn’t disturb her.”
“No,” Harriet said.
She stood, looking down at the bloated old face where there was nothing to be read. There never had been, really. You always waited for a gesture or a statement from Amelia Larson, trusting what it would be, from a sure history of experience. Though Harriet understood that she must not call to Miss A, she wanted to. She longed for the ordinary reassurance that had always been there, the easy, accepting love. She moved closer, hoping those eyes would open, would recognize, would understand that she was there, if only for a moment.
“Get out!” Amelia said suddenly, her voice strained but strong.
“Miss A, it’s Harriet.”
“You got your furniture. Get out!”
Peter took hold of Harriet’s shoulders and moved her away from the bed, just as Amelia gestured violently at the space in which Harriet had stood. The nurse moved forward, ready to restrain her, but she did not move or speak again.
“She doesn’t know who you are,” Peter said quietly. “She doesn’t even know that you’re here.”
“Yes, she does,” Harriet said. “She knows.”
Cole sat in the maternity waiting room in the chair by the door, waiting to be told that he could go in to see Agate. There were two other men with him who had asked, at once, if this was his first. He shook his head in denial and quickly picked up a magazine. He gathered one was the brother of the other. They could keep each other company. Once Agate was settled, he would stay with her and let Harriet cope with questions less embarrassing to her.
A nurse looked into the room, smiled at Cole, and said, “You can go down to see her now if you’d like.”
“Thank you.”
It seemed to him extraordinary that only a few months ago, when he drove Kathy to the hospital, he could not have forced himself to take the walk he was now impatient for. But he had not really known Kathy, nor had he known anything about the process of birth, about which he was now so well informed that he irritated Agate with reassuring information. But he did feel confident for her. She was physically strong, and she was built for bearing children. Her fright was like the stage fright of a good actress, real enough before the performance but used up in skill when the time came.
At the door of the labor room Cole hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do because there were several beds, curtained off. He did not know where Agate was.
“I think you have everything you need,” he heard a nurse say behind the nearest curtain.
“Except a bottle of beer.”
Cole grinned, stepped forward, and held the curtain back for the nurse who was leaving.
“Hi.”
“You’ve come without a belt,” Agate said.
“A belt?” Cole asked, looking down at his waist.
“You’re no good to me without a belt. I’m supposed to pull on it. Haven’t you read any of the good, old novels?”
The woman in the next bed grunted. Cole forced himself not to swallow. Having a baby was good, hard work, like climbing a mountain. Nobody wanted to vomit at the sound of a grunting mountain climber.
“You don’t really think you’re going to stay in here,” Agate said.
“I don’t know why not.”
“It’s like hiding out in the ladies’ toilet. You’re past that age.”
“It’s better than the men’s smoker,” Cole said cheerfully.
“Where’s Harriet?”
“Gone to see Cousin A.”
“At this time of night?”
“She won’t stay,” Cole said. “She just wanted to check.”
“I guess I wouldn’t really rather have a broken hip,” Agate decided. “Though I suppose, with luck, I might manage both.”
“More likely to break the doctor’s,” Cole said.
Agate caught her breath sharply and was quiet. Cole reached out for her hand, but she pulled it away. In a moment she relaxed.
“I promise to scream really loud every time,” she said. “You’ll hear me. You won’t miss a thing. Now get out.”
“I’d rather…”
“Get out,” Agate said.
Cole got up. He wanted to make some gesture, lean over and kiss Agate, perhaps. At least take her hand, but she didn’t want anything like that.
“I’ll check back in a while,” he said.
Cole really did not want to go back into the waiting room, but Harriet might be there by now, and, if she was, she’d be some protecting company. Instead of Harriet, Peter Fallidon confronted Cole.
“How is she?” Peter asked at once.
“All right,” Cole said. “I think she wants to be on her own to get on with it.”
“Why
don’t we go out for some air then?”
“Where’s Harriet?”
“With Miss Larson.”
“We’d better wait for her, hadn’t we?” Cole asked. The last thing in the world he wanted was a walk with Peter.
“She’ll know where we are.”
There was an embarrassing silence between them as they rode down together alone in the elevator, but Cole was growing angry as well. Why did he always have to be a victim of other people’s suggestions? He didn’t want to be this far away from Agate even for a few minutes, and under such circumstances it seemed to him inexcusable of Peter to force him into a private chat. But short of simply refusing to get out of the elevator, he had no choice but to go along.
Out in the parking lot, Peter offered Cole a cigarette.
“No thanks.”
“Have you quit?”
“No,” Cole said. “I just put one out.”
“Cole, this is a tough night to…”
“I don’t want to hear anything about it,” Cole said suddenly. “It’s none of my business. I told Harriet you didn’t have anything to explain to me, and you don’t.”
Peter felt his temper flare and fought with it silently.
“I mean it,” Cole added weakly.
“No, you don’t mean it,” Peter said! “You’d rather keep your sordid speculations than have to deal with any sort of truth. But you should have figured out by now that I wasn’t going to trouble you. I’ve been wanting simply to thank you for belting Grace Hill. The thought of it made it easier for me to be nice to her when I had to. It’s made it easier for me to be patient with you, too, though you could use a good belt yourself.”
“You’re not marrying Harriet because you love her,” Cole shouted. “You’re marrying her…”
Peter hit him, then immediately held him by the shoulders and said, “I’m sorry, Cole. I’m sorry.”
The boy stood, dazed for a moment. Then he said, “I asked for it. I’m sorry, too,” and he turned back toward the hospital, walking first and then beginning to run.
Peter did not try to follow him. His muscles already ached with the strain of holding the old woman, as his hand ached from hitting Cole. He was supposed to have told the boy… Peter stopped outside the building and looked up, a child outside his first school, which he’d been terrified to enter, having no idea what he would be asked to learn. He was old now to be walking up the steps of his emotional nursery school, but he did understand what was expected of him, and, tired and ashamed as he was, he was willing to learn.
“They’ve given her another shot,” Harriet explained. “They had to. There’s no choice now but to keep her in a light coma.”
Peter nodded.
“Did you tell Cole?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“It’s probably better. Why should he have seen her like that?”
Peter wanted to say he had tried to break Cole’s jaw instead, but it was not the kind of confession that served any purpose. He knew Cole would not say anything.
“How’s Agate?”
“Getting on with it,” Peter said.
“Should one of us go down?”
“You go,” Peter said. “I’ll wait here.”
They stood together for a moment, a worn-looking, middle-aged couple, inadequate to the birth and death taking place, not even simply related to it or to each other, there by frail choice.
As Cole ran down the long corridors, dodging nurses and hospital equipment, he felt his jaw begin to ache, but it was relieving a pain so much more serious that he was nearly grateful for it. He passed the maternity waiting room and went on down into the labor room. Agate’s bed was empty.
“She’s gone in,” the nurse said.
“So soon?”
“It won’t be long now. She didn’t leave much time.”
“I wanted to see her. I…”
“She’s just fine,” the nurse said. “She isn’t going to have any trouble at all.”
Behind another curtain, Cole heard a nurse say in an impatient voice, “Bear down! Bear down!”
Bear up, surely? Bear with. Cole walked back down to the waiting room to face the brothers.
“She gone in already?” one of them asked.
Cole nodded.
“You’re going to be home free tonight.”
Cole turned away. It was literally true, for, without Agate there, Harriet had no reason to come back. He did not like the idea of that empty house. He had been alone in it only one other night, the night Kathy had had her baby. Where was Harriet? A long time to be with Cousin A. Probably Peter had gone to be with her.
“Mr. Westaway?”
He turned to the nurse in the doorway.
The young lady wanted me to tell you, it’s a boy.”
“Is she all right?”
“Just fine.”
“And the baby? Is he…?”
“Perfect.”
“Can I see her?”
“For a minute.”
Agate was being wheeled down to the elevator on a table, but she was propped up on her elbow, and she waved as she saw him.
“Okay?” he called.
“Nothing to it,” she called back.
He was walking beside her now, holding her hand, looking down into her sun-yellow eyes, amazed by her happiness, proud of her as she was of herself.
“Go wake up Miss A, will you? Tell her. And tell her the baby’s all right.”
Cole nodded and smiled.
“And phone Rosemary, too,” Agate added, some forced sturdiness coming into her voice.
“I will.”
“And come see me once or twice with some beer.”
“Sure.”
She was wheeled into the elevator, and the doors closed. Somewhere nearby Cole heard the small, outraged cry of a new baby. Agate’s? Someone else’s. He turned and saw Harriet standing down the corridor waiting for him.
“A boy,” Cole said. “They’re both fine. You know, we very nearly didn’t get her here on time. She wouldn’t do anything by the book, would she?”
“Better,” Harriet said, smiling.
“She wants me to wake Cousin A, but it’s …” he looked at his watch, “after eleven. She is asleep by now, isn’t she?”
“Cole, she’s worse.”
Cole looked at Harriet, the strain of sorrow clear on her face, and he wanted to say, “Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know,” but his jaw already smarted with that cowardice.
“Peter’s with her now. He’s been with her all evening.”
“How much worse?”
“She isn’t conscious. She’s dying.”
Cole shook his head.
“I’m so sorry,” Harriet said, offering a shy hand to him.
He took it and turned it gracefully into the crook of his arm, to support her and to be reassured that he could take this walk, too, since it was required of him.
About the Author
Jane Rule (1931–2007) was the author of several novels and essay collections, including the groundbreaking lesbian love story Desert of the Heart (1964), which was made into the feature film Desert Hearts. She was inducted into the Order of Canada in 2007. Born in New Jersey, Rule moved to Canada in 1956, and lived on Galiano Island, British Columbia, until her death at the age of seventy-six.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, 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, 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 © 1971 by Jane Rule
Cover design by Tracey Dunham
978-1-4804-2962-8
This edition published in 2013 by Open Road Integrated Media
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