glittery white streak in her hair helped install Silvia in the bed. The bed was remote controlled. It whirred when the nurse pressed the button. For some reason, the nurse’s hair, together with the sound of the bed machinery, reminded me of Bride of Frankenstein, like she was raising Silvia through the laboratory roof during a big lightning storm to try to bring her back to life. I imagined Silvia’s baby starring in the sequel, where a little monster with baby neck bolts and owlish black rings around his eyes pops out of his undead Mom. I guess you could say I was feeling a little loopy.
Before the nurse left, she turned to me and said, “You ought to get that wrist looked at,” which surprised me, because I hadn’t noticed her looking at it. I’m usually sensitive to things like that.
There wasn’t much to do until the doctor arrived. Silvia and I started bickering about what to do next. I said “stay.” Silvia said “go.” She was determined to get to California. I told her she’d be insane to leave. Now that we were here, she should stay and have her baby. Just then, the doctor came in. His tousled red hair and heavily freckled nose made him look more like a chemistry student than a doctor, but he already had the self-absorbed look that even very young doctors have, which probably comes from people caring so much about their opinion. He unclipped a pen from his plastic pocket protector and made a few notes on Silvia’s chart. It struck me as extremely arrogant to write something down on a patient’s chart before you even said “hello” to her.
The doctor nodded to me and then went right up to Silvia and offered his hand, which was very soft and white, greeting her with a phrase in a language which I didn’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say it was Portuguese. He looked very proud of himself. He was a little taken aback when Silvia smiled at him awkwardly and I answered him in English, as if his Portuguese had been atrocious and we were hoping to spare him some embarrassment. He apologized and introduced himself—in English—as Dr. Locke. He didn’t ask us to call him “Everett,” which was the name printed on his ID badge.
I asked Dr. Locke to please forgive the consul’s wife because she’d been through a lot that morning and was very shy with strangers. He gave me an odd look, but he nodded respectfully and showed Silvia his bare hands, like a magician, so there’d be no surprises when he started his exam. I was sort of curious about the examination itself, but Dr. Locke asked me to step outside for a few minutes. I apologized and said that that wouldn’t be possible. “Suit yourself,” he said. He pulled the curtain around the bed, leaving me all alone in the middle of the room. I suppose I should have given Silvia her privacy, but I stayed very quiet and tried to overhear what was going on anyway. At one point, Dr. Locke pronounced the word “ultrasound” very distinctly. Then I heard a high pitched “whoosh whoosh whoosh,” like tiny windshield wipers. It was the baby’s heartbeat!
When the examination was finished, Dr. Locke pulled back the curtain but didn’t step away from Silvia’s bed. He had a reluctant expression, like a person who’s just finished a long hot shower and doesn’t want to step out into a chilly bathroom. Then he came up very close to me and asked if we could speak privately. I told him he could say what he had to say in English, because the consul’s wife wouldn’t understand, but he said he preferred to talk with me alone and asked if I wouldn’t mind stepping out into the hallway with him.
As soon as we were in the hallway and the door to the room was closed, Dr. Locke asked me who I was, exactly.
“In what sense?” I said, ignoring the sudden gush of acid in my stomach. When someone is fishing for information, particularly about an elaborate lie, I’ve learned that the thing to do is to stay cool, and always answer a question with a
Before the nurse left, she turned to me and said, “You ought to get that wrist looked at,” which surprised me, because I hadn’t noticed her looking at it. I’m usually sensitive to things like that.
There wasn’t much to do until the doctor arrived. Silvia and I started bickering about what to do next. I said “stay.” Silvia said “go.” She was determined to get to California. I told her she’d be insane to leave. Now that we were here, she should stay and have her baby. Just then, the doctor came in. His tousled red hair and heavily freckled nose made him look more like a chemistry student than a doctor, but he already had the self-absorbed look that even very young doctors have, which probably comes from people caring so much about their opinion. He unclipped a pen from his plastic pocket protector and made a few notes on Silvia’s chart. It struck me as extremely arrogant to write something down on a patient’s chart before you even said “hello” to her.
The doctor nodded to me and then went right up to Silvia and offered his hand, which was very soft and white, greeting her with a phrase in a language which I didn’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say it was Portuguese. He looked very proud of himself. He was a little taken aback when Silvia smiled at him awkwardly and I answered him in English, as if his Portuguese had been atrocious and we were hoping to spare him some embarrassment. He apologized and introduced himself—in English—as Dr. Locke. He didn’t ask us to call him “Everett,” which was the name printed on his ID badge.
I asked Dr. Locke to please forgive the consul’s wife because she’d been through a lot that morning and was very shy with strangers. He gave me an odd look, but he nodded respectfully and showed Silvia his bare hands, like a magician, so there’d be no surprises when he started his exam. I was sort of curious about the examination itself, but Dr. Locke asked me to step outside for a few minutes. I apologized and said that that wouldn’t be possible. “Suit yourself,” he said. He pulled the curtain around the bed, leaving me all alone in the middle of the room. I suppose I should have given Silvia her privacy, but I stayed very quiet and tried to overhear what was going on anyway. At one point, Dr. Locke pronounced the word “ultrasound” very distinctly. Then I heard a high pitched “whoosh whoosh whoosh,” like tiny windshield wipers. It was the baby’s heartbeat!
When the examination was finished, Dr. Locke pulled back the curtain but didn’t step away from Silvia’s bed. He had a reluctant expression, like a person who’s just finished a long hot shower and doesn’t want to step out into a chilly bathroom. Then he came up very close to me and asked if we could speak privately. I told him he could say what he had to say in English, because the consul’s wife wouldn’t understand, but he said he preferred to talk with me alone and asked if I wouldn’t mind stepping out into the hallway with him.
As soon as we were in the hallway and the door to the room was closed, Dr. Locke asked me who I was, exactly.
“In what sense?” I said, ignoring the sudden gush of acid in my stomach. When someone is fishing for information, particularly about an elaborate lie, I’ve learned that the thing to do is to stay cool, and always answer a question with a
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