Only Children by Rafael Yglesias Page A

Eric was back out in the hall again, pushed up against the wall, another discarded piece of equipment.
    Through the doors, he heard them try to bring her back: “Wake up, Nina! You’ve had a beautiful boy!” Pause. Then, louder: “Wake up, Nina! Time to get up!” It was a joke. This is modern medicine? “Wake up! Wake up! Time to get up! You have a beautiful baby boy! Get up!”
    He tried to convince himself that he was tired, that he had panicked unnecessarily about his son, that he was incapable of judging whether Nina was really in trouble.
    “Time to get up, Nina! Wake up! Wake up! You had a beautiful baby boy!”
    He knew Nina had never had a general anesthetic before. He knew that every once in a great while perfectly healthy people never awoke.
    “Time to get up! Wake up! Wake up!”
    “Wake up,” he whispered. He forced himself to move closer so he could see through the glass in the doors. Someone held Nina’s face, shaking her head. Her eyes rolled open for a second.
    “Get up, Nina! No more sleep! You have a beautiful baby boy!” Their shouts were abrasive, hostile. “Time to get up!”
    He hated them. They had saved his child. They were taking care of his wife, preserving her. He hated them.
    Nina’s all right, he told himself. He thought of his tiny son, the red, swollen eyelids opening … excitement came up from his soul, rising over the fatigue, the terror.
    Eric walked down the hall, back into the labor rooms, past the other worried fathers, and out into the general hallway, up to the pay phone next to the elevators.
    His father answered on the first ring.
    “Hello, Grandpa,” he said.
    Silence at first, then a worried voice: “When?”
    “Just a few minutes ago, Dad. You’re the first I called. It’s a boy.”
    “Is he all right?”
    “He’s fine. He took a beating, but he’s fine.”
    “What do you mean he took a beating?”
    “They had to knock Nina out and use forceps. They’ve left his face a little puffy and bruised. Like he went fifteen rounds with Joe Frazier.”
    “Is she all right?”
    “Fine. They’re fine. He’s a beautiful baby boy. He’s got blue eyes.”
    He heard his father call out, “A boy! It’s a boy! He has blue eyes! What?”
    His mother’s voice said something in the background. “What is she saying?” Eric asked.
    “They all have blue eyes when they’re born, she says.”
    “Tell her, thanks a lot. I better go. Congratulations, Dad.”
    “Call me,” his father pleaded.
    “I will.”
    Eric took out the crumpled paper in his pocket with Nina’s family’s phone numbers. He had intended to tell all four of her brothers and sisters, but he didn’t have time. He wanted to be in recovery when Nina woke up. He dialed her parents. Nina’s mother, Joan, answered.
    “Hi, it’s Eric,” he spoke quickly. He had always felt uncomfortable talking to Nina’s mother. “It’s a boy.”
    There was a long silence. He heard something, a material, a fabric rustle. In the background, Nina’s father said, “Who is it?”
    “It’s Eric,” Joan said. “Congratulations,” she said into the phone, and he could hear her voice tremble.
    “He has blue eyes,” Eric said, not caring that the information was meaningless.
    “He has blue eyes,” she repeated. “Is Nina all right?”
    “She’s fine. They had to knock her out and use forceps, but everybody’s fine.”
    “Why did they have to—” She hesitated, shying away from using his phrase. “Why did they need forceps?”
    “He had the cord around his neck—”
    Joan gasped.
    “But he’s fine. They just needed to get him out quickly. I’d better go. I want to meet Nina in recovery.”
    “She’s not in her room yet?”
    “No, no. It just happened. I’m in the hallway. I’ll call you later. Can you tell her brothers and sisters?”
    “Sure, Eric. Give her my love. Call me. Call me when you can.”
    “I will.” Joan had said his name so sweetly, unlike her more typical formal tone. He had