Only Children by Rafael Yglesias Page B

never heard any emotion in her voice before.
    He walked back, through the rooms that an hour ago he had thought would be witness to a great tragedy. They looked small, dirty, unimportant now. A nurse waved him into a room with several beds separated by curtains. “She’s over there.”
    Nina was asleep, her head rolled to one side, her lips cracked and dry.
    “You can wake her,” the nurse said. “She won’t remember, but you can wake her.”
    Eric shook her shoulder. Nina’s eyes opened. They were large pools of blue, unfocused. “Hi,” she said, her voice lilting, although hoarse.
    “We had a boy,” he said softly.
    “Really?” She sounded happy.
    “You had a beautiful baby boy!” the nurse called out. “He’s big like his daddy.”
    “Is that true?” Eric asked. The nurse nodded. He looked down at Nina. She was asleep again. He took her hand, the IV still plugged into her thin arm.
    Her eyes opened. “What happened?” she asked.
    He started to laugh, then realized she didn’t know. “You had a boy.”
    “Really?” The same wonder and happiness and surprise.
    “She doesn’t remember?” he asked the nurse.
    “The anesthesia. You had a beautiful baby boy! Lots of hair! Big!”
    “Have you seen him?” Nina asked.
    “Yeah, I held him! You did great, Nina.”
    She shivered. “I’m so cold. Can I have a blanket?”
    She was already covered by two. He turned to the nurse, who answered before he asked: “The anesthesia. She doesn’t need a blanket.”
    When he looked down at her, she was asleep again. He moved to go, but her eyes opened. “Eric?”
    “I’m here.”
    “What happened?”
    “You had a baby boy. He’s fine.”
    “Really?” Pure happiness. Then sleep.
    He waited. The nurse said, “Go home. You need rest. She’ll be out of it for a while.” But he waited.
    Nina opened her eyes, her teeth chattering.
    “Eric?”
    “I’m here.”
    “What happened?”
    “We had a baby boy.”
    “Really?”
    Finally, he left, convinced his presence was pointless. The walk home was tedious, dreary, and made him feel his almost hallucinogenic fatigue. There was no noise of congratulation. There should be a parade, a crowd of welcome. People went about their business as if it were just another day.
    But he knew it wasn’t. His son was born. His missile into the future. Eric had to make his fortune for him, ready the world, beat it down if necessary, so his boy could tread on a smooth surface into glory.
    Ramon, the small, plump doorman, was on duty. He pumped Eric’s hand. “ Un muchacho! ” he said. “A boy! You must be happy.”
    Frances, a mother of three (she was explaining to the eldest that Eric and Nina had just had a baby), interrupted: “Now, now, a girl is just as good.”
    Ramon nodded solemnly at her and then winked at Eric.
    Eric went upstairs and walked into their empty apartment. Then he remembered that he had forgotten to ask if Gomez was dead.
    He went into the bedroom that tomorrow he would have to set up as the nursery. Next to the phone was the list of friends he was supposed to call.
    After four conversations, he quit. The tone of them was hollow, routine, drained of the pleasure he felt and wanted to go on feeling. The memory of that little face, scratched, puffy, needing him, came back over and over.
    He left the phone off the hook and went into the living room, searching for the right cut on the Messiah , and gingerly put the needle down. He did something that Nina never allowed—he turned the volume all the way up:
    “ And unto us a child is born … ”
    The thrilled voices drowned everything, the traffic, the vague echo of conversation from the courtyard. He climbed on top of the coffee table, shut his eyes, and swayed, embraced by their exhilaration and his joy.
    “ And unto us a son is given … ”
    Yes, he had almost died. He was a gift snatched from death.
    “ And He shall reign forever and ever … ”
    Beyond their deaths. Beyond their love. He would