children.
Sister Bernadine wanted the adopted child to be Roman Catholic. Otherwise, she feared that Livingston, despite his changed name, would somehow coax it into Judaism. The only trouble was that most of the foundlings were of indeterminate religion. Sister Bernadine rejoiced, as the glorious Papal Seal made it crystal clear in her mind that this child was sent by higher powers to be the solution for the Livingston problem. Outside the wrought-iron porch of the Foundling Hospital a horse attached to a milkwagon whinnied in delight.
2
L IVINGSTON HAD decided that any child was acceptable, and to please his wife he had agreed to go to the Foundling Hospital. There were so many orphans and DP children that it was no problem to claim one. She refused, however, to walk down a ward and pick out a baby as if it were a can of Brussels sprouts, so she sent her husband to do it. He didnât mind things like that. In fact, he minded very little and was of a strange, quiet disposition.
When their house had been burglarized while they were in Yellowstone staying at one of those huge log-and-beam lodges, Mrs. Livingston had cried and fallen to her knees. Mr. Livingston looked around at walls denuded of Impressionist paintings and at a safe with its empty mouth hanging open, and went immediately to the phonograph to play a jumpy record. Then he danced around Mrs. Livingston, who was sobbing on her knees in the middle of the floor where a thick and colorful Persian carpet had been, and sang a song he made up as he slapped his hands together: âThey didnât take the air, they didnât take the trees. They took the honey, babe, but not the bees.â
They began to drink champagne and dance around the empty room in dances of the twenties, which were the dances they had danced at dances when they were young. Once, Mrs. Livingston remembered that they had just lost all their movable possessions, and a tear fell from her eye, descending from ledge to ledge, from high angular cheek to delicate wrist before it stained the dark oak darker. But then her husband held her face in his hands and said: âDonât worry. Itâll be fine. Nothings lost. Weâre alive.â She had not been privileged, as had he, to have been in a war for many years and to have seen men blown apart and ripped up by bullets. So he held her to him and remembered those times only a few years gone, and then they danced until the afternoon sun came âround and struck the porch, and they lay on the lawn in their traveling clothes, only to awaken into a cool pleasant evening. They cooked some steaks on an open fire, and the emptiness of the house made them feel younger and wilder.
Livingston arrived at the hospital by taxi. It was very hot in the city, and Park Avenue was like an Alabama meadowâsheep grazed on the mall as a publicity stunt for a charity ball, but the effect was pastoral and hypnotic. He bolted up the stairs and into Sister Bernadineâs office, feeling rather uneasy at the sight of the several dozen crucifixes which covered the walls with sinuous tendons. After Sister Bernadine's saccharine greeting and Livingstonâs tortured smile, they got down to business. A nun wheeled Marshall in on a room service cart. Since he was used to the finest hotels, Livingston felt his appetite stir, and then chastised himself. Sister Bernadine smiled, revealing a mouth as wide as the Holland Tunnel. Livingston eyed the baby sprawled on the service cart. It looked like a little white gorilla. He turned to Sister Bernadine. She again smiled enormously, exposing a row of teeth like a large horseshoe of uneven piano keys. Livingston was expressionless. Sister Bernadine
widened
her smile and said, âIsnât he beautiful?â
Livingston looked again at the baby, who, as if he could understand the proceedings, returned his stare with suspicion and hostility. âBeautiful?â He wanted to leave. âYes, I guess it is
Sister Bernadine wanted the adopted child to be Roman Catholic. Otherwise, she feared that Livingston, despite his changed name, would somehow coax it into Judaism. The only trouble was that most of the foundlings were of indeterminate religion. Sister Bernadine rejoiced, as the glorious Papal Seal made it crystal clear in her mind that this child was sent by higher powers to be the solution for the Livingston problem. Outside the wrought-iron porch of the Foundling Hospital a horse attached to a milkwagon whinnied in delight.
2
L IVINGSTON HAD decided that any child was acceptable, and to please his wife he had agreed to go to the Foundling Hospital. There were so many orphans and DP children that it was no problem to claim one. She refused, however, to walk down a ward and pick out a baby as if it were a can of Brussels sprouts, so she sent her husband to do it. He didnât mind things like that. In fact, he minded very little and was of a strange, quiet disposition.
When their house had been burglarized while they were in Yellowstone staying at one of those huge log-and-beam lodges, Mrs. Livingston had cried and fallen to her knees. Mr. Livingston looked around at walls denuded of Impressionist paintings and at a safe with its empty mouth hanging open, and went immediately to the phonograph to play a jumpy record. Then he danced around Mrs. Livingston, who was sobbing on her knees in the middle of the floor where a thick and colorful Persian carpet had been, and sang a song he made up as he slapped his hands together: âThey didnât take the air, they didnât take the trees. They took the honey, babe, but not the bees.â
They began to drink champagne and dance around the empty room in dances of the twenties, which were the dances they had danced at dances when they were young. Once, Mrs. Livingston remembered that they had just lost all their movable possessions, and a tear fell from her eye, descending from ledge to ledge, from high angular cheek to delicate wrist before it stained the dark oak darker. But then her husband held her face in his hands and said: âDonât worry. Itâll be fine. Nothings lost. Weâre alive.â She had not been privileged, as had he, to have been in a war for many years and to have seen men blown apart and ripped up by bullets. So he held her to him and remembered those times only a few years gone, and then they danced until the afternoon sun came âround and struck the porch, and they lay on the lawn in their traveling clothes, only to awaken into a cool pleasant evening. They cooked some steaks on an open fire, and the emptiness of the house made them feel younger and wilder.
Livingston arrived at the hospital by taxi. It was very hot in the city, and Park Avenue was like an Alabama meadowâsheep grazed on the mall as a publicity stunt for a charity ball, but the effect was pastoral and hypnotic. He bolted up the stairs and into Sister Bernadineâs office, feeling rather uneasy at the sight of the several dozen crucifixes which covered the walls with sinuous tendons. After Sister Bernadine's saccharine greeting and Livingstonâs tortured smile, they got down to business. A nun wheeled Marshall in on a room service cart. Since he was used to the finest hotels, Livingston felt his appetite stir, and then chastised himself. Sister Bernadine smiled, revealing a mouth as wide as the Holland Tunnel. Livingston eyed the baby sprawled on the service cart. It looked like a little white gorilla. He turned to Sister Bernadine. She again smiled enormously, exposing a row of teeth like a large horseshoe of uneven piano keys. Livingston was expressionless. Sister Bernadine
widened
her smile and said, âIsnât he beautiful?â
Livingston looked again at the baby, who, as if he could understand the proceedings, returned his stare with suspicion and hostility. âBeautiful?â He wanted to leave. âYes, I guess it is
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