he just want to talk somewhere more private?
“Do you want to come upstairs?” she said.
“Where?”
“To my room.”
“All right,” he said, and stood up hesitantly. She had the key with her and she beckoned him to follow her towards the staircase.
* * *
Once in the room she closed the door and leaned against it looking at him. It was now clear that he had aged more thanfive years. As he went to the window and looked out, she noticed that he had developed a slight stoop and his face had thickened. She could hear herself breathing.
“I’ve never been upstairs in this hotel before,” he said. “What made you choose it?”
She didn’t reply. He stayed at the window looking out. “It’s frightful weather,” he said. “It’s been a dreadful summer.” She went over and stood beside him at the window and looked out too.
“Yes,” she said, “it’s been very dull here.”
She turned around and put her head on his shoulder—at first he did not respond, but stayed there dead still as though he was embarrassed, his hands hanging by his sides. After a while he held her and moved her towards the bed where he lay beside her. He took his jacket off and his shoes. For a long time he held her against him, saying nothing. Until the light outside began to fade they lay there, together.
“Tom,” she said, “put your hands on my tummy.”
“Why?” he asked.
“You won’t be able to feel it yet because it’s too small, but soon you will. I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby in the New Year.”
“I don’t want to put my hands down,” he said. His voice was low.
“I’m going back,” she whispered. “I’m going to have a child.”
He rolled away from her and sat on the side of the bed.
“You’re pregnant. Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s the father? Can I ask?”
“Don’t ask.”
“I’m going to go now,” he said quietly. “I would like to have an address for you.”
“My mother always knows where I am.”
“Will you be here for long?” She could hear him putting on his shoes.
“No, I will go as soon as I can.”
“Could you wait for a few days? I will send you a cheque. Can you wait?” His voice was subdued.
“Yes, I can.”
“Wait then. I must go now.” He put his two hands on her arm and held her for a moment before he left the room.
ISONA
Even months later the memory of the pain stayed with her, the shock of the pain. She had bought a jeep so that when the time came, there would be a way of getting her down the mountain to help, if help was needed. She tried to teach Miguel to drive but he was impatient and useless behind the wheel. She would have to let someone in the village drive down.
The first pain she felt was like a period pain, but when it came again she knew what it was. She could not make it to the unused stone church to ring the bells as she had arranged to do; she called from the window but there was no response. When the first contractions came she had to lie down. She had no idea how the child would be delivered. It seemed too big, it seemed impossible. They sent for the midwife. When Miguel came Katherine told him the baby was going to die. For hours and hours she believed this and she told it to anyone who came into the room.
She wanted it to die, to lie still and die. It was the life in it which tore her. All night Miguel held her hand and she whispered to him that she wanted the child to die.
The night would not end. When she asked what time it was they told her it was three in the morning. She asked the midwife what time the child would come, and the midwife said it was difficult, it could take a long time.
“Am I going to die?” she said in English. It had notoccurred to her before, but when she looked at the midwife’s face, it struck her, it struck her that she was going to die and the child was going to live.
“Miguel, Miguel!” she shouted as loudly as she could; he came bounding up the wooden stairs.
“Qué
“Do you want to come upstairs?” she said.
“Where?”
“To my room.”
“All right,” he said, and stood up hesitantly. She had the key with her and she beckoned him to follow her towards the staircase.
* * *
Once in the room she closed the door and leaned against it looking at him. It was now clear that he had aged more thanfive years. As he went to the window and looked out, she noticed that he had developed a slight stoop and his face had thickened. She could hear herself breathing.
“I’ve never been upstairs in this hotel before,” he said. “What made you choose it?”
She didn’t reply. He stayed at the window looking out. “It’s frightful weather,” he said. “It’s been a dreadful summer.” She went over and stood beside him at the window and looked out too.
“Yes,” she said, “it’s been very dull here.”
She turned around and put her head on his shoulder—at first he did not respond, but stayed there dead still as though he was embarrassed, his hands hanging by his sides. After a while he held her and moved her towards the bed where he lay beside her. He took his jacket off and his shoes. For a long time he held her against him, saying nothing. Until the light outside began to fade they lay there, together.
“Tom,” she said, “put your hands on my tummy.”
“Why?” he asked.
“You won’t be able to feel it yet because it’s too small, but soon you will. I’m pregnant. I’m going to have a baby in the New Year.”
“I don’t want to put my hands down,” he said. His voice was low.
“I’m going back,” she whispered. “I’m going to have a child.”
He rolled away from her and sat on the side of the bed.
“You’re pregnant. Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s the father? Can I ask?”
“Don’t ask.”
“I’m going to go now,” he said quietly. “I would like to have an address for you.”
“My mother always knows where I am.”
“Will you be here for long?” She could hear him putting on his shoes.
“No, I will go as soon as I can.”
“Could you wait for a few days? I will send you a cheque. Can you wait?” His voice was subdued.
“Yes, I can.”
“Wait then. I must go now.” He put his two hands on her arm and held her for a moment before he left the room.
ISONA
Even months later the memory of the pain stayed with her, the shock of the pain. She had bought a jeep so that when the time came, there would be a way of getting her down the mountain to help, if help was needed. She tried to teach Miguel to drive but he was impatient and useless behind the wheel. She would have to let someone in the village drive down.
The first pain she felt was like a period pain, but when it came again she knew what it was. She could not make it to the unused stone church to ring the bells as she had arranged to do; she called from the window but there was no response. When the first contractions came she had to lie down. She had no idea how the child would be delivered. It seemed too big, it seemed impossible. They sent for the midwife. When Miguel came Katherine told him the baby was going to die. For hours and hours she believed this and she told it to anyone who came into the room.
She wanted it to die, to lie still and die. It was the life in it which tore her. All night Miguel held her hand and she whispered to him that she wanted the child to die.
The night would not end. When she asked what time it was they told her it was three in the morning. She asked the midwife what time the child would come, and the midwife said it was difficult, it could take a long time.
“Am I going to die?” she said in English. It had notoccurred to her before, but when she looked at the midwife’s face, it struck her, it struck her that she was going to die and the child was going to live.
“Miguel, Miguel!” she shouted as loudly as she could; he came bounding up the wooden stairs.
“Qué
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