Orphans of the Carnival

by Carol Birch

  The nurse was a small strict creature. “Oh, Mr. Lent,” she said, “we didn’t know where to find you. It’s all under control. The baby was having a little trouble breathing, but the doctors are taking care of things. Please go and sit with your wife.”

  “He was all right a minute ago,” said Theo.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Lent, you’ve been gone a couple of hours. He had a little choking fit while he was feeding, and it seems to have set something off. But the doctors are taking care of it.”

  Oh Jesus, he’s gone.

  Theo walked to the end of the corridor. He’d seen it before with puppies. When he was a kid, the one that didn’t thrive, always thinking, yeah, sure, it’ll make it, but it never does. Not once all this starts. Poor bloody creature. What was that all for? Eh? She’ll go mad. The way she looked at it.

  He turned and walked back, preparing his face.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, twisting a useless wet handkerchief in her hands.

  “I don’t think it’s anything serious,” he lied jovially. “This often happens, I think.”

  “They said he stopped breathing.”

  “Yes, but they know what they’re doing, these doctors.” He smiled reassuringly. “It’s quite amazing the things they can do these days.”

  He said all the right things, but she still cried.

  “When are they bringing him back?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Go and see. Please go and see, Theo. Ask them how long.”

  But then the hollow-faced nurse came in and took over, plumping up the pillows, filling the water jug, wiping Julia’s face with a cool cloth. “Now, now, no more crying,” she said. “This happens sometimes. Dr. Chizh knows what to do.”

  “Is he breathing?”

  “Of course he’s breathing.”

  Theo tried to read her face. Good poker players, these nurses would make.

  “Where’s Trettenbacher?” he asked.

  “Dr. Trettenbacher’s gone home. He’ll be here first thing in the morning. Shall I bring you some tea? Mr. Lent? You look done in.”

  Theo wasn’t a tea man but said he’d take some with lemon and sugar. He’d forgotten he was drunk. The tea scalded his throat. Good, he thought, concentrating on the burn. Good. Julia sipped some too, her hand shaking a little as she raised the cup. The nurse went away and returned almost immediately. It was all looking very good, she said. They would be bringing the baby back in about a quarter of an hour. “In fact,” she held up one finger and tilted her head, “listen…”

  The newborn cry.

  “It’s him!”

  “Of course it’s him.”

  Julia laughed. “He’s all right.”

  “See,” said Theo.

  Round spins the wheel. Round spins your head, your life, your future. To be or not to be. Theo was not convinced. Long, long ago, when he was a child, his aunt Losey lost three in a row.

  This baby, when it returned, was as good as gold, feeding steadily then falling asleep. A quiet baby. That’s the way with some ill babies, he knew that. She didn’t though. She was happy.

  “You go home, Theo,” she said, touching his arm. “You’re so tired.”

  “Go home, Mr. Lent,” the nurse said. “She’ll go to sleep now. God knows she needs it and so do you. Get some rest.”

  When he got home, Polina had been in and cleaned up and left bread and cheese and pickles. He did nothing for a while, just gazed into space. Don’t think of him. He never even was. What a thing! What a terrible thing! His head felt light. It would’ve been all right. They could have made him part of the show. It was the only real life for them, after all, people like her, people like him. At least he’d never have had to want for anything.

  Theo put his hand over his eyes.

  Already he was hardening himself to the boy. Terrible thing, terrible, but you just had to get on with life. People got over things. His aunt Losey did. Best thing all ’round. Bring another poor freak into the world to suffer. They’d go back to how it was, and he’d take her to Vienna for a holiday. She could see that Friederike she likes so much, go to a few shows. No need to work yet.

  He slept restlessly and went back to the hospital late morning the next day. Julia was very tired.

  “I feel sick,” she said.

  Theo touched the baby’s hand. It was just like any baby’s hand, the grip, the softness of the palm. He smiled faintly. “Are you all right? Do you want a sick bowl? Shall I get a nurse?”

  “No,” she said, “it’ll pass, I think.”

  “Look, he’s sleeping now,” Theo said. “I’ll put him in his crib.”

  “Would you?” She yawned and turned onto her side. “He’s a very sleepy boy, isn’t he?” she said.

  “He is.”

  Then she was asleep too and there wasn’t much point in hanging ’round. That day a thaw had began. The sweepers were driving slush along the sides of the roads when Theo went home for the soup Polina had left on the stove, buying himself a pie on the way and eating it before he even reached the door. There was a note from Volkov inviting him to dinner tomorrow night. After he’d eaten, he lay down and fell into a sleep much deeper than any the night had allowed, and it was dark when he woke. Polina had left a bunch of pansies in a jug on the table and they caught his eye as he was leaving. She’d like those, he thought, pulling them dripping from the jug and looking ’round for something to wrap them in. He couldn’t find anything so let them drip as he trudged blearily back through the slush to the hospital. Trettenbacher took him into his office as soon as he arrived. “She’s taken a fever,” he said, leaning back behind his desk. “Dr. Chizh has given her a sedative, and we’ve managed to get her temperature down. She’s asleep now, best thing for her. A good night’s rest can work wonders.” All under control, his manner said. “You might as well leave it till morning now.”

  “I brought her some pansies,” Theo said blankly.

  “Wonderful. Give them to one of the nurses, and she’ll make sure they’re taken care of. Now, Mr. Lent, I’m afraid I have to tell you that the child’s chances aren’t good.”

  He wasn’t surprised.

  “How is he?”

  Trettenbacher sighed. “He doesn’t seem to want to breathe for himself,” he said. “That may change. We’re doing everything we can, naturally.”

  “What about her? Does she know?”

  “We had to take him from her when the fever came on. She was upset, of course. But she has no idea how ill he is.”

  “I’m afraid of how she’ll take it.” Theo looked down at the water drops from the flowers gathering into a small puddle by his foot.

  “Well, it will be hard,” said Trettenbacher. “You know that.” He stood up. “Still, it may not come to that, we’ll have to see.”

  Of course it will come to that. He realized halfway back that he hadn’t left the flowers. “Look at that,” he said to them. “I took you out for a walk,” and laughed. He thought how pretty they’d look scattered in the street and wanted to cry.

  In the morning he was met by Trettenbacher again. “He went less than half an hour ago,” Trettenbacher said. “She doesn’t know yet.”

  “How is she?”

  “She’s not feeling well. But we’re doing our best to bring the fever down.”

  “Someone’s got to tell her.”

  “We thought perhaps you would want to.”

  “Oh God,” said Theo.

  He wasn’t surprised the baby was gone, but he was shocked at how ill Julia looked. “What’s the matter with her?” he asked, and the sound of fear in his own voice scared him.

  She was breathing as if it hurt, staring strangely. A new nurse was on duty, a raw-boned masculine woman with a clean sick bowl in her hand. “A fever,” she said stoically, setting the bowl down on the table by Julia’s head. “The doctor’s treating it.”

  “Theo,” Julia said, “they won’t let me see him. Tell them they’ve got to let me see hi
m.”

  “Not now,” said the nurse calmly, mixing a drink. “You need to rest.”

  “I want to see him,” she said.

  “Look what I brought you,” Theo said, the pansies, on their second outing, drooping a little in his hand. Her breath was rank when he leaned over.

  “I want to see him,” she said.

  “Now, you just calm yourself,” the nurse said, placing a cold cloth on her forehead.

  “Will you take these and put them in water, please, nurse,” Theo said. When she’d gone he sat down beside the bed. The corners of her eyes were sore and red, and she looked at him as if she knew.

  “Has he gone?” she asked.

  “Yes, Julia,” he said, “he’s gone.”

  Her eyes welled up. “Why?” she asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Has he gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “What have they done with him?”

  “I don’t know. Shall I go and find out?”

  “Has he gone?”

  “Now, Julia, don’t you worry. He’s…” What? In a better place. At peace now. He said nothing. The nurse came in with the flowers in a jug and put them down on the table next to the sick bowl.

  “I’ve told her,” Theo said.

  “I want to see him,” Julia said, and her throat began to convulse. The nurse grabbed the sick bowl and supported her shoulders. He watched in fascinated horror as Julia’s mouth, cavernous, complicated, reshaped itself and spewed forth bright yellow bile. She retched emptily for a few more minutes before the nurse lowered her head back down onto the pillow.

  “There, you’ll feel better now,” Theo said uselessly, “now that’s up.”

  “Tell them to bring him,” she said.

  “The little one’s gone to the good God, who knows best what to do,” the nurse said, “and it’s your job now to get better. Drink this.” She slipped a pill between Julia’s lips, pushed it quickly back on her tongue, poured in a little water and stroked her throat as if she were a dog. “Probably best if you leave, Mr. Lent,” the nurse said. “We’ll send for you if there’s any change.”

  There was no change that day. He walked about for a bit, then went back to the tavern where they’d drunk the baby’s health. There was no one there that he recognized, and he sat by the wall drinking and wondering what to do. It occurred to him that she might die, and his mind went blank, then started turning over and over. The end. The end of backstage, the lights, the crowds, the smell of sawdust. His savings wouldn’t last forever. He should have made good investments but speculation had never been his strong point. He calculated the cost of travel back to the States. His eyes burned. How could he live? He’d go back, find another fortune. Out there somewhere, another. Another.

  How could there be another Julia? His heart felt sick.

  He drank, pushed the thoughts away, pushed the baby away, tried to push her away. Push away the whole strange interlude in his life. If she was going to die, he couldn’t risk emotion. He remembered he was supposed to be going to Volkov’s tonight for dinner. “God damn,” he whispered. One more, and home to the quiet apartment. I’ll go mad in here, he thought, but there was nowhere else to go and he couldn’t go in the bedroom because all the baby’s things were there. So he passed the time trying to read one of her books but couldn’t keep his eyes on the page. At seven he changed and set off for Volkov’s.

  It wasn’t a big affair, just Volkov and his mother and the professor, Sokolov, with his bright, fierce bird’s stare. Somehow they’d all heard the news, and of course everyone asked after her.

  “They’ve taken blood,” he said.

  “The little one,” the old mother said, “he’s in a better place.”

  That was all she said all night. The atmosphere was restrained. These fevers killed, everyone knew.

  “She’s a strong girl,” Volkov said, “she’ll pull through.”

  “She’s strong,” Theo replied, sounding more hostile than he’d intended, “but she’s grieving. That weakens one.”

  As he crossed the hall after dinner, Tolya came up to him. “Can she have visitors?” he asked.

  “She’s nowhere near well enough,” Theo replied. Sokolov was walking behind him.

  “Do let me know when she is well enough,” Tolya said solemnly as they passed into the drawing room.

  Theo nodded.

  Sokolov leaned close enough for Theo to smell a sourness on his breath. “A word, Lent, if I may?”

  “Of course.”

  They sat down. “I believe you said you were returning to the hospital later this evening?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Please,” said Sokolov, “allow me to put my carriage at your disposal.”

  “There’s really no need. Thank you for the offer, but the walk does me good.”

  “No, no, I insist. It’s going to be a very cold night.”

  The evening dragged on. When the time came, Theo, dreading whatever he’d find at the hospital, found himself rattling through the streets in Sokolov’s carriage, the professor beside him. The day had been long, and he’d drunk a lot. Now I am coping very well with this, he was saying to himself in his mind. The baby, poor little nothing, he didn’t even exist. Couldn’t call that an existence. Julia now, strong as an ox, she’ll pull through. Back to how we were before. Odd, yes, but we were getting by. It was working. Never before stayed in places like we did, those grand beds and expensive rooms. Everyone wanted to know us. She’ll get over it. They do. Look at Aunt Losey. Three in a row. Lots of women do.

  “I would like to be very frank and I hope you will not take it amiss,” said Sokolov. “I would like to put a proposition to you.”

  “Fire away,” said Theo.

  “Are you familiar with my work, Mr. Lent?”

  “To some extent.

  “Perhaps not with my most recent studies. Are you aware of the work being done at the Anatomical Museum at the university?”

  “No.”

  “Some fascinating progress, Lent. Quite staggering. Lent, I realize this is an inopportune moment, but I must stress the importance of time.”

  “Time?”

  Theo had no idea what the man was talking about.

  “Mr. Lent, I will be frank and ask you to consider the possibility of offering your son’s remains to our Anatomical Museum at the university.”

  My son. How peculiar.

  “Time?” said Theo, a look of profound bemusement on his face.

  “The scientific benefits would be enormous.”

  “What are you suggesting, Doctor?”

  Sokolov took a deep breath. “Your son is a medical curiosity. This you know. I repeat: the scientific benefits would be enormous.”

  “And I repeat: what exactly are you suggesting?”

  “We have perfected a method of embalmment more sophisticated, I believe, than any that has gone before. This is new territory, of course.”

  “You want,” said Theo, turning away from the misty window and looking at Sokolov, a pair of anguished eyes, a thin forehead, all muffled up against the cold, “to embalm my—son.”

  “Forgive me,” said Sokolov. “A very bad time.”

  “Yes, indeed. A very bad time.”

  They didn’t speak again until they reached the door of the hospital. Sokolov leaned over and shook Theo’s hand. “I am so very sorry for all your trouble, Mr. Lent,” he said. “I do appreciate your loss, and I would hesitate to bring this up at such a difficult time, but I am aware of the importance of time in this case.”

  Theo’s face didn’t alter. “Not now,” he said.

  “Of course. I am so sorry.”

  The cold air bit as he got out of the carriage. Snow beginning, slowly swirling. He didn’t want to go in, wanted to run far away, a time before, once, before, anytime. But he went in, idiot-blank, and they said she was a bit better and he could go in and see her, but she was absolutely worn-out so best not to stay too long. Someone had
given her a rosary, and she was lying with her eyes open, slipping the beads between her fingers. The look in them cut him.

  “What is it?” he said, taking her hand, “what’s the matter? You’ve been very sick but you’re getting better now. Soon be home.”

  Her breathing was shallow. Though they’d cleaned her up, she still smelled faintly of vomit and diarrhea.

  “What have they done with him?” she asked. “Have they thrown him away? They do that, don’t they?”

  “Of course they don’t.”

  “I want him buried nicely.”

  “Of course. Thrown him away! Where do you get your ideas from?”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s in the morgue.”

  That set her off crying again. “A terrible place,” she said. “Why do they put the dead in such terrible places?”

  To grieve so deeply for someone she’d never known. Not like a person you’ve known for years, Theo thought, that’s understandable. But a baby, it never lived, never knew you, never got the time to be a person. So where does it come from, all that grief?

  “Good God,” he said, “you’re still burning up. Would you like some water?”

  The fever seemed to radiate out from her into the room.

  “We have to look after him, Theo.”

  “Of course we do.”

  She turned her head on the pillow and looked at the wilting pansies. “Aren’t they lovely?” she said. “Did you bring them?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re sweet, Theo. He still needs someone to look after him.”

  “Here. Drink some water.”

  “My stomach hurts,” she said.

  “Yes. Don’t worry. It’ll go away.”

  She lifted her head to sip. Her hair was lank and straight.

  “There,” he said, “that’s better.”

  “I think I’m going to die.”

  “What? Ridiculous. Of course you’re not. You’re going to get better and better, and we’ll go to Vienna. Don’t talk like that.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t for you,” she said, “but I’ll really miss you, Theo.”

  I can’t take it, he thought. Two, three days ago, everything was normal.