by Harry Mazer
‘What about Tracy?’
Danny was silent for a moment. ‘We had a big fight. We’re not seeing each other right now.’
‘That sounds serious. How come?’
‘You know … we just don’t agree.’
When Jeff got off the phone, the female in his life was standing up in the playpen, her diaper at half mast, looking miserable and mean, her lip trembling. When she saw him she raised her arms, and he scooped her up. ‘You wanted to talk to Danny? I didn’t think so. But if he calls again, I’ll put you on. Then you blast him. High C.’ He was feeling okay till he checked her diaper and there it was again. Another special delivery package!
This time he changed her fast – too fast. Whipped the diaper off, whisked another one on. She didn’t like it and started to complain. You’re pretty rough on me. He picked her up. ‘Listen, I’m sorry. This is my first day, Hannah. I’m new on the job.’
For the rest of the day, he hauled her around everywhere. He hung out with her. Fed her again, gave her a bottle, changed her. Cleaned her up for bed. He walked her until she fell asleep in his arms, then sat with her, watching TV, afraid to put her down. He was wiped out. The house looked like a hurricane had come into the front door and stayed for the weekend. And this was only the first day, he reminded himself. It was just the beginning.
22
Jeff woke to Hannah’s babbling. He’d slept on the couch. She was talking to her foot in the playpen. He wasn’t sure, but the foot might have been answering back. He was still groggy from watching late TV and could have used some more sleep, but there was no sleep with Hannah awake. He lay there, chin on his hand, watching her. In his head, behing his eyes, a story unfolded, a screenplay for a movie about a guy living by himself, no family, no friends, who gets this baby thrust on him. A woman he meets on the street leaves it with him. He holds the kid for her as a favour, and then she disappears and he, poor sap, is stuck with this brat he doesn’t want.
Not a happy scenario. It was Mary he was thinking about, and now he wasn’t dreaming about her returning filled with gratitude, love, and lust. How did he know she was coming back at all? Maybe she’d set this whole thing up to get rid of her kid. There was a guy she was meeting. The son of Someone Famous! They’d planned it for a long time, just waiting for the right patsy to appear. Jeff Orloff met all the requirements. Gullible, dependable, eager to please, softhearted. Softheaded. He looked at Hannah with dread. Was she his forever?
And when his parents came home, what then? Maybe they’d let him stay, but not for long. They weren’t going to take care of Hannah. One of his father’s favourite sayings was. You got yourself into this mess, now get yourself out.
Good-bye California, good-bye freedom, good-bye everything.
Meanwhile Hannah was trying to get her foot in her mouth. No screams this morning, no red, squeezed face. Too busy chewing on her foot. She was already used to him. He was old hat. She’d probably forgotten her mother, too. What did she care who the nurse was as long as she had service twenty-four hours a day?
He tried a fast one, threw her a biscuit in the playpen, then tried to sneak away to the bathroom. Up went the siren and he came running back. Twenty-four hours, and she had him trained.
‘The reason you don’t talk,’ he told her in the bathroom, ‘is because you’ve got your staff so terrorized they do anything you want before you want it.’
For breakfast he put her in the walker. Half of what he gave her she sprayed over the floor. ‘Who’s going to clean that up? Not you, creeper.’ He put her down on the floor. ‘Here, have a feast.’ She went crawling away, mumbling to herself. She was like a goat, everything went into her mouth. She tried out the leg of the chair, the edge of the coffee table, his sneakers. It was a full-time job just keeping her from poisoning herself. She was in the cupboards, the pots, the brooms, the stack of old newspapers, exploring everything with her fingers and her mouth. He hauled her out from under the sink and shoved a chair against it, then gave her a hunk of melon to gnaw on.
He liked to eat a leisurely breakfast in the morning. He considered this the most important meal of the day, but there was no settling down. When he tried to keep Hannah in the kitchen, she howled. Ditto the playpen. So he let her roam free, ran to the kitchen, grabbed something to eat and ran back to check her.
‘Hey, rug rat, you think I’m going to chase after you all day?’ But that was exactly what he did. He closed doors, barricaded the staircase, and waited for her to get tired and fall asleep. Then he was going to make some calls. He had friends to talk to – he hadn’t spoken to an intelligent human being since Hannah arrived.
‘Why don’t you sleep?’ he suggested. As far as he was concerned, that was the only appealing thing that babies did. He tried to put her in the playpen again, but she wasn’t buying. He spread her blanket on the rug and pushed her head down. She kept bobbing up. Finally he lay down beside her. ‘Watch me. Stop kicking, hold the legs straight.’ He demonstrated. ‘If I can make a suggestion – see how comfortable Jeff is. Now you do it.’
He had to straighten her out a couple dozen times, but she finally settled down, hanging on to his finger. ‘Don’t scream in my ear and we’ll get along – I don’t say we’re going to be best friends. Now close your eyes, like this. Do the way I do.’
He shut his eyes, then opened them. She was sitting up again. He pushed her down. She bobbed up. ‘Down. Shut those eyes. When I shut mine, you shut yours.’ This time he didn’t open his eyes. ‘Breathe the way I’m breathing. You doing it, Hannah?’ He peeked. She’d turned over, was lying flat on her stomach, arms sprawled out, making little sleepy pig sounds. He told himself to get up, but he lay there listening to the regular rise and fall of her breath and fell asleep himself.
When he woke up, she was gone. ‘Hannah!’ He flew through the house, looking behind the doors and under the beds, his head a spider’s nest of horrors. Had she somehow got out of the house? What if she’d flushed herself down the toilet! He found her in the closet in his parents’ room, on the floor, buried under his mother’s long bathrobe. She’d pulled it down on herself. ‘You little idiot, what are you so happy about? You could have smothered yourself.’
He got so nervous about the house and all the ways it could poison, choke, and strangle her that he took her outside. It was hot. He was wearing shorts and sandals, Hannah was strapped in her chestpack. Hannah’s sack, with all the emergency supplies, was over his shoulder, like they were going on an expedition to Mount Everest.
Carrying her on his chest, he felt like a nursing mother, so he put her on his shoulders. More masculine image. She grabbed his hair and his ears. Holding the reins of a horse. Beat her feet against his chest. Giddyap. ‘Where to, boss? You want to go anyplace special? How about the movies?’
Genius thought. It was cool in the theatre, Hannah in his lap sucking on her bottle. She cosied right down with it. Actually slept. But when she woke up, he had to leave because she was jumping around. Outside, it was hot, so they trekked over to the Mall, looking for shelter.
He wedged her between his feet while he played Pac-Man and Space Invaders. ‘Sit right there, road rat.’ But then he got caught up in the game, and when he looked she was crawling toward the door.
He scooped her under his arm and walked around with her. He was getting lots of long, friendly, warm looks from women. It would have been nothing to start up a conversation. Babies and dogs were surefire.
He bought frozen yogurt cones and sat down with her. She promptly dropped her cone on the floor. She made a dive for it, but he clamped her between his legs and gave her his. He was having a good time watching the couples going by, the girls with their arms around their guys, fingers through their belt loops or in their back pockets. One of these days Mary and he were going to be like that. The happy scenario again.
Christopher Columbus got away from him, crawled a little way, turned around to check him out, then came back. She banged on his knees and took off again, grabb
ing on to a woman’s leg. A jogger, judging from the outfit she was wearing.
‘Your little girl thinks she knows me,’ the jogger said, bringing Hannah back. ‘She’s beautiful. How old is she?’
‘About a year, I think. Or maybe it’s two. How old does she look to you?’
‘You don’t know your own daughter’s age?’
‘You want her?’ he said. ‘She’s on special today.’
The woman gave him a peculiar look and walked away, then hung around the Orange Julius stand a long time, watching him.
He let Hannah go again. She was like bait on a fishing line. This time she caught an old man, dressed up with a tie and jacket. He was talking to her and leading her back slowly. ‘I found her for you.’ He sat down and started telling Jeff about his grandchildren. They all lived someplace else. He saw them, but not often. He lived alone, like Jeff’s grandfather, and came over here to the Mall every afternoon. ‘They take your blood pressure here and there’s always somebody to talk to. First time I’ve seen you. Do you work nights?’
He pointed to Hannah. ‘She’s my job.’
‘You’re one of those house fathers. Your wife works. That’s becoming more common. There was a TV programme about that on the Donahue show. Father stays home with junior and mother brings home the paycheque. I couldn’t do that.
‘I used to be a railway conductor. Forty years for the New York Central. I bet you thought passenger trains. Nope, freights. You know what a caboose is?’
It was steamy when they left the Mall. He carried Hannah in his arms. For a while he considered going up to the park and both of them dunking in the pool to cool off, but it was getting late, and according to Mary’s schedule, this was bathtime, dinnertime, and bedtime. ‘It’s your time all the time, chief.’
Hannah was fretful, complaining, pounding him with her feet. ‘Listen, the heat’s not my fault. What do you want me to do?’ He fanned her with a newspaper. ‘Why don’t you answer me? I talk to you all the time, and you never say an intelligent word. Say “Jeff,”’ he instructed her. Maybe he’d get her to talk before Mary came back. That would impress Mary. ‘Jeff, that’s easy. Four letters. Say something. Stop mooing. No, I don’t want you to say “mama.” Any moron can say that. Say something else, your conversation is getting boring. Say “yes.” Say “no.” We’re down to two-letter words.’ He took her chin in his hand. ‘Look at me, kid. See the way I do it.’ He puckered his lips. ‘Noooo.’ Then stretched his mouth. ‘Yeesss.’ She poked her fingers in his eyes. ‘You’re hopeless,’ he said.
At home, it was too hot to face the gross mess inside, so he filled Hannah’s pink plastic tub on the patio. He threw in a steamboat, a rubber ball, and a plastic duck. He took off her clothes and put her in. She had a great time slapping the water and throwing the toys out so Jeff could fetch them. ‘How about inviting me into your swimming pool? No? Well, here I come.’ He kicked off his sandals and stuck his feet in. She grabbed for them. A new toy.
He gave her supper in the tub. That was innovative. Easier to clean her afterward. Everything ended up in the water – mashed baby beef and carrots and apricot sauce for dessert. He was feeding her out of three jars first, but she was so slow he finally mixed everything together. It all ended up in the same place, didn’t it? ‘That’s the way, oink, oink, oink – good little pig.’
He was ready with the next spoonful before she’d swallowed the first one. ‘Come on, open up, garbage mouth.’ He pushed the spoon against her mouth. ‘Open the barn door. Here comes the wagon. You want to see me do it?’ He tried a spoonful and gagged. ‘Now that’s delicious! Your turn, Hannah.’ She opened her mouth, and the mess oozed out and ran down her chest and into the water.
She protested when he pulled her out of the pool, complained when he cleaned her up, got all twisted up in her pyjamas, bawled when he put her in the playpen, but finally took the bottle in both mitts and fell asleep sucking it. End of Day Two. Two down and two to go.
23
There was a routine to taking care of a baby, a way to do things. It helped if you could do two things at once. Required equipment for prospective mothers and babysitters: an extra pair of arms and a double order of hands and fingers. By the third day, Jeff was an expert. He could change her diaper, warm her bottle, and talk to her all at once.
‘Good morning, Hannah. How are you this morning? Remember me? I’m the one you pee on.’ He checked her. ‘Yep. No surprises. Right on schedule. You put UPS to shame. Watch this, kid.’ He put one hand behind his back and changed her diaper. ‘You see, peepot, no matter how inept you are at the beginning, you can learn.’ Not that he was going to hang out his shingle, because no money in the world could pay for the abuse he took. This queen wanted total, complete, and undivided attention. And anything Her Majesty wanted, Her Majesty got.
‘You’ve got me pinned under your big little thumb. I don’t know how you did it. I’m bigger than you are, stronger, taller, tougher. I can push you over with the tip of my little finger.’ He demonstrated, pushed her over. ‘You see, pipsqueak, might makes right. But you, squirt, you don’t play by the rules. Who else commands with a grunt? How did you figure that one out? Grunter, you’re a genius and you’re not even a year old.’
As he talked, he changed her, his fingers did the work. Undershirt dry. ‘How’d you miss that, Miss Pee-in-the-Ocean?’ Leave the undershirt on. Don’t touch anything that doesn’t have to be touched till after morning pig-time.
He emptied her squash into the tray in front of her. She ate the way she talked, without regard for order, tradition, good manners. She talked all the time. At first he’d thought it was nonsense, no sense, babbling, but he’d changed his mind about that. It wasn’t babbling. It was her language. Real talk. Her own words. Sometimes her words even sounded like everyone else’s language. As for the way she ate, that was individual, too.
She pushed the food into her mouth with her fingers, hands, elbows. She had mashed-whatever in her hair and on her chin and up her nose. ‘Enjoying yourself? Your mother wouldn’t let you eat this way, but I do. Eat what you want the way you want to.’ She was too busy mouthing her squash to answer. ‘You know what it is that makes people happy, baby? Doing what you want to, the way you want to, when you want to, and no comments.’
He fed her seedless grapes one at a time. ‘One more day and then you-know-who will be back. I’m not mentioning any names because I don’t want you bawling on me again. You miss her, don’t you? Same here, but don’t tell her that.’
He offered her another grape. She shook her head. ‘I’m like you. A man of few words. Some things don’t have to be said. Some things, the less said the better. You like somebody, you don’t have to be saying “I like you” all the time. You begin to sound like everyone else and people think you’re not sincere. Act like you like them and they know you like them. But you know that better than I do. Everybody likes you. You’re in perfect harmony with your world, Mighty Mouse. That’s why you’re a genius.’
He peeled a banana on her tray. ‘What do you think you-know-who is going to say when she comes back and sees how you’ve thrived and matured? She’ll be impressed, right? You bet she will be. Everything’s going to take on a different colour, a different perspective, do you know what I mean, peewee? You can be too close to people, take them for granted, but step back, squint through your other eye, and you get another angle, a fresh perspective. And who’s going to be in the centre of that eye? Not you, me. Get it? It’s going to be one hell of a reunion. There may not be a lot of talk, but the feeling between us is going to be intense.
‘What are you laughing about? You think you’re the only one she’s interested in. Well, you happen to be wrong. Four days away from me and she isn’t going to be able to keep her hands off me. Don’t snicker, droolface. What do you know about it? You’re an expert on how to be a baby, but when it comes to men and women you’ve got a lot to learn. Think you’re the only expert on feelings? You do what you feel like doing, rig
ht? I do, too, and right now I feel like rubbing some banana right into your fat little face.’
After Hannah finished eating, he dressed her, diaper, shorts, sleeveless shirt. He had to change, too. Standard operating procedure after every meal. The dirty stuff he kicked in the corner, the dishes he stacked in the sink. Save everything for the last day when there would be a monster neighbourhood bazaar and cleanup.
‘Kid, what do we do today? I feel weird being alone with you all the time. It feels like I’ve been stuck with you forever. What if I was stuck with you? What if it was a world where men got pregnant and you were mine to have or not to have? I don’t know if you’d be here. Get that pout off your face, blubber mouth. I’m just talking. You’re safe. You’re here, aren’t you?
‘Maybe it’s a good thing men don’t get pregnant. We’re too selfish to have babies. I am, anyway. I don’t vision myself hauling a watermelon around under my belt for nine months. What happens if I don’t feel like carrying you around every minute? Do I leave you at the baggage check-in?
‘Remember, I don’t know it’s you yet, and I’m thinking what a sap I am giving you this free ride. Now, in a just world, pregnant women – pardon me, pregnant persons – would have time off for good behaviour, check out of the scene when it got to be too much.
‘What do you weigh inside there? Twenty-five pounds? Thirty pounds? Who needs it? You’re smiling now because you know if you ever got in there, I’d be stuck, and once you got out, I’d be stuck forever. Mother Jeff.
‘We pregnant men don’t take to being full-time porters and freight carriers. Everywhere I go, you’d go? Everything I eat, you eat? If you don’t like my food, I get the bellyache? What if I don’t want you eating my food? I don’t! I don’t want you inside my belly. I don’t want you rooting around in there, burping and farting and pissing. Sitting in there with that smug smile on your face ’cause you got me. No way. Get out! Get out and take care of yourself! Nine months! Too much. I have too many other things to do with my life. What am I going to do with you in California? I’m looking for work in the industry and there I am, pregnant with you! Oh, you’re pregnant, they’ll say. You can’t work. You’ve got your job right inside you. Go home and take care of your brat.