Читать книгу Grievous Sin - Faye Kellerman, Faye Kellerman - Страница 14

Darlene edged the last of the layettes into its space in Nursery J, then placed her gloved hands on her hips. Her eyes traveled to the babies, ten of them—two blacks, four Hispanics, three whites, and one Asian—as varied as L.A.’s own population. Each had its own personality, even at this age, but all of them were as precious as an angel’s song.

Not that they sounded like angels. Baby Girl Rodriguez and Baby Girl Jackson were squalling up a storm. Now Baby Boy Yamata … there was a good baby. Quiet. Like his parents.

Squalling up a storm.

The expression made her smile. No one knew squalls like she knew squalls. The late November winds on the lake … a cold so bone-chilling it froze your teeth numb.

Baby Girl Decker was missing … probably still with Cindy in the back room. Darlene thought about Cindy—a real good kid. Not too many sisters were that devoted. Not a lot of devoted people, period. That’s what Darlene liked about nursing. You gave to others, actually helped them. Helped them more than the doctors, if the truth be known.

She watched the infants for a few minutes without doing anything, observing wide-open mouths and scrunched-up eyes. Baby Girl Rodriguez had cried herself lobster red, fingers balled up into tight fists as she cried to be held. Too bad Darlene had only two arms. Shame women weren’t born octopuses.

Rubbing her arms, she threw a furtive glance over her shoulder. Slowly, her hands reached toward Baby Girl Rodriguez. Teeny little thing. Darlene had cooked chickens that weighed more. But the baby was fully formed and doing well. Cute coffee-bean eyes hidden by locks of silky black hair. The baby quieted as Darlene nestled her into her bosom, patted her little back. Tiny, fragile bones. All of the babies, so small yet perfect human beings. The wonderment of new life. It never failed to amaze her.

She undid BG Rodriguez’s blanket, and the cold blast of air suddenly sent the little girl into another episode of hysterics. Quickly, the nurse took the unclad baby over to the scales.

“Now this’ll only take a minute, honey,” Darlene cooed as she slid the poise over the indicator numbers. BG Rodriguez was still a little under two kilos: She’d need at least another couple of days of hospitalization before she’d weigh enough to go home.

“Stop your bellyaching. We ain’t even at the hard part yet.”

With a firm grip, Darlene lifted the infant from the scales, placed her on the table, and rewrapped her in her blanket. The baby’s loud outbursts quieted to whimpers. On the table was a tray of instruments and a stack of charts. Placing a firm hand on the infant’s stomach, Darlene scanned through the pile until she found BG Rodriguez’s records. She flipped through the papers, looking for additional instructions or orders from the pediatrician. Finding nothing of significance, she wrote in the time and the latest weighing.

The baby was now fully awake, black eyes trying to focus, legs kicking under the covers. Darlene chucked her chin, then carefully liberated a little foot from the swaddle of the blanket.

Tiny foot—as small and soft as a ladyfinger. Little red toes.

Again Darlene took a quick peek over her shoulder. She felt her shoulders tighten as she reached for the instrument tray. It was always tense with the first one. Holding the foot firmly in her grasp, the charge nurse held her breath as she jabbed a razor-sharp needle into the pad of the baby’s heel.

Decker’s own snoring woke him up. He heard himself snort and grunt, then he shook his head in a weak attempt to dislodge his stupor. His bones hurt; his muscles ached with rigidity. He managed to open his eyes, light flooding his retinas. It took him a moment to focus, and when he did, he was shocked to see Rina’s eyes upon him. Quickly, he sat up, swinging his stiff legs over the edge of the cot. He took her hand and kissed it.

“Morning, darling.” He looked at the wall clock. Five fifty-two—morning only in a technical sense. He leaned over and kissed her cheek. It was hot and dry. “How do you feel?”

Rina’s lids fluttered, but she kept her eyes open. “How’s … our baby?”

“Gorgeous!” Decker tried to sound upbeat. “Beautiful just like you.”

“Tell me.”

“Well …” Decker cleared his throat. “She’s big and robust and beautiful and alert. Definitely the best kid in the whole hospital.”

Rina’s lips formed a weak smile. “I want to hold her. Hold my baby.” Her eyes grew wet. “But I can’t, can I?”

“Of course you can hold her. You’ll spend hours holding her. But first you’ve got to recuperate.”

“From the surgery,” Rina whispered.

“Yes, from the surgery,” Decker said. “Go back to sleep, honey. It’s the best thing for you now.”

Rina turned away, then faced him again. “Something’s …” She swallowed hard. “Something’s wrong, Peter.”

“I’ll call the nurse—”

“No,” Rina cried hoarsely. “That’s not what I meant.”

Decker felt his head spin. “Doctor says you’re going to be fine, Rina. But you need to rest … relax. The only thing you should be concerned about is getting your strength back. Now I’m ordering you to close your eyes and go back to sleep.”

Rina attempted a deep breath, her face contorting from the effort. “I’m not bleeding normally. Not like the others …” She winced. “And the miscarriages, too. It’s not normal.”

Decker squelched a wave of nausea. “Rina, you’re so tired. Go to sleep, honey.” His voice was making tinny echoes in his ear. “I’ll be here when you wake up. You’ll feel better after you sleep.”

“Your face.” Her voice was so raspy. “You’re not looking at me. Tell me.”

Decker couldn’t talk, paralyzed by exhaustion and fright.

“What’s wrong with me, Peter?”

“Nothing’s wrong, honey.”

Immediately, he regretted the false words. He had to tell her. He couldn’t let her think she was the same as before, only to have her psyche destroyed later on. She’d never forgive him. As much as he dreaded the task, he knew he had to confess. He forced himself to look in her eyes. They’d become deep blue pools.

“I love you, baby.”

“What is it, Peter?”

He kissed her hand again, then whispered, “Rina, you had a hysterectomy. That’s the reason you’re not bleeding normally.”

She didn’t react.

After some false starts, he finally found his voice. “Rina, we have a lovely, lovely family. A beautiful new baby … a real gift from God. We have to remember that.”

She said nothing, her eyes resting blankly on his face.

“I know how you must feel … no, I don’t know how you feel. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

He kissed her hand again.

“Rina, the truth is, I’m an old man. I mean, who wants to be playing sandlot ball when you’re fifty, right?”

Her expression reflected his stupidity. He knew he should just shut up, but the jitters kept his vocal cords humming overtime.

“I know how you feel about kids, honey. And I love kids, too. We’ve got to look at it this way. We have three beautiful, healthy children; I’ve got a nearly grown daughter. Babies are wonderful, but it’s nice when the kids grow up and are big—on their own. Give us a little special time … we haven’t had a lot of that, you know?”

Nothing.

“Rina, four kids can be a real stretch on the pocketbook. Private schools, then college. Man, I can’t believe what it cost to send Cindy through one year of Columbia …”

He was babbling. But it didn’t matter, because none of his words were really registering with her.

“Honey, I know it’s hard to have perspective. But … but try to think about how blessed we are to have a beautiful, healthy baby daughter—”

“Peter, I’m only thirty years old!”

And then came the tears, the sadness so pure and honest it mercifully muzzled his moronic ramblings. He brought her face against his chest, and she sobbed on his shoulder.

“It stinks, Rina,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry!”

The information was too devastating to handle consciously. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep.

Holding his daughter, Decker felt comforted. There really was something to be grateful for. If only Rina could hold Hannah. He knew the contact—the bonding—would lift her spirits.

The baby slept as he rocked her—a perfumed package tucked in the crook of his arm. Decker kissed her forehead through his mask, his coffee-laced breath recirculating through his lungs. It wasn’t unpleasant—beat the early-morning sourness in his stomach. Rabbi Schulman had come as soon as he called. He was with Rina now, watching her sleep, giving Decker a chance to see his daughter without worrying about his wife.

Decker hadn’t out-and-out told the rabbi what had happened to Rina, but the old man had figured it out by what wasn’t being said. Decker felt bad discussing Rina without her consent, but he made a judgment call, hoping it was the correct decision. In the past, the old man had always been a source of comfort for both of them.

Cindy pulled up a chair beside him. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

Decker smiled under his mask. “I only make beautiful girls.”

Cindy gave a soft laugh. “You look … serene, Daddy.”

“Babies do that to you. Brings back lots of memories of when you were born, kid. It was hot and muggy, and I remember thinking your mom was going to dehydrate if I didn’t get her to the hospital. I can’t believe that was nineteen years ago. Where does the time go?” Decker chuckled. “That’s swell. Now I’m sounding like an old geezer. Stop me before I become my father.”

Cindy laughed. Decker looked at his elder daughter’s face, at the dark circles under her eyes.

“You didn’t go home last night, did you?”

“I fell asleep. I rested.”

“Go home, princess. Rabbi Schulman is with Rina. I’ll wait for Rina’s parents to take a shift.”

“They just arrived with the boys not more than five minutes ago. They’re waiting to see the baby. You should put Hannah in the layette so Nurse Simms can wheel her into the window area.”

“Oh, sure.” Decker stood, then settled the sleeping infant in her cart. He draped an arm around Cindy. “Did you ask Mrs. Elias if she’d stay with Hannah?”

“Yeah. She said she’d be delighted.” Cindy lowered her head. “Guess I’m not needed anymore.”

“Princess, you’ve been an enormous help these last eighteen hours. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“If you want, I’ll come back after Mrs. Elias leaves.”

“Yes, I’d like you to very much. You and Nurse Bellson work things out?”

“Not really. She still hates me. I can’t figure out why.”

“Don’t bother. It’s her problem, not yours.”

Cindy smiled, but she was clearly troubled.

“What’s wrong?” Decker asked.

“Daddy, did you know that Nurse Bellson pulls double shifts an average of twice a week?”

“Where’d you find this out?”

“Darlene. Doesn’t it sound like she’s overinvolved with the babies?”

“Sounds to me like Darlene shouldn’t be gossiping with you.”

“Darlene didn’t say she thought Marie was overinvolved. That’s my observation. And it’s not just the babies, it’s the mothers, too. I happened to overhear her lecture this teenaged mom on how to care for her baby. She was very bossy. ‘Do this, don’t do that.’ And then you know what she did?”

“No. Why don’t you tell me?”

Cindy smiled. “She asked a couple of moms to pray to Jesus with her. Don’t you think that’s completely inappropriate?”

Decker was quiet, taking in Cindy’s words. “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.”

“I think we should say something to her boss.”

Decker exhaled forcefully. “Cindy, while I appreciate your sense of propriety—”

“I should keep my mouth shut, right? At least while Hannah’s under her care.”

Decker didn’t answer.

“Maybe we should move Hannah to another nursery,” Cindy suggested.

“They’re going to ask why,” Decker said. “Then what do I tell them? Because my daughter doesn’t get along with your top charge nurse who has worked here for over a decade? A nurse who was nice enough to let her hang around even though it’s bending the rules? If Marie had really wanted, she could have kicked you out. But she hasn’t done that. That’s worth something, Cynthia.”

“Then why does she have such hostility toward me?”

“Probably because you’re treading on her turf. It’s irrational. From what you’ve described, I’m not saying the woman’s without problems.”

“Maybe she resents you and Rina because you’re not Christians.”

Decker shrugged. “I don’t think so. I think she’s just territorial.”

“Darlene isn’t like that at all.”

“Are we talking about the same Darlene who left you in charge of a dozen newborns?”

“She didn’t leave me in charge.”

“Cindy—”

“Daddy, better I be in charge than some of the staff during the graveyard shift. It gets real weird here at night.”

Again Decker paused. “What exactly do you mean by weird?”

“Darlene said because of the budget cuts, the hospital is forced to use a lot of temporaries and floaters. Some of them are very strange. Believe me, we’re very lucky to have Hannah under Darlene’s care.”

“Well, that was confidence-inspiring.” Decker bit the ends of his mustache. “Maybe I should check Hannah out today. The pediatrician told me medically she could be discharged. But I really wanted her to stay overnight. It’s going to be another day before Rina can come home, and I wanted to give her a chance to hold Hannah. I didn’t want her to feel isolated from everything. But you’re a sharp kid. If you say it’s weird, I’ll take both of them out of here.”

Cindy looked pained with the responsibility of decision. “Dad, I’m real tired. Maybe I’m exaggerating.”

Decker sat back down. “Good Lord, do I know that feeling.”

“Daddy, I’ll watch Hannah again tonight. Last thing I want is to take the baby away from Rina.” Cindy hesitated. “How’s she doing?”

Decker didn’t answer.

“Daddy?”

Decker ran his hands over his face. “There’ve been a few complications, but she’ll be all right.”

“Serious complications?”

“She’ll be all right,” Decker said again.

“You’re hiding something from me, aren’t you?”

Decker looked at his daughter. “I just don’t like talking about Rina when she’s not around.”

“You’re right. I don’t mean to be intrusive.”

Decker put his arm around his daughter. “Princess, go tell the nurse to wheel the baby out. Then I want you to go home and get some rest. Come back here when you’re refreshed. I really do need your help.”

“Daddy, it’s my pleasure being able to help you.” Cindy ran her toe along the ground. “Being able to be with you like this has been really nice. You and I talking like friends. I know you’re my father first. But it’s nice to be friends with your dad, right?”

Decker tousled Cindy’s rust-colored hair. “Yes, it’s very nice.”

They had moved her to a regular hospital room—an indication that she was no longer in danger. Now she was just a mere patient. They’d look after her for a day or maybe two, then she’d be released. No matter that she’d leave a shell of what she’d been. That didn’t concern the hospital. As long as her heart was beating and her breathing was steady, she’d be sent home.

She didn’t look at Rabbi Schulman. From a single glance, Rina knew Peter had told him. One part of her felt angry and betrayed. But the other side whispered relief. The emotional pain was too much to bear alone, too much to comprehend. Why was happiness always ripped away from her? After Yitzchak had died, she thought she’d never love again. But Hashem knew better. She met Peter, and she did love again. It was a miracle.

Then this.

Why did He feel the need to constantly test her? Wasn’t her unwavering faith enough?

Without her realizing it, tears had formed—hot and bitter. Still staring at the wall, she said, “He shouldn’t have told you. It wasn’t his place to tell you.”

“I knew something was very wrong, Rina Miriam,” the rav said softly. “Akiva simply told me the specifics.” He paused. “Perhaps it was my fault. I asked Akiva detailed questions. I apologize for prying into your life.”

Rina didn’t answer. Now, instead of being angry, she felt guilty that she had made Rabbi Schulman apologize. Weak and sick, pain encircling her like a tight girdle, she wanted to sleep for a hundred years.

Schulman said, “I would like to wish you a refuah shelenah, Rina Miriam—a very speedy recovery. I am sorry for your pain. It is confusing when unfortunate things happen to nice people. It puts us at odds with our sense of justice.”

Rina turned to the rosh yeshiva. The man was in his late seventies, and his age was finally beginning to show. His skin was wrinkled and mottled, but his dark eyes were as clear as ever. He sat stoop-shouldered, legs crossed, his liver-spotted hands clasped and resting on his knee, fingers holding the rim of his homburg. He wore his usual black suit and tie and a starched white shirt. His beard was white, as was his hair. Atop his head was a black silk skullcap.

Rav Schulman was a calm man, a calming man—his voice, his presence. No matter what life demanded of him, he always had enough time for those who needed him. Rina said, “I suppose this is a minor setback in the scheme of things.” She sighed, then grimaced as her wound throbbed. Her voice had come back, but her throat still felt raw. “It isn’t the Holocaust.”

“No, it is not the Shoah. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t entitled to your grief, Rina Miriam. I lived through the Shoah; I lost my only son. Yet I still become frustrated when I misplace my wallet. So what does that say about human nature?”

Rina sank into her pillow and stared at the ceiling. “I feel petty for feeling so … bitter.”

“Your operation was far from petty. Your bitterness is very understandable.” Schulman licked his lips. “Are you in pain? Do you need anything?”

Rina looked at the I.V. in her arm. “Nothing, thank you. My doctor told me I can eat solid food for lunch. Not exactly heart-stopping news. But it is the only news I have.”

“I’m glad you are recovering nicely.”

“Thank you for coming down, Rav Schulman. You have always been a rock of support for me and my family.”

“You’re welcome, Rina Miriam. Have you seen your baby?”

“They won’t … I’m still running a fever, and they don’t want the baby to contract anything.”

“It will help when you can hold your baby.”

Rina continued to stare at the acoustical ceiling tiles, wet streaks down her cheek. “I have three healthy children, baruch Hashem. I should be doing better than this.”

“You needn’t reproach yourself for showing human emotion. Nowhere in the Torah does it say we cannot feel sadness or happiness or anger or even doubt. Sarah laughed when Hashem told her she would conceive at the tender age of ninety. Some say it was the laughter of joy. After nine decades of being barren, she was elated at the prospect of having a child. But others say it was laughter of disbelief.” Schulman paused. “Not so hard to imagine her disbelief, nu?”

Rina nodded.

“Hakodesh Baruch Hu Himself tells Sarah of such a miraculous, wonderful event,” the rav continued. “The same Kodesh Baruch Hu who created the world. Is nothing beyond Him? Is there anything that He cannot do? Yet Sarah—a prophetess—still could not think beyond her earthly limitations, and laughed at Hashem’s prophecy. So if she could be human, so can you.”

“I’m angry at God,” Rina whispered.

“I, too, have been angry at God. He is strong. He can take your anger without feeling personally affronted.”

Rina surprised herself by smiling.

Schulman said, “You are not without insight, Rina Miriam. You should be grateful for your three healthy children. And you are grateful. But while I don’t want to put words in your mouth, I would imagine you are saddened by the fact that your family size was determined by a surgeon rather than you. In reality, how much control do we actually have over our lives? Life is a loan from Hashem. We are put here by His design; so shall we leave by His design. So if death, like life, is part of the Eternal’s plan, why do we say tehilim for the sick? Do we really think that our prayers will alter Hashem’s design?”

The rabbi held his finger up in the air.

“The answer for me is yes, they can. We believe in a personal God—a God who at least listens to our prayers. We don’t understand Hashem’s ultimate design. But that doesn’t mean we can’t ask. King David knew his first off-spring with Batsheva was a child born from sin. He knew from prophecy that the child wouldn’t live. The words came directly from the prophet Natan’s lips. Yet David, Hashem’s own anointed, fasted and prayed to Hashem to spare the child.”

“It didn’t work,” Rina said.

“No, it didn’t. But David gave it a try. There are times when Hashem is willing to deviate from His original plans, times when He has forgiven the most grievous of sins. Our prayers are not empty words, Rina Miriam. Though the world may seem very dark now, Hashem has an open ear for you. You may ask. You may not get, but you may ask.”

Rina’s hand fell upon the clamp that closed her surgical incision. To spare her own life, they had taken away her ability to create life. “I don’t want … well, I want but I don’t expect miracles. I know …” Her eyes moistened. “I know I can’t have a magical transplant. I can’t have any more children. I … will learn to accept that. But right now, I want the rage to go away. It hurts to be so angry.”

“You will not be bitter the rest of your life. You are a strong woman. You will go on with your life. You will laugh again. You will enjoy your beautiful family. Just give yourself time for reflection and thought …”

Rina held back tears. “I’ll try.”

Schulman patted her hand. “You are very tired. Rest while you can. It hasn’t been so long that you can’t remember how much energy it takes to care for an infant.”

“Rav Schulman?”

“Yes?”

“That pasuk about King David? It has always bothered me.”

“How so?”

“David wept and fasted and prayed and wailed before the baby died. As if he were anticipating his mourning.”

“This is very true.”

“But then afterward, he got up and washed and dressed and anointed himself. Wouldn’t you have expected some kind of ritual mourning after the baby died as well?”

“Yes, you would. And David’s behavior puzzled his servant as it puzzles you. There have been several commentaries on the issue. The first: A child isn’t considered a full life until after thirty days, so it would have been improper for David to sit shivah for him. Second: King David actually did sit shivah for his son. The passage ‘and he arose from the earth’ meant he came up after the traditional seven days of mourning.”

The rabbi took a breath and twirled the tip of his beard around his forefinger.

“The third interpretation was made by the radak—Rav David Kimchi—and it is what we just talked about: that David’s fasting before the child died was a prayer to Hashem to spare the child. Once the baby died, David saw that this was the will of God, and his rising from his mourning—the anointing, dressing, and washing—was to show his kingdom that he accepted the will of Hashem, no matter how painful.”

“So I should get up and wash and go buy myself a new dress, huh?”

“Not a bad idea, even if you mean it allegorically. Rina Miriam, you should do whatever you need to do to get you over this difficult time. If you need to grieve, grieve. If you need to be angry, be angry. If you want to put it behind you, you can do that, too. Judaism has a lot of rituals, a lot of nonnegotiable behaviors. But we also allow for a great deal of personal freedom. Personal freedom and its sister trait, personal responsibility, are what make the religion so hard. But they are also what make the religion so satisfying.”