“Then let’s do it.” He pulled out his chair and went for his cello, and I hauled myself to my feet and went to my piano. It was an upright, but very beautiful, and its purchase had been an adventure.
Joe and I had gone first to one shop, then to another. The Steinway had had the finest tone, but oh, the price! Joe had said, when I’d hesitated, “Let’s go home and sleep on it.”
“The Everett will be fine,” I’d said. “I’m not the musician you are—or that my mother was—and don’t require the perfect instrument.” A little short-tempered even then, though I’d been only seven months pregnant—but ithadbeen July, and very hot. I’d suffered so from the cold in Germany; wouldn’t I have been happy to be warm then! And why hadn’t I realized how suffocating heat could be? But pregnancy, I’d found, was rather difficult, especially when one was small and tended to ache.
“We’ll think about it,” Joe had said. “Next week is soon enough.”
I’d wanted to offer another sharp remark, but he’d taken off his hat, and whenever I saw the three-inch patch of scalp that was bare and would always be so, I couldn’t remain annoyed. I’d apologized instead, and he’d taken me out to the deli so we hadn’t had to heat up the house. We could afford to eat in finer establishments now, but the deli was still our favorite.
The next weekend, Joe had come home with a barbecue grill and set it up on the deck, and he’d stood out theremanfully on every especially warm day for the rest of the summer, cooking everything possible on its racks: hamburger, fish, chicken, vegetables—even slices of watermelon. He always made it seem like he was enjoying it, too. “Look at it this way,” he'd joke. “I’m drinking a beer on my deck. How much better does life get?”
No, I reallymustget the better of this irritability. Especially after the piano.
The piano? We hadnotrevisited the piano idea the next week. Instead, a truck had pulled into our driveway and dropped its ramp. I’d gone out to tell them they were in the wrong place, and the driver had taken off his cap, scratched his head, looked at his clipboard, and said, “Mrs. Joe Stark?”
“Well, yes,” I’d said, “but?—”
“Nope,” he’d said. “It’s for you, all right.”
“Whatis for me?” Had Joe bought an automatic dryer? But I’d told him most explicitly that I didn’t want one! An automatic washing machine was luxury enough, and besides, the clothes always seemed fresher after hanging out in the sun and the breeze.
Then they’d started wheeling the thing down the ramp, and I’d known.
It was the Steinway.
I’d cried. Stood there in front of the house and cried. The man had been concerned, but when I’d explained rather incoherently that it was a present from my husband and that I was merely overcome, he’d said, “Well, that’s all right then. And don’t you worry about crying. I’ve got two and one on the way, and every time my wife’s in that condition, the tears run like somebody turned the faucet on.”
So you see why I couldn’t stay annoyed while sitting on the piano bench today. When Joe began to play Saint-Saëns, I most definitelycouldn’t. I even managed not to be irritated by Bach’s precision, eventually. Until at last, when Joe wassaying, “What do you think? Pachelbel?” I said, “I think we must pause now.”
“What?” he asked. “Too hot even to play?” He was perspiring freely—playing the cello is hard work, and itwasvery hot. He’d only done it for me.
“No,” I said. “Some discomfort in my back only.” I attempted to rise from the bench, sank down again, and said, “It’s a spasm, I think, but—” and then had to break off.
“Marguerite.” Joe had set the cello down and was crouching before me, his hand on my belly, which had tightened as if somebody had drawn an elastic band around it. “Is it the baby, do you think?”
“I—” I held onto the keyboard, and then I held onto Joe. When it was over, I said, “I think so.Joe.What if?—”
He was still there before me, and now, he took my hands in his and pressed them. “This is what you’ve been worrying about, isn’t it? I haven’t wanted to ask, in case it wasn’t, but?—”
“Yes,” I said, “you’re right. I’ve been rather anxious. Oh.Thisis why I’ve been so out of sorts. I didn’t even realize I was—” There the tears were again. “Joe. Were we wrong to try?”
“No.” What a world of reassurance was in that one syllable! “No. We needed to try. I can’t tell you not to worry, that everything will be all right, but Icantell you what I said at the beginning. Whatever happens, we’ll get through it together. You and me. Just like we’ve gotten through everything else. How about if you sit here and drink some lemonade, and I’ll play for you?”
“But you’ll be very hot,” I said.
“Nah,” he said, and grinned. With some effort, I knew. “You do your work, and I’ll do mine. Or would you rather I went and got Susie?”
“No,” I said. “I want you.”
There’s no point detailing the rest of it, for what is the birth of a child but the oldest miracle in the world? A most uncomfortablemiracle; how well I understood Barbara’s annoyance when David had explained that her ordeal wasn’t so very bad after all! Joe called his parents, then played for me until the pains were closer together. When I told him it was time, he tipped the seat back in the car, took two pillows from the bed and my packed suitcase from the closet, and drove me to the hospital. I could see the whites of his knuckles on the steering wheel, but that was the only sign of nerves.
I wished for him very much when I was on the hospital bed. They wouldn’t let him in, though, so I prayed instead. I knew that the composition of the baby had been ordained long before, and there was no changing it now. So I prayed as David had prayed in the Bible. Not for everything to be perfect, but for the strength to bear it if it wasn’t.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for Thou art with me.We may own diamonds and emeralds and palaces, but all we have in the end, whether princess or pauper, is our strength and our endurance and our faith and our love.
My last thought before the twilight sleep took me was the same as on that day with the mountain lion.
Please, God. Please. Please.
