The Laments Read Free Page A

a small bundle in her lap.
    Mary’s lower lip trembled at the small face beaming at her. Nevertheless, she gritted her uneven teeth.
    “This. Isn’t. My. Baby.”
    “No, but he’s very hungry. Perhaps you could feed him as a
favor
.”
    Mary shook her head, closing her eyes again. “I don’t have any milk.”
    “Will you try? Please?”
    She loosened her nightie but shook her head. It wouldn’t work. She felt empty of will. Of milk. Of life.
    Suddenly the little thing reached out with two tiny grappling palms, and with a snort and a gasp, it climbed toward her left breast, eyes shut, face weaving left and right until it corked its open mouth with her nipple.
    Stupefied at the urchin’s determination, she watched him begin to suck vigorously from her breast.
    “Bloody hell,” she whispered.
    Dr. Underberg nodded vigorously. “A bit like a homing pigeon, isn’t he?”
    The baby paused, raising his wrinkled head. The two of them stared at each other like strangers at a social, puzzled at being thrown together. The baby went back to work on her breast, but now he was watching her. Mary felt unable to turn away; between the action in her breast and the baby’s hypnotic glance, she was slipping into a pleasantly placid state; then she remembered the doctor standing nearby.
    “Why’s he staring at me?” she asked.
    “Babies do that. He adores you.”
    “Me?” She looked back at the infant. His eyes regarded her with such clarity, such lack of doubt, that she felt herself falling into his power; together, they were merging. His eyelids closed, and Mary’s thoughts drifted, forgetting the empty beds around her, forgetting about the nurses, the doctors, her lost love, and even God’s abandonment—everything except the strange new bond she felt with this contented infant.
    “ WHO
IS
THIS WOMAN? ” Howard Lament was pacing the hospital room. “And why does she have
our
baby?”
    “African women do this all the time, darling,” said Julia matter-of-factly.
    “Julia, African women walk around without a stitch; it wouldn’t justify your doing the same thing. And, besides, you might have asked my opinion!”
    “We’re rebels, darling.” His wife smiled. “I knew you’d understand.”
    This gave Howard pause. Standing in his blazer and white pants, he rather liked the rebel idea. He wasn’t going to be like his father, living in the same house his whole life; no, he and Julia were going to see the world like the other Laments. There was the Lament who sailed with Cook to the South Pacific; and Great-grandfather Frederick Lament, who arrived in South Africa in 1899 and started the first bicycle shop in Grahamstown. Howard’s two older sisters had followed their husbands to Australia; and his cousin Neville always sent postcards from his trips to Patagonia and Nepal. To be a Lament was to travel. Yes, he liked the rebel idea quite a lot.
    “ HE’S ALL TWITCHES AND STRUGGLING LIKE, ” said Mary to Dr. Underberg. “I call him Jack because he’s always climbing up the hill”—she giggled—“but once he gets to the top, wild horses couldn’t tear him away from that pail of water!”
    Dr. Underberg noted that the baby
di
d
seem different with Mary Boyd than with Julia Lament. The infant’s movements were more strident, there was more grabbing and pulling, perhaps because Mary was a larger woman and her physical terrain was a challenge to navigate, or perhaps because this provoked more attention from Mary. The doctor made a note to himself to investigate this issue more fully in a paper. In the meantime, it was clear to him that the exchange had restored Mary’s desire to live.
    “You’ll see your own little one after lunch today,” he said.
    Mary looked up, puzzled.
    “
Your
baby, Mary. He’s gained four ounces,” the doctor reminded her.
    “Oh”—Mary blinked—“then you think he’ll live?”
    The doctor frowned. “Of
course
he’ll live! There was never any doubt. Look,” he decided,