Perfect Little World(37)
“Is it okay if I come in?” he asked tentatively; Izzy waved him in. He put the basket down on the chair and then went to wash his hands. When he was done, he sat beside Izzy and looked at the baby.
“He’s beautiful, Izzy. Everyone is so excited and so happy for you.”
“His name is Cap,” she said.
“Hello, Cap,” Dr. Grind said, smiling; his face had the appearance of never knowing sadness, the smoothness of his happy life. She knew it wasn’t true, that he had what seemed like a horrible childhood and had his own family tragedies, but she wondered how he had gained such a calmness, a belief that every single piece of the universe fit neatly into another one.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked. “Everything is okay here?”
She nodded. “It’s great,” she said. “They say the baby is healthy and everything is normal.”
The baby had freed his hands from the swaddle and his fingers, purple and pruney, slowly twitched in the open air. Dr. Grind placed his index finger in the palm of Cap’s hand and the baby instantly tightened his grip. Izzy smiled, and Dr. Grind then said, “It’s just a reflex. The palmar grasp, they call it. A doctor in the 1890s tested a newborn’s grip, I think he tested around fifty babies, and found that, though their grip was uncertain, that they could let go without warning, they could also support their body weight, suspended from a stick, for as long as two and a half minutes.” He observed the baby and then, suddenly, the baby freed Dr. Grind from his grasp. Dr. Grind made an inchworm motion with his finger and then looked back at Izzy. “Seems like a strange study to actually put into practice. I always imagined the job of the baby catcher in that study to be terrifyingly difficult, just hovering there, waiting for the baby to let go of the stick.”
Izzy thought that it was strange for Dr. Grind to think of any newborn study as being odd. It was hitting Izzy, a weird, creeping sensation, that she was now expected to embark on this project, to take this baby boy, her son, and travel into the woods, into a mysterious complex, and surround themselves with strangers who would get to handle her baby with impunity. Her fear of being a single mom had now turned into the strangest of fears, of being only one of nineteen parents, not counting Dr. Grind.
“You’ll be released from the hospital tomorrow,” Dr. Grind said, and she wished he could buy into her own fantasy of never leaving this hospital room. “I’ll take you and Cap to your home and we’ll help you get settled.”
Izzy, who never wanted to make trouble, who had assembled a life that, before she got pregnant, seemed entirely invested in leaving no trace of her existence, now felt a shaking nervousness about her future. She did not want to go home, back to the unhappy life that would await her, but she did not want to go with Dr. Grind either. “I don’t know if I can do this, Dr. Grind; I feel like I’m making a mistake.”
“I do not blame you at all, Izzy,” he said, and Izzy noticed that Dr. Grind almost always made it a point to say her name, as if calming a wild animal. “It wouldn’t be normal if you didn’t feel anxiety about what comes next. But I can assure you that I am here to help you, to make your life so much better, to make Cap’s life better.”
“I don’t think I can give him up,” she said, and the baby began to stir and then cry.
“You aren’t giving him up, Izzy,” he replied. “You’re bringing him to something wonderful.”
Not thinking of Dr. Grind, to hell with being demure, Izzy opened her robe and tried to get Cap to breast-feed. The baby could not latch on, or would not, instead continuing to make a sound like a science project gone wrong. “I just don’t know,” Izzy said, adjusting the baby in her arms; she was leaking milk. The baby’s pitch increased by a significant decibel level and Izzy felt that stab of inadequacy, which she had foolishly hoped the baby’s arrival would eradicate. She softly jiggled the baby to no avail and then Dr. Grind, his face holding the most sheepish expression, offered his help, holding out his hands. Izzy reluctantly handed the baby to him and Dr. Grind took Cap into his arms, holding him close to his chest, making a soft sound with his mouth, like a little sewing machine, and he did a shuffling dance. The baby’s cries softened, perhaps because of the simple transition from mother to stranger, but then he quieted entirely, Dr. Grind still buzzing away, holding the baby as if he were his own. After a minute of quiet, he returned Cap to Izzy and he smiled.
“Okay,” Izzy said. “It’s okay. I’ll go. I’ll do it.”
“I’m very happy to hear that, Izzy,” he replied. He sat down on the chair and blew out an exaggerated burst of air. “Was it the trick I just did with the baby that sealed the deal?” he asked, and Izzy nodded. He shook his head. “Just dumb luck, I promise you, but I’ll take it.” Izzy again noted how much she liked him; she found it endearing and a little odd that someone who seemed entirely without ego had constructed the Infinite Family, someone who obviously believed that he was doing something correct and true despite all evidence against it.
When Dr. Grind finally left, promising to be back the next morning, she returned her entire attention to her son, who regarded her with what she anxiously interpreted as skepticism. She kissed him, the simplest and easiest thing to do, and waited for the moment, fast approaching, when he would need her again, and she would give him whatever he wanted.