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obviously come straight from the cleaner's. It was impossible to think of Greer unshaven, Greer smoking
a cigar, Greer with a smudge of axle grease on his forehead, or Greer making love to his wife.
Well, sir, this weather...
When I think of what this valley was like twenty years ago...
At today's prices...
Len listened with growing admiration, putting in comments where required; he had never realized before
that there were so many absolutely neutral topics of conversation.
A few more people straggled in, raising the room temperature about half a degree per capita. Greer did
not perspire, he merely glowed.
Across the room Moira was now seated chummily with Mrs. Greer, a large-bosomed woman in an
outrageously unfashionable hat. Moira appeared to be telling a joke; Len knew perfectly well that it was
a clean one, but he listened tensely, all the same, until he heard Mrs. Greer yelp with laughter. Her voice
carried well. Oh, that'spriceless ! Oh, dear, Ionly hope I can remember it!
Len, who had resolutely not been thinking of ways to turn the conversation toward the Oster vacancy,
stiffened again when he realized that Greer had abruptly begun to talk shop. His heart began pounding
absurdly; Greer was asking highly pertinent questions in a good-humored but businesslike way drawing
Len out, and not even bothering to be Machiavellian about it.
Len answered candidly, except when he was certain he knew what the superintendent wanted to hear;
then he lied like a Trojan.
Mrs. Greer had conjured up a premature pot of tea; and oblivious to the stares of the thirstier teachers
present, she and Moira were hogging it, heads together, as if they were plotting the overthrow of the
Republic or exchanging recipes.
Greer listened attentively to Len's final reply, which was delivered with as pious an air as if Len had been
a Boy Scout swearing on theManual ; but since the question had been Do you plan to make teaching
your career? there was not a word of truth in it.
He then inspected his paunch and assumed a mild theatrical frown. Len, with that social sixth sense which
is unmistakable when it operates, knew that his next words were going to be: You may have heard that
Oster High will be needing a new science teacher next fall....
At this point Moira barked like a seal.
The ensuing silence was broken a moment later by a hearty scream, followed instantly by a clatter and a
bone-shaking thud.
Mrs. Greer was sitting on the floor; legs sprawled, hat over her eye, she appeared to be attempting to
perform some sort of orgiastic dance.
It was Leo, Moira said incoherently. You know she's English she said of course a cup of tea
wouldn't hurt me, and she kept telling me to go ahead and drink it while it was hot, and I couldn't
No. No. Wait, said Len in a controlled fury. What
So I drank some. And Leo kicked up and made me burp the burp I was saving. And
Oh, Christ.
Then he kicked the teacup out of my hand into her lap, and I wish I wasdead .
On the following day, Len took Moira to the doctor's office, where they read dog-eared copies ofThe
Rotarian andField and Stream for an hour.
Dr. Berry was a round little man with soulful eyes and a twenty-four-hour bedside manner. On the walls
of his office, where it is customary for doctors to hang at least seventeen diplomas and certificates of
membership, Berry had three; the rest of the space was filled with enlarged, colored photographs of
beautiful, beautiful children.
When Len followed Moira determinedly into the consulting room, Berry looked mildly shocked for a
moment, then apparently decided to carry on as if nothingoutre had happened. You could not say that he
spoke, or even whispered; he rustled.
Now, Mrs. Connington, we're looking just fine today. How have we been feeling?
Just fine. My husband thinks I'm insane.
That's g Well, that's a funny thing for him to think, isn't it? Berry glanced at the wall midway between
himself and Len, then shuffled some file cards rather nervously. Now. Have we had any burning
sensations in our urine?
No. Not as far as I'm No.
Any soreness in our stomach?
Yes, he's been kicking me black and blue.
Berry misinterpreted Moira's brooding glance at Len, and his eyebrows twitched involuntarily.
The baby, said Len. The baby kicks her.
Berry coughed. Any headaches? Dizziness? Vomiting? Swelling in our legs or ankles?
No.
All rightie. Now let's just find out how much we've gained, and then we'll get up on the examining table.
Berry drew the sheet down over Moira's abdomen as if it were an exceptionally fragile egg. He probed
delicately with his fat fingertips, then used the stethoscope.
Those X rays, said Len. Have they come back yet?
Mm-hm, said Berry. Yes, they have. He moved the stethoscope and listened again.
Did they show anything unusual?
Berry's eyebrows twitched a polite question.
We've been having a little argument, Moira said in a strained voice, about whether this is an ordinary
baby or not.
Berry took the stethoscope tubes out of his ears. He gazed at Moira like an anxious spaniel. Now let's
not worry aboutthat . We're going to have a perfectly healthy, wonderful baby, and if anybody tells us
differently, why, we'll just tell them to go jump in the lake, won't we?
The baby is absolutely normal? Len said in a marked manner.
Absolutely. Berry applied the stethoscope again. His face blanched.
What's the matter? Len asked after a moment. The doctor's gaze was fixed and glassy.
Vagitus uterinus, Berry muttered. He pulled the stethoscope off abruptly and stared at it. No, of
course it couldn't be. Now isn't that a nuisance: we seem to be picking up a radio broadcast with our little
stethoscope here. I'll just go and get another instrument.
Moira and Len exchanged glances. Moira's was almost excessively bland.
Berry came confidently in with a new stethoscope, put the diaphragm against Moira's belly, listened for
an instant and twitched once all over, as if his mainspring had broken. Visibly jangling, he stepped away
from the table. His jaw worked several times before any sound came out.
Excuse me, he said, and walked out in an uneven line.
Len snatched up the instrument he had dropped.
Like a bell ringing under water, muffled but clear, a tiny voice was shouting:"You bladder-headed pill
pusher! You bedside vacuum! You fifth-rate tree surgeon! You inflated enema bag!" A pause."Is
that you, Connington? Get off the line; I haven't finished with Dr. Bedpan yet."
Moira smiled, like a Buddha-shaped bomb. Well? she said.
We've got to think, Len kept saying over and over.
You'vegot to think. Moira was combing her hair, snapping the comb smartly at the end of each stroke.
I've had plenty of time to think, ever since it happened. When you catch up
Len flung his tie at the carved wooden pineapple on the corner of the footboard. Moy, bereasonable .
The chances against the kid kicking three times in any one-minute period are only about one in a
hundred. The chances against anything like
Moira grunted and stiffened for a moment. Then she cocked her head to one side with a listening
expression, a new mannerism of hers that was beginning to send intangible snakes crawling up Len's
spine.
What? he asked sharply.
He says to keep our voices down, he's thinking.
Len's fingers clenched convulsively, and a button flew off his shirt. Shaking, he pulled his arms out of the
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