Ever After by William Wharton Page B

they’re out in the woods. The nurses are running and buzzing around, yammering at them, like farmers in the Morvan trying to control a herd of cows as they move it down the road. Bert stops them all outside my room. He doesn’t have to explain much. I’ve figured it out. His Oregon animal buddies have somehow found us. I pull my nightgown shut—I’ve just finished nursing—and prepare myself for the worst.
    Bert’s all apologies. He’s sheepish, but I know that, underneath, he’s pleased they’ve come all this way.
    â€œOK, Bert. Let them in. We’ll just take it as it comes.”
    They’re quiet for the first few minutes. Bert gives one of them the baby, and he holds her like a cut log, and then she’s passed from one to the other, each holding her in a slightly different way, as if she were a water-bucket in a lumberjack fire brigade. Little Dayiel looks each one in the eyes as if this is the most natural thing in the world. Bert’s beside me, holding my hand, and as obviously proud as any proud papa could be. Any moment I’m expecting one of them to try a lay-up shot with this strange-shaped basketball. I’m glad when she comes back to Bert and then to me. She smells of cigarettes, sweat, and, I’ll swear, Oregon spruce trees.
    Finally they’re ready to leave. Bert needs to return to school and he gives them the key to our apartment. It’s the one to the door at the top of the spiral staircase we use as an entrance.
    Just before dinner, Bert comes again on his way home. He and Wills ate at the pizza place but didn’t see the mob. He hasn’t been home yet. I hate to think of what these woodsmen will have done to our nice little nest—maybe built a fire in the middle of the living-room floor to keep warm.
    At about nine o’clock Bert phones, just after I’ve given Day her bedtime feeding. He still hasn’t heard or seen anything of his friends. He’d made arrangements to show them around town and maybe keep them out of trouble, but they didn’t show.
    â€œLord, I hope they don’t mess things up, Kate. They can be real hellraisers when they get into the spirit of things.”
    â€œDon’t worry about them, Bert. They’re big boys and not our responsibility. Just go to bed. Make sure Wills drinks some warm milk to help him sleep.”
    With that, I hang up. And in a few minutes I’m asleep.
    The next thing I know is an awful clattering, shouting, and hollering. It’s almost like a chant but I can’t quite make it out. Day wakes too. I listen. It’s “WOODMAN!” Someone is chanting: “WOODMAN! WOODMAN!”
    My God! I know who it is immediately. What can I do? I ring for the nurse. She comes running in all excited. I explain in German to let one of them in, only one, and bring him to my room. She stares at me. I repeat. Just one , only one. Nur eins . She scoots out of the room.
    I don’t know how she picked the one she has but he’s absolutely stoned. Maybe he was the only one upright. He stands, more or less, at the foot of the bed, holding onto it, rocking back and forth, his head rolling on his shoulders.
    â€œDon’t you understand, this is a hospital? You can’t just barge in like this. What are you thinking of?”
    He looks up at me. It takes about three tries before he can get a word out.
    â€œThe key—lost the key.”
    I almost laugh. It’s too much. I reach over to my purse on the table beside my bed.
    â€œWhy didn’t you go to the apartment? Bert has a key.”
    Again, a long lapse before he answers.
    â€œDid. Nobody answered. We yelled and nobody came.”
    I believe it. Bert can sleep through almost any noise. I guess if you live around sawmills, you can ignore most sounds. I give him my key.
    â€œDon’t lose it! You know the right way to go in?”
    â€œYeah, we’ll be fine now we have the