thing he probably doesn’t have is someone to read him stories. That’s why I brought these books. See this? Jesus is riding a burro on Palm Sunday. Isn’t that a beautiful illustration? And here he is, making fish for the multitude. Isn’t that the greatest?”
Rain dripped from the visor of Dan’s hat. “I have to tell you something, Joan,” he said. “This is an infant. Bible stories might be a little bit over his head.”
“Well, that’s what they said, but the age doesn’t matter. I saw a story in a magazine about a child whose parents read him the multiplication tables every night before he was born, and now Princeton University is running tests on him. But these people say Quinn doesn’t have time to hear a story. Does thatmake any sense to you? What is it that he’s supposed to be doing? I don’t see what would occupy a baby’s time to the point where he couldn’t listen to a Bible story. This evades me completely. Plus, somebody has to provide him with a religious instinct—otherwise, when he’s christened it won’t take, and he runs the risk of going to Hell. And I told them this. Well, they have to run it by their supervisor.”
“You talked to them just now?” said Dan.
“Well, no,” said Joan. “It’s been a while, but they said they couldn’t predict when the supervisor would be in. It seemed like they were giving me a song and a dance, but then I thought, Why don’t I wait and see if he shows up. But I suppose it’s getting late now.”
Dan coughed. “Yeah, it is,” he said. “Maybe you ought to go on home and call them tomorrow. Where do you live?”
“I don’t mind waiting,” said Joan. “But I guess you have a point. Maybe I’m a little keyed up about this baby. I don’t know why. It’s been raining so hard. I think I need to see him with my own eyes. I would feel better if I could just see him. I mean, look at this place. It’s like the Munsters’ house.”
“Joan, that baby is fine,” said Dan. “He’s strong, he’s healthy, he’s got more blankets than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“Maybe you could put in a good word for me,” said Joan. “Maybe if you suggested it, they would let me read to him. Tell them my church might do a benefit for him. Which is true, we might.”
“I’ll talk to them,” said Dan, “see what I can do.” He watched Joan Gower drive up to the highway, and then he went into the lobby, which was heavy with the smell of musty furniture. He gave the quilt to Nancy McLaughlin, the night administrator. She had her arm in a cast and explained that she had beenknocked down by a rainy gust while trying to get from her car to her house. She took him to see Quinn. They had him on the second floor, which was painted yellow and gray. In a low room with bright lights, Dan’s second cousin, the nurse Leslie Hartke, was giving Quinn a bottle.
“Hi, Dan,” she said. “Want to feed him?”
Dan shook his head. “Just brought another quilt over,” he said.
“This has been a bonanza for us,” said Nancy McLaughlin, rubbing her cast with her hand.
“Oh, come on,” said Leslie Hartke. “Feed the baby.” So Dan washed his hands and sat down, and Leslie gave him the baby, and the baby’s blankets, and the bottle. The baby took the bottle for a moment, looked at Dan with wide eyes, and began to cry.
“I remind him of Hy-Vee,” said Dan.
On his way out, Dan paused with Nancy McLaughlin to watch some boys playing checkers in the common room. The boys wore pajamas and sat at a card table in the corner by the stairs. The common room had high plaster walls, and the only sound was the melancholy click of the checkers.
“King me,” said one of the boys.
The other stared at the board. “Fuck,” he said.
“Checker time’s over,” said Nancy McLaughlin. “Good night now.” After the boys had disappeared up the stairs, Dan asked Nancy about Joan Gower.
“Not a happy woman,” said Nancy. “She read me a verse, what was it,
Rain dripped from the visor of Dan’s hat. “I have to tell you something, Joan,” he said. “This is an infant. Bible stories might be a little bit over his head.”
“Well, that’s what they said, but the age doesn’t matter. I saw a story in a magazine about a child whose parents read him the multiplication tables every night before he was born, and now Princeton University is running tests on him. But these people say Quinn doesn’t have time to hear a story. Does thatmake any sense to you? What is it that he’s supposed to be doing? I don’t see what would occupy a baby’s time to the point where he couldn’t listen to a Bible story. This evades me completely. Plus, somebody has to provide him with a religious instinct—otherwise, when he’s christened it won’t take, and he runs the risk of going to Hell. And I told them this. Well, they have to run it by their supervisor.”
“You talked to them just now?” said Dan.
“Well, no,” said Joan. “It’s been a while, but they said they couldn’t predict when the supervisor would be in. It seemed like they were giving me a song and a dance, but then I thought, Why don’t I wait and see if he shows up. But I suppose it’s getting late now.”
Dan coughed. “Yeah, it is,” he said. “Maybe you ought to go on home and call them tomorrow. Where do you live?”
“I don’t mind waiting,” said Joan. “But I guess you have a point. Maybe I’m a little keyed up about this baby. I don’t know why. It’s been raining so hard. I think I need to see him with my own eyes. I would feel better if I could just see him. I mean, look at this place. It’s like the Munsters’ house.”
“Joan, that baby is fine,” said Dan. “He’s strong, he’s healthy, he’s got more blankets than anyone I’ve ever known.”
“Maybe you could put in a good word for me,” said Joan. “Maybe if you suggested it, they would let me read to him. Tell them my church might do a benefit for him. Which is true, we might.”
“I’ll talk to them,” said Dan, “see what I can do.” He watched Joan Gower drive up to the highway, and then he went into the lobby, which was heavy with the smell of musty furniture. He gave the quilt to Nancy McLaughlin, the night administrator. She had her arm in a cast and explained that she had beenknocked down by a rainy gust while trying to get from her car to her house. She took him to see Quinn. They had him on the second floor, which was painted yellow and gray. In a low room with bright lights, Dan’s second cousin, the nurse Leslie Hartke, was giving Quinn a bottle.
“Hi, Dan,” she said. “Want to feed him?”
Dan shook his head. “Just brought another quilt over,” he said.
“This has been a bonanza for us,” said Nancy McLaughlin, rubbing her cast with her hand.
“Oh, come on,” said Leslie Hartke. “Feed the baby.” So Dan washed his hands and sat down, and Leslie gave him the baby, and the baby’s blankets, and the bottle. The baby took the bottle for a moment, looked at Dan with wide eyes, and began to cry.
“I remind him of Hy-Vee,” said Dan.
On his way out, Dan paused with Nancy McLaughlin to watch some boys playing checkers in the common room. The boys wore pajamas and sat at a card table in the corner by the stairs. The common room had high plaster walls, and the only sound was the melancholy click of the checkers.
“King me,” said one of the boys.
The other stared at the board. “Fuck,” he said.
“Checker time’s over,” said Nancy McLaughlin. “Good night now.” After the boys had disappeared up the stairs, Dan asked Nancy about Joan Gower.
“Not a happy woman,” said Nancy. “She read me a verse, what was it,
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