The street is noisy today, as it always is in spring when the city finally feels the warm sun that thaws the grey, uninviting snowbanks. The meltwater rushes down the lanes in sparkling silver ribbons, toward the little alley and then along Willow Lane to StMarys church. Inside the church the atmosphere is bustling as well. A group of people alights from a doubledecker bus women in pastel dresses and matching scarves of skyblue, emerald and white, their scarves tucked neatly against their faces. Men in crisp suits, ties and polished shoes follow.
From a smaller car a woman steps out, eyes focused and careful.
Kate! What are you doing alone, Kate! Wait for me, Ill give you a hand! Sam rushes around the car toward her.
Dont shout, love. Petey has fallen asleep. Please keep it down. Im scared, Sam Kate whispers, trembling. She has never baptized a baby before; she has only just become a mother and fears that little Petey will scream, like the time a week ago when they gave him a bath and he let out a wail that sent Sam to call the doctor. A calm, slightly stern paediatrician, DrEmily Clarke, arrives, pauses in the hallway, then steps into the room where a young mother cradles the squirming infant.
Lay him down, DrEmily orders.
What? I cant hear you, Kate mutters, her head shaking from exhaustion.
Put the baby down, youre shaking him like a rattle! Youve got his little bones all twisted! DrEmily retorts sharply into Kates ear.
Oh my God! Kate lifts her thin eyebrows, staring at Sam in horror.
Sam smirks.
Kate is still a girl at heart, yet she has already given Sam a son, the first heir. Neither of them knows how to raise him.
Just put him down, you stubborn thing Look at us, so strong, such little beads! the nurse coos. He looks just like his father!
Sam stands tall, proud. Well, thats another story! he says, remembering his mothers teasing about the family name.
Sam also notes the babys prominent nose. A bit of a lump on the head, probably full of thoughts! DrEmily continues. Daddy, why are you standing there? Close the window, the babys getting cold!
Sam darts to shut the window.
Whats wrong with him? Hes never been like this before Kate whispers, almost in tears.
What would a man want? He should have been a girl, then this would be different! And a boy with such a lump on his head! she jokes, while DrEmily examines the infant, turning him, stretching his tiny legs, spreading his clenched fists.
Colic, DrEmily finally declares. Ill write a prescription. Stop shaking him, mum! Hell be fine. Hes a strong little lad. Give him a dummy, will you? Hes crying himself ragged.
Were absolutely against dummies! Sam steps forward, offended. Theyre useless.
Against? DrEmily asks, feigning indifference. Emma ah, yes, his mother hand the baby to his father and go to the kitchen. Swaddle him, thats safer.
Kate shakes her head, then, looking utterly spent, hands Petey to Sam.
Good lad. Now lets have a cuppa, love, DrEmily laughs, and a biscuit, for the little one!
She scoops Kate up under her elbow and leads her away. Sam, cradling his son, stands by the window, coaxing Petey to settle.
The kitchen is dim, cool, and smells of coffee.
Theres a kettle, theres sugar, lets make tea and set the table, maybe a biscuit as well DrEmily surveys the room.
Kate places two cups on the table, unaware that the nurses at the paediatric emergency are always this efficient.
What do you mean efficient? DrEmily asks.
The young mother shivers. She begins to think aloud, the first warning signs.
Nothings been scolded, nothings been taught, just humanly, Kate shrugs. Being a child doctor is nice, you can cure everything, youre not scared.
DrEmily nods. What do you need to learn? Books, thank God, everyone reads now, if not, the internet helps. Problems are the same for everyone. Youre a responsible mum, I see it! Your thermometer is in the bath, your coat is clean, the baby looks wellkept. Have a tea while theres time! Drink! The nurse slides a steaming mug toward Kate. You just got scared, Peteys cry came out, that happens. If you need, I can shout a bit. Shout? Only if you want everything as you imagined? DrEmily smiles.
No, dont, Kate whines, then starts to cry.
Whats wrong? DrEmily asks, frightened.
Im tired. I want to sleep. Petey eats a lot, hates wet nappies, and Ive got no strength left Kate sniffles, pouting like a child. Day, month, year, even my own name I cant remember. Everything is a blur. I cant keep going, you understand? I have a semester to finish, Sam and I are studying, I have three exams left, and I cant. She sighs heavily.
DrEmily pauses, coughing softly. Where are the helpers? Any relatives? she asks, tapping the tablet screen, which buzzes with information.
There are, but my inlaws live far away, they wont come. My parents opposed our marriage, opposed Petey they liked the grandson now, but my mum said it was too soon, that we needed to finish university first, then We fought, and my mum said she wouldnt help. I feel Im to blame, dont I?
Kate sips her tea, closes her eyes.
Guilty? For becoming a mum? For having that little lumpheaded boy sent from the heavens? Yes, youre guilty of being happy, a few kilos extra, maybe five or six. Kate chuckles, Petey weighs four kilos, six hundred grams.
Exactly! Youve got a gift, a present. Shame on you! DrEmily winks. You need to eat. Hear that? Quiet down, love. Maybe you dont need the dummy Eat and go to sleep. Your sons cried so much hell sleep for a long time now, and you need it too. Ill leave you a note, do a little massage She places a scrap of paper on the table. And most of all dont stress. Everything will settle, little one! All will be well!
DrEmily pats the thin shoulder of the girl and exits.
Kate hurriedly finishes a pork chop, washes it down with tea and apple purée Sam had bought a proper homemade one somewhere and collapses onto the kitchen settee. She tries to pull a blanket over herself, but her strength is gone. She falls asleep right there.
It feels as if it happened yesterday.
Now Kate, in a creamcoloured dress and lowheeled shoes, stands at the doorway of a cottage beside the church, holding Petey in her arms. Today Petey will be baptized, and Kate is terrified.
Come on, love, its time! Hand him over, you sweet boy! Sam coos, strolling confidently toward the guests.
Soon they will enter the cottage, the baptism will take place, Petey will hiccup a couple of times, then his blue eyes will widen, meeting the painted saints on the ceiling, and he will gasp at the sight, amazed. The godmother, Kates young friend, will nod approvingly.
Petey a tough nut! she whispers to Kate. Well done, you two!
DrEmily Clarke walks slowly through the wroughtiron gates into the churchyard, crosses herself.
She, unlike the man nearby in a battered cap and hooded jacket, knows that sometimes only a higher power, call it God or whatever you wish, can lend a hand.
Sir, could you please remove your cap? This is a place of reverence, DrEmily remarks.
The man grudgingly pulls the cap off, revealing a bald scalp, brushes a few wispy hairs with his fingers. DrEmily shakes her head disapprovingly, as if modern customs have vanished.
Thanks, sir, he mutters, joining the crowd watching the couples infant being blessed.
The baptism is lovely, the couple beautiful, the child wonderful! the nurse comments, not approaching Kate, who probably wont remember her.
Baptisms are just that they torment the child! the man snaps.
You dont understand, sir nothing, DrEmily sighs.
Misha, we must baptise him. I feel everything will settle and Sasha will get better! Hear me? she cries, exhausted and frightened.
Mishas son, Sasha, was born later, a great joy. Misha, a proud man, drinks with friends, jokes about being a dad, dreams of fishing, riding horses, chopping wood.
During a lively evening, a call comes from the maternity ward.
Critical condition. Little chance, the voice says.
What? I cant hear you! Misha whispers into the phone, glancing at his smiling mates, perched on a stool. I dont understand
He cannot fathom how his paediatrician wife could face an infection that might claim their newborn before his first month. The hospital, the needle in the babys head, tears, anger, arguments with staff, a dispute with a family friend, Igor Andrews.
Tell me the truth, Igor! Whos to blame? Misha bangs his fist on the desk, rattling the glass cabinets.
Its not important now. Hell recover, well discharge Sasha and youll support them. Buy food, milk Igor suggests.
Youre never at work. Im surprised youre sober! Misha snarls. And the pigs are fed, Igor He points toward a door where a box holds a baby. If any hair falls, its over!
The door slams shut, a board cracks from the frame.
Since then Igor never visits again; they no longer celebrate together, never go to the silverleafed woods for a swim. He remains angry for life.
Misha and Sasha are discharged. Misha drives them home in a taxi, lifts them to the flat. Inside, sterile cleanliness welcomes them.
Misha I love you, I love Sasha, his wife cries, kissing him.
The baby cries, is fed, bathed, rocked, and it seems the storm has passed.
A week later Sasha develops a rash and fever again.
Weak immunity. He needs a hospital, a visiting doctor declares. Emily Clarke, you know how things can go. Stop crying, love! Weve dealt with worse.
Emily sighs, Alright, ten minutes and were ready, she says flatly. Misha, help me with Sasha.
She asks for help because she cant do it alone. A cleaner, Vera, a hospital ward attendant, pulls Emily from the gloom of a redbrick building, its large windows dark inside, a place that feels endless.
Vera, who grew up in a village, cared for many siblings, learned to soothe children with a firm hand. She sees Sashas tiny cries and the desperate mothers face.
Look at him, he sounds like a small Pavarotti! Vera jokes, wiping a rag across the floor. Im on the first floor, hearing his wail, thinking of the next great tenor.
Veras practical calm steadies Emily. She tells Emily, I think hell become a football fan, youll hear him cheering from the stands.
Emily nods, feeling a glimmer of hope.
Later, standing in the churchyard again, Emily watches Kate and Sam carry their child to the font. Hell be fine, she says to herself, adjusting her scarf, stepping up the street. The sun reflects off the streams, everything looks clean, ready for the spring rite.
The man who reluctantly removed his cap also walks up the street toward the marriage registry. Both stop at the stone steps of the historic building with modern windows and plaster columns, watching newlyweds line up.
Ill probably never see his wedding, Emily murmurs.
Whose? the man grumbles.
I have a son, a good lad, works hard, but he refuses to settle down. Its dreadful, being alone! she explains.
Modern life is different, the man replies. My son thinks career first, then family. Young people are… immature, he scoffs.
Building! Thats the word I dislike, Emily retorts, then smiles at a youthful bride with freckles, beaming. My son builds houses, bricks and plans. Family is something else love, soul to soul. Your sons priorities are off, his compass broken!
The capwearing man, his hair now pinkish at the temples, smirks. Women rush to marriage, us men take our time. Love should be there. Ive found mine, a dragonfly, we live, we try. Thats the power of love.
Emily sighs, What if my child doesnt believe in love? He says its dead. I wonder
Nonsense, the man retorts. Theyll believe, they just dont tell you.
He grabs Emilys shoulders, shakes her, then plants a bold kiss.
Stop, you fool! she shrieks. Ill call the police!
Call them! Call everyone! Look, Ive been with this woman for years, and you should go to the registry now! the bald man shouts, drawing attention.
The youngsters stare, Emily blushes.
Mum! Dad! What are you doing here? Everyones gathered, go on, get married! Sashas voice booms from behind. I have rings, I think in my pocket, oh right! He laughs, teasing his parents about age.
Emily! she gasps. How can this be?
Everythings possible, love! My parents are marrying again, second time! Crazy! And I, halfbaptised son, organised this. Lord, where is the world heading?
Sasha rolls his eyes, then hugs his parents, dragging them to a separate hall where today a simple, average couple will be celebrated parents who raised a decent son, lived without ever thinking of splitting up. Emily works as a paediatrician, her husband Michael designs buildings, now growing microgreens for the family. Their son Sasha is a bit carefree, promising marriage someday, but someday stretches on.
When Sasha is seven, walking home from school with a sandwich, a large black shape appears a stray dog, gaunt and angry from men who once beat it in the market. The dog snarls, steps forward, Sasha trembles, drops his sandwich, ready to run.
A warm hand lands on his shoulder.
Stay calm. Itll understand and go, a male voice says.
The dog, looking at them with sad eyes, backs off, snatching only the sandwich.
Sasha waits for his mother to return from work, then tells the story of the rescue and the steady hand that saved him.
That was an angel, Sasha. Your angel, Emily whispers later.
Michael merely sighs, not arguing. As he ages, he believes more in something bright that saves and helps, even against the odds.
Now, standing in the churchyard, Emily smiles at Kate and Sam carrying their baby to be christened. Hell be fine, she thinks, adjusting her scarf, eyes catching the sun glittering in the streams, everything clean and ready for the spring ceremony.
The man who reluctantly removed his cap walks up the street toward the registry. Both pause, watching newlyweds at the doors of the historic building with its modern windows and plaster columns.
Emily sighs, Perhaps Ill never see his wedding.
