Fletcher
tried to keep up with the taxi as he nipped in and out of the traffic, with a
palm pressed down on the horn, while flashing his lights, as he took a route
Fletcher didn’t even know existed.
Annie
clutched her stomach, as the groans became louder and louder.
“Don’t
worry, my darling, we’re nearly there,” he said, as he jumped another red light
to make sure he didn’t lose contact with the cab.
When
the two cars finally reached the hospital, Fletcher was surprised to see a
doctor and nurse standing next to a gurney by an open door, obviously expecting
them. As the cab driver jumped out, he gave the nurse a thumbs-up sign, and
Fletcher guessed that he must have asked his dispatcher to call ahead; he hoped
he had enough money on him to pay the fare, not to mention a large tip for the
man’s initiative.
Fletcher
jumped out of the car, and ran around to help Annie, but the cab driver beat
him to it. They took an elbow each and helped to lift her out of the cab and
gently onto the gurney. The nurse began to unbutton Annie’s dress even before
she was wheeled through the open door. Fletcher removed his wallet, turned to
the taxi driver and said, “Thank you, you couldn’t have been more helpful. How
much do I owe you?”
“Not
a cent, it’s on me,” the taxi driver replied.
“But...”
began Fletcher “If I told my wife I’d charged you, she’d kill me. Good luck,”
he shouted and without another word walked back to his cab.
“Thank
you,” Fletcher repeated before he dashed into the hospital. He quickly caught
up with his wife and took her hand. “It’s going to be just fine, honey,” he
assured her.
The
orderly asked Annie a series of questions, all of which received a monosyllabic
yes in reply.
His
inquiries complete, he rang through to the operating room to alert Dr.
Redpath
and the waiting team that they were less than a
minute away. The slow, vast elevator lurched to a halt on the fifth floor.
Annie was wheeled quickly down the corridor, Fletcher trotting by her side,
clinging to her outstretched hand. He could see two nurses in the distance
holding open double doors so that the gurney would never lose its momentum.
Annie
continued to hold on to Fletcher’s hand as she was lifted onto the operating
table. Three more people came bursting into the room, their faces hidden behind
masks. The first checked the instruments
laid
out on
the table, the second prepared an oxygen mask, while the third tried to ask
Annie more questions; although she was now screaming with pain. Fletcher never
let go of his wife’s hand, until an older man came through the door. He pulled
on a pair of surgical gloves and said, “Are we all ready?” even before he’d had
a chance to check the patient.
“Yes,
Dr.
Redpath
,” replied the nurse.
“Good,”
he said and turning to Fletcher added, “I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to
leave, Mr. Davenport. We’ll call for you just as soon as the baby has been
delivered.”
Fletcher
kissed his wife on the forehead. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered.
Nat
woke AT five on the day of the election, only to discover that Su Ling was
already in the shower. He checked the schedule on the bedside table.
Full team meeting at seven, followed by an hour and a half outside
the dining hall to meet and greet voters as they went in and out of breakfast.
“Come
and join me,” shouted Su Ling, “we haven’t any time to waste.” She was right,
because they arrived at the team meeting only moments before the clock on the
bell tower struck seven times. Every other member of the team was already
present, and Tom, who had come over from Yale for the day, was passing on the
experience of his own recent election. Su Ling and Nat took the two empty seats
on each side of their unofficial chief of staff, who continued the briefing as
if they weren’t there.
“No
one
stops,
even to draw breath, until one minute past
six when the last vote will have been cast.
Now
I suggest that the candidate and Su Ling are outside the dining hall between
seven thirty and eight thirty while the rest of you go into breakfast.”
“We’re
expected to go on eating that garbage for an hour?” said Joe.
“No,
I don’t want you to eat anything, Joe, I need you moving from table to table,
never two of you at the same table, and remember that Elliot’s team will
probably be carrying out exactly the same exercise, so don’t waste any time
asking for their vote. OK, let’s go.”
Fourteen
people ran out of the room and across the lawn, distant appearing through the
swing doors and into the dining hall, leaving Nat and Su Ling to hang around
near the entrance.
“Hi,
I’m Nat Cartwright, and I’m running for student president, and I hope you’ll be
able to support me in today’s election.”
Two
sleepy-eyed students said, “Fine, man, you’ve already wrapped up the gay vote.”
“Hi,
I’m Nat Cartwright, and I’m running for student president, and I hope you’ll be
able to support me...”
“Yes,
I know who you are, but how can you possibly understand what it’s like to
survive on a student loan, when you earn an extra four hundred dollars a
month?” came back the sharp reply.
“Hi,
I’m Nat Cartwright, I’m running for student president and
. .”
“I
won’t be voting for either of you,” said another student, as he pushed through
the swing doors.
“Hi,
I’m Nat Cartwright, and I’m running for...”
“Sorry,
just visiting from another campus, so I don’t have a vote.”
“Hi,
I’m Nat Cartwright and I’m...”
“Good
luck, but I’m only voting for you because of your girlfriend, I think she’s
terrific.”
“Hi,
I’m Nat Cartwright...”
“And
I’m a member of Ralph Elliot’s team, and we’re going to kick your butt.”
“Hi,
I’m Nat...”
Nine
hours later, Nat could only wonder how many times he had delivered that line,
and how many hands he’d shaken. All he knew for certain was that he had lost
his voice and was sure his fingers would fall off. At one minute past six, he
turned to Tom and said, “Hi, I’m Nat Cartwright and...”
“Forget
it,
” said Tom with a laugh, “I’m the president of
Yale, and all I know is if it wasn’t for Ralph Elliot you’d have my job.”
“What
have you planned for me now,” asked Nat, “because my schedule ends at six, so I
don’t have a clue what to do next.”
“Typical
of every candidate,” said Tom, “but I thought the three of us could have a
relaxed dinner at Mario’s.”
“What
about the rest of the team?” asked Su
Ling.
“Joe,
Chris, Sue and Tim are acting as observers at the count over in the Commons,
while the others are getting a well-earned rest. As the count begins at seven
and should take at least a couple of hours, I’ve suggested that everybody be
there by eight thirty.”
“Sounds
good to me,” said Nat. “I could eat a horse.”
Mario
guided the three of them to their table in the corner, and kept addressing Nat
as Mr. President. As the three of them sipped their drinks and tried to relax, Mario
reappeared with a large bowl of spaghetti which he covered in a
bolognese
sauce, before sprinkling parmesan cheese all over
it. However many times Nat stuck his fork in the heap of pasta, it never seemed
to diminish. Tom noticed that his friend was becoming more and more nervous and
eating less and less.
“I
wonder what Elliot is up to right now?” asked Su Ling.
“He’ll
be at McDonald’s along with the rest of his wretched gang, eating burgers and
fries and pretending to enjoy them,” said Tom as he sipped a glass of house
wine.
“Well,
at least there are no more dirty tricks he can play now,” said Nat.
“I
wouldn’t be so sure of that,” said Su Ling, just as Joe Stein came rushing
through the door.
“What
can Joe want?” asked Tom as he stood and waved at him. Nat smiled as his chief
of staff rushed over to their table, but Joe didn’t return his smile.
“We’ve
got a problem,” said Joe. “You’d better come over to the Commons immediately.”
Fletcher
began
pacing
up and down the corridor, much in the
same way as his father had done over twenty years before, an evening that had
been described to him by Miss Nichol on many occasions. It was like the
replaying of an old black-and-white movie, always with the same happy ending.
Fletcher found he was never more than a few paces from the door of the
operating room as he waited for someone-anyone-to come out.
At
last the rubber doors swung open and a nurse rushed out, but she hurried
quickly past Fletcher without saying a word. It was several more minutes before
Dr.
Redpath
finally emerged. He removed his face
mask, but his lips weren’t smiling. “They’re just settling your wife into her
room,” he said. “She’s fine, exhausted, but fine. You should be able to see her
in a few moments.”
“What
about the baby?”
“Your
son has been transferred to the special care nursery. Let me show you,” he
said, touching Fletcher’s elbow and guiding him along the corridor, stopping at
a large plate glass window. On the other side were three incubators.
Two
of them were already occupied. He watched as his son was placed gently in the
third.
A scrawny, helpless little thing, red and wrinkled.
The nurse was inserting a rubber tube down his nose. She then attached a sensor
to his chest and plugged the lead into a monitor. Her final task was to place a
tiny band around the baby’s left wrist, displaying the name Davenport. The
screen began to flicker immediately, but even with his slight knowledge of
medicine, Fletcher could see that his son’s heartbeat was weak. He looked
anxiously across at Dr.
Redpath
.
“What
are his chances?”
“He’s
ten weeks premature, but if we can get him through the night, he’ll have a good
chance of survival.”
“What
are his chances?” Fletcher pressed.
“There
are no rules, no percentages,
no
laid-down laws. Every
child is unique, your son included,” the doctor added as a nurse joined them.
“You
can see your wife now, Mr. Davenport,” she said, “if you’d like to come with
me.”
Fletcher
thanked Dr.
Redpath
and followed the nurse down one
flight of stairs to the floor below, where he was taken to his wife’s
bedside
. Annie was propped up with several pillows behind
her.
“How’s
our son?” were her opening words.
“He
looks terrific, Mrs. Davenport, and he’s lucky to begin his life with such an
amazing mother.”
“They
won’t let me see him,” said Annie quietly, “and I so much want to hold him in
my arms.”
“They’ve
put him in an incubator for the time being,” Fletcher said gently “but he has a
nurse with him the whole time.”
19.1
“It
seems years ago that we were having dinner with Professor Abrahams.”
“Yes,
it’s been quite a night,” said Fletcher, “and a double triumph for you. You
wowed the senior partner of a firm I want to join, and then produced a son, all
on the same evening. What next88I
“That
all seems so unimportant now we have a child to take care of.” She paused.
“Harry Robert Davenport.”
“It
has a nice ring about it,” said Fletcher, “and both our fathers will be
delighted.”
“What
shall we call him,” asked Annie, “Harry or Robert?”
“I
know what I’m going to call him,” said Fletcher as the nurse returned to the
room.
“I
think you should try and get some sleep, Mrs. Davenport, it’s been an
exhausting time for you.”
“I
agree,” said Fletcher. He removed several pillows from behind his wife’s head,
as she lowered herself slowly down the bed. Annie smiled and rested her head on
the remaining pillow as her husband kissed her. As Fletcher left, the nurse
switched off the light.
Fletcher
raced back up the stairs and along the corridor to check if his son’s heartbeat
was any stronger. He stared through the plate glass window at the monitor,
willing it to flicker a little
higher,
and managed to
convince himself that it had. Fletcher kept his nose pressed up against the
window. “Keep fighting, Harry,” he said, and then began counting the
heartbeats
per minute. Suddenly he felt exhausted.
“Hang
in
there,
you’re going to make it.”
He
took a couple of paces backward and collapsed into a chair on the other side of
the corridor. Within minutes, he had fallen into a deep sleep.
Fletcher
woke with a start when he felt a hand gently touch his shoulder. His tired eyes
blinked open; he had no idea how long he’d been asleep. The first thing he saw
was a nurse, her face solemn. Dr.
Redpath
stood a
pace behind her. He didn’t need to be told that Harry Robert Davenport was no
longer alive.