Dollybird Read Online Free PDF Page B

weary than anything.
    I couldn’t say nothing, what with my gut falling to my knees. Taffy was supposed to be having a baby. I’d only thought she was tired, the baby taking its time the way Mother said a first child should. The doctor slid his stethoscope over Taffy’s bulging stomach, grunting like he was surprised.
    â€œThere’s a heartbeat.”
    He rolled up his sleeves, and before I could stop him, the bugger was looking between Taffy’s legs.
    â€œMy God, the head’s coming,” he yelled. “Why didn’t you tell me she’s in labour?”
    What?
    â€œYou damn Catholics. Sure know how to make ‘em, and then pretend the whole bloody thing is immaculate. Like they’ll just land in a goddamn crib from the goddamn sky.”
    He fished huge tongs from the black bag he’d brought.
    â€œYou’re living in the back end of a stinking livery and you still gotta make babies.” He was muttering like a lunatic. “Jesus.”
    He shouldn’t have been swearing in front of my wife. “I couldn’t find work. I...”
    â€œGet a blanket, an old shirt, something you can wrap the baby in.”
    The words sent me into action. I grabbed a blanket off the bed.
    â€œNo, for Christ sake. Something clean.”
    Everything about the place was suddenly strange and hopelessly dirty, so I galloped around like a mental, picking up and throwing aside any piece of cloth I saw, until finally I found a towel under the washstand. Only a few stains. I turned back in time to watch Doctor Gibson reach the tongs deep into Taffy, grunting with the effort of the pull. The baby was ripped from my tiny wife. She screamed, a huge open-mouthed, gut deep, animal scream.
    When she went still again I thought she was dead. Just before I could grab the doctor by the throat, she moaned real low, like the sound our milk cow made just before my father shot it, a sound like there was no way she could hold on to this world any longer. Taffy opened her eyes only once to get a glimpse of her boy. And then she turned her huge eyes on me and I all but shrank away into the floor, the world gone whirly, the doctor’s voice a far-off whisper telling me she’d not likely last the night, the baby’d need caring for, he was small and sick.
    Finally a shout. “Clean the place up, man. Give the child half a chance.”
    I didn’t understand. Taffy was still, her chest barely moving under the thin blanket. The top of a small pink head and one tiny hand poked out of the towel beside her. Who was dying? Who would live? I was like a blind man looking at the doctor. But he was stomping outside, coming back in quick with carbolic acid and a bucket. He looked around, his eyes wild, like a cat about to be skinned, and slammed the bucket on the side cupboard so hard the flaking paint flew up in a dust and the wobbly leg damn near broke off. I’d found the cupboard at the dump and brought it home for Taffy to use for the baby. It was only to be used for the baby.
    â€œGet away from there. What the hell are you doing?”
    The doctor dumped acid into the bucket and poured water into it from the pail by the door. “We’re going to get this place clean so this child doesn’t catch his death too.”
    I couldn’t move. The doctor looked at me hard, grabbed my hands and thrust the wet rag into them, pushing my hands with his own, scrubbing like there were demons in the walls and floor. He had no right, barging in, hurting Taffy, ruining her things. I swung round and jumped him. He fell hard, knocking over the bucket so the water sluiced across the floor, the acid smell stinging in my nose. He just lay there in it, mad and scared.
    â€œAll right then,” he said real calm. “If you want to live like this.” He sat up and shrugged like he’d given up. “Your wife is going to die soon, and unless you do something you’ll lose your son too.