I ignore him, or wish I could.
15
Paula is having contractions in my car when I decide we are not going to the local hospital where her doctor is waiting. I turn left and head for the freeway. Paula is in pain, and in shock when I floor it.
"What are you doing?" she cries.
"I don't like your hospital," I say. "It's ill equipped. I'm taking you to a much nicer one. Don't worry, I have money, I'll pay."
"But they're expecting me! I called before I left!"
"It doesn't matter. This hospital is only thirty minutes away." It is actually over forty minutes away. "You'll like it, we can get you a room with a view of the mountains."
"But I'm not going on vacation! I'm going to have a baby! I don't need a room with a view!"
"It's always nice to have a view," I reply, patting her leg. "Don't worry, Paula, I know what I'm doing."
This babyI don't know what's special about it I don't know why Ray and Kalika are obsessed with it. But I do know they are the last people on earth who are going to see it.
The hospital I take her to, the famous Cedar Sinai, is surprised to see us. But the staff jumps to attention when I wave cash and gold credit cards in their faces. What a terrible thing it is that the quality of emergency care is often determined by money. Holding Paula's hand, I help her fill out the paperwork and then we are both ushered into a delivery room. The baby appears to be coming fast. A nurse asks me to put on a gown and a mask. She is nice, and lets me stay with Paula without asking questions.
Paula is now drenched in sweat and in the throes of real pain, which I have often been intimate with. An anesthesiologist appears and wants to give her Demerol to take the edge off the contractions, maybe an epidermal to partially numb her tower body. But Paula shakes her head.
"I don't need anything," she says. "I have my friend with me."
The anesthesiologist doesn't approve, but I am touched by the remark. I have become so human. Even sentimental nonsense has meaning to me. Paula's hand is sweaty in mine but I have seldom felt a softer touch.
"I am with you," I say. "I will stay with you."
The baby fakes us all out It is eight hours later, at night, when the child finally makes an appearancea
handsome male of seven pounds five ounces, with more hair than most babies, and large blue eyes that I assume will fade to brown over the next few months. I am the first to hold the babyother than the delivering physicianand I whisper in his ear the ancient mystical symbol that is supposed to remind the child of its true essence or soul.
"Vak," I say over and over again. It is practically the first sound the infant hears because he did not come out screaming, and the doctor and the others fell strangely silent at the moment of his birth. Indeed, it was almost as if time stood still for a moment.
Vak is a name for Saraswati, the Goddess of speech, the Mother above the head who brings the white light to saints and prophets. The baby smiles at me as I say Vak. Already, I think, I am in love with him. Wiping him gently off and handing him to Paula, I wonder who his father is.
"Is he all right?" she asks, exhausted from the effort but nevertheless blissful.
"Yes, he's perfect," I say, and laugh softly, feeling something peculiar in my words, an intuition, perhaps, of things to come and a life to be lived. "What are you going to call him?" I ask.
Paula cuddles her child near her face and the baby reaches out and touches her eyes. "I don't know," she says. "I have to think about it."
"Didn't you think about a name before?" a nurse asks.
Paula appears puzzled. "No. Never."
Death is a part of life. Calling home to see how Kalika has faired with the two police, I know the grave and the nursery sit on opposite sides of the same wall. That they are connected by a dark closet, where skeletons are hidden, and where the past is sometimes able to haunt the present. All who are born die, Krishna said. All who die will be reborn. Neither is supposed to be a cause for grief. Yet even I, with all my vast experience extending over fifty centuries, am not prepared for what is to happen next.
Kalika answers the phone. It is ten at night.
"Hello, Mother," she says.
"You knew it was me?"
"Yes."
"How are you? Did you just get home?"
"No. I have been home awhile. Where are you?"
I hesitate. "Ray must have told you."
"Yes. You're at the hospital?"
"Yes. How did you get on with the police?"
"Fine."
I have trouble asking the next question. "Are they all right?"
"You don't have to worry about them, Mother."
I momentarily close my eyes. "Did you kill them?"
Kalika is cool. "It is not your concern. The baby has been born. I want to see it."
How does she know the baby has been born? "No," I say. "Paula's still in labor. You can't see the baby now."
Kalika is a long time in responding. "What hospital are you at?"
"The local one. Let me speak to Ray a moment."
"Ray is not here. What is the name of this hospital?"
"But he seldom goes out. Are you sure he's not there?"
"He's not here. I'm telling you the truth, Mother. You will tell me the truth. What is the name of the hospital where you're at?"
Even as a human, I do not like to be pushed around. "All right, I will tell you. If you tell me why it is so important to you to see this baby?"
"You wouldn't understand."
"I gave birth to you. I am older than you know. I understand more than you think. Try me."
"It is not your concern."
"Fine. Then it is also not my concern to tell you where the child is. Let me speak to Ray."
Kalika speaks softly but there is tension in her words. "He's not here, I told you. I don't lie, Mother." She pauses. "But Eric is here."
I hear my heart pound. "What do you mean?"
"He's sitting on the couch beside me. He's still tied up but he's not gagged. Would you like to speak to him?"
I feel as if I stand on melting ice in a freezing river that flows into a black sea. A mist rises before me and the next moments are played out in shadow. There is no way I can second-guess Kalika because all of her actionswhen judged by humans or vampires alikeare inexplicable. Perhaps it was a mistake to snap at her.