“Press now,
Daniela is huffing, sobbing, but her wailing has reworked its pitch. It is no longer the stilted keen of a woman in agony; it’s the clean, arcing cry of a tiny infant in the super’s large hands. Ezra is whipping off his sweater to swaddle it, repeating, “Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” with teary, manic astonishment. Rachel can see the tiny head, still gooey and pink with the blood of its birth, tiny fingers grasping at the air. Tiny squinting eyes, but its mouth is open and bawling brightly with life.
“Geboren ist ein Mädchen!” A girl is born! The German announces it.
Ezra is presenting the baby girl to her mother, whose arms are outstretched, sobbing with shock and joy, her hair a sweaty nest, her face gleaming, as her husband delivers her new daughter into her arms. “Such a beautiful gem,” she cries, “such a perfect, beautiful gem.” Ezra is laughing now. The German is laughing, a sharp, shared cackle of glee, face-to-face, as they shake each other’s blood-pinked hands.
Rachel stares. Aaron has finally managed to look up and spots his wife above them. “
Daniela turns her head, smiling beatifically up at Rachel. Her eyes shimmer as the baby squalls, and Rachel hears her mother’s voice from behind.
And then Rachel looks at the super. Standing up. Standing back. His hands stained. He digs a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to wipe them. That is when he catches Rachel’s eye, but he quickly looks away, donning a grin as the happy father slaps him on the back in a chummy manner. Ezra is grinning too as if he’s deranged, his expression exploding with joy. “Thank you, Mr. Bauer! Thank you!” he’s barking. The German continues to grin. But it makes no difference. Rachel can only believe that this is not the first time this Hun has wiped Jewish blood from his hands.
Beth Israel Hospital, First Avenue and 16th Street. Hallways of linoleum and fluorescent lights. Rachel stands in the viewing section of the maternity ward, separated by a large plate-glass window from the cluster of infants in hospital bassinets. People come and go around her, grinning as they wave through the glass. Cooing, delighted, it seems, at their own reflections. Tapping on the glass pane for attention. But Rachel stands there, staring. She is alone when Aaron returns with two paper cups of coffee. He is wearing his coat, no hat, his collar open and his tie undone. It must have started to rain outside, because his shoulders are dotted with raindrops, and he smells of it. “Where did you go?” she asks as she accepts the paper cup. “Timbuktu?”
“The coffee machine was out of order, so I had to go to a deli down the street. Probably tastes like drek, but at least it’s hot.”
Rachel sips. It does taste like drek, but it’s not hot. Aaron drinks too but makes no comment. His interest is elsewhere, peering through the glass. He almost laughs. “Who knew the super is actually Dr. Kildare?”
Rachel says nothing.
“So. Look at
“Number seven, I think,” Rachel replies.
Aaron nods. “Lucky number seven.” The manic glee of the birth on the stairs has given way to a certain heaviness in him. “She’s cute,” he admits. “Has her father’s receding hairline.”
“They’re all cute,” Rachel says. “They’re all beautiful.” She falls silent for a moment but then remembers something she once heard. “Did you know?” she asks. “It is said that the Messiah is born into every generation.”
His eyebrows lift wearily. “Is it? Said by who?”
“I don’t know. The Sanhedrin? Whomever it is who says things. But it is said.”
“Okay. But I gotta tell you, I don’t think I see the Messiah in this particular batch. I mean, wouldn’t there be a glow or something? The Star of Beth Israel twinkling over the kid’s head?”
Rachel doesn’t respond. She sips the bitter coffee.