Dem by William Melvin Kelley

Author:William Melvin Kelley [Kelley, William Melvin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781984899330
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2020-06-29T00:00:00+00:00

2

THE ELEVATOR RIDE was smooth, and silent; they did not speak. Stepping into the corridor, Mitchell noticed a group of nurses gathered before a large plate-glass window. Among them was the nurse who had taken Tam’s suitcase when they arrived at the hospital early that morning. She did most of the talking now, while the others, some Black, some white, listened quietly. The nurse who lectured was white and the faces of the other white nurses seemed troubled. The Black girls, most of them standing on the outside of the group, were smiling. As Mitchell and the doctor got nearer the window, the lecturer saw them, and whispered to the others. They all scattered, disappearing into rooms and hallways, except for a Black nurse, who came toward Mitchell and stopped. “You have a lovely baby, Mr. Pierce.”

Mitchell noticed the doctor turn away. The girl was gone before he could thank her.

The doctor reached out his hand. “Have you those cards I gave you, Mr. Pierce?”

Mitchell searched his pockets, found the cards, and handed them over. The doctor marched ahead of him. By the time Mitchell reached the glass, the doctor had stepped back. “They’re already right in front.” He seemed not to know what more to say. “I’m going to look in on your wife.”

And he was gone.

Mitchell stepped up to the window. Four babies lay in white plastic baskets just inside the glass. The first, on the left, sleeping on its side, was Black, a film of gray over its brown skin, its curly hair matted to a lumpy head. Its nose seemed much too wide for its face, the nostrils large and round. The second from the left was bald. Its skin too was grayish, its nose half the size of a dime. On its left wrist was a tube of plastic: inside the tube, a strip of paper with Mitchell’s name: PIERCE.

“It looks all right,” he whispered to himself.

He inspected the third, bald also, with the same gray skin as the one he knew was his. He could not see its bracelet. But it was his; he knew because the fourth baby was much redder, must have been at least a week old, its straight black hair dry.

So numbers two and three were his. But he was puzzled; neither seemed at all deformed. There were no strange bumps; their limbs looked straight. He counted the fingers on the three hands he could see; one of number three’s hands was hidden beneath the thin blanket. Perhaps the trouble was inside, no stomach, or two stomachs in one and none in the other. That happened sometimes. But the doctor, he remembered now, had mentioned something about its appearance.

He bent closer to the window and inspected them again, and noticed now that number three was a bit more pink than number two. That was it; either number two was too gray or number three was too red. But he could not decide which and wished the doctor would return.

“Hey, I want you to got a cigar.

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