Finn (11 page)

Of course, if the trooper knew any
real
Portuguese, the whole plan was sunk, but I figured he had less of a chance of knowing Portuguese than Spanish, which is why I chose it. The trooper didn’t say anything. I wished I could tell what was going on behind those mirrored glasses. It was like dealing with an insect.

Silvia started to play along. She squeezed her belly and moaned a little. Then she tried out some of her own gibberish, which sounded much more authentic because of her Spanish accent. The trooper waited for my translation. Silvia went on and on. When she finally finished, I said, “The consul’s wife appreciates the fine job you troopers are doing. She says that the consul is very supportive of local law enforcement. She also says that if we don’t go right now, she’s going to have the baby right here in the front seat.” I leaned across her to confide in the trooper. “I think you should know,” I whispered, “that having a baby in a car is like the biggest humiliation imaginable among the ruling classes. In Portugal.”

The trooper was silent. I couldn’t see his eyes, but he seemed to be scoping out Silvia’s cheap dress and the front seat full of trash from the Mini-Mart. Suddenly he excused himself. He said he wanted to check something out.

It was a very bad sign. On the way back to his cruiser, he paid special attention to our license plate. Then it occurred to me: I hadn’t considered diplomatic tags!

The lie was unraveling. I said, “Quick, the fizzy water.” Silvia handed me the bottle. I used my teeth on the cap, since my wrist was useless. As soon as I got the top off, I started dumping water in Silvia’s lap.

“Hey! It’s cold! Stop that,” she said.

“Let it soak in,” I said. “I’m serious. Trust me.” I reached over, elbowed the horn, and started waving. I was watching the trooper in the side view mirror. He had stopped next to his cruiser. His legs were bowed, as if he had just climbed down off a horse. He twisted his body, which pulled his jacket away from his gun. I hoped that exposing his gun was just a habit and nothing that he had thought through. I kept honking and waving, thinking:
Come on, cowboy. Over here.

When the trooper was within earshot, I shouted, “Her water broke! The baby’s coming!” He took a good long look at Silvia’s wet lap. Then he pinched the brim of his hat and said, “I’m giving you ladies an escort to City General. Follow me.”

T
he drive to the hospital was very fast. There was no such thing as a red light or a stop sign. It was weird, not worrying about getting caught. At times, the trooper would slow down and make sure that we were still with him. He even waved to us once or twice. You wouldn’t think it would matter, but those friendly waves took almost all the pleasure out of the ride.

It reminded me of the time Dad got me out of school early to go on vacation. He pulled me out of class, telling my teacher he needed me back on the farm. He used a hick voice. He had mussed up his hair and was chewing on his big beard. My teacher gave me a sympathetic look and said, “Certainly, Mr. Wilder.” Dad was just having fun, but I got very self-conscious. When we were out in the hall, he made us tiptoe and sneak around corners, as if we were escaping from school, instead of just leaving it. I remember playing along, but thinking the game was silly, because how could I enjoy doing anything wrong if Dad was the ringleader?

I was hoping to get rid of the trooper as soon as we got to the hospital, but he was determined to be a hero. He ran around threatening the nurses, saying, “I have a woman in labor here who’s diplomatic.” It was probably the highpoint of his career.

My Portuguese consul lie worked out even better than planned. The nurses took us right into the examination area instead of making us sit in the crowded waiting room. Silvia was having a grand old time. They gave her the best wheelchair in the house. From the airs she put on, you would have thought she really
was
the consul’s wife. I told her not to say anything and to pretend not to understand English, but that didn’t stop her from waving to all the sick people from her rolling throne.

The nurse asked the trooper if we needed a translator. I butted in and said, no, that the consul’s wife was happy to use my services as translator, but that we would like a private room, if possible, with cable TV, because the consul’s wife liked to watch CNN to catch up on news from her homeland. “There’s been a lot of domestic turmoil,” I added. The domestic turmoil was a nice touch, the kind of detail that comes out of nowhere when a lie’s going well.

I thanked the trooper for all his help and asked him, as politely as I could, if he wouldn’t mind leaving us now. I told him that the consul’s wife found the sight of men in uniforms upsetting. “The revolution has just devastated the family,” I said. “I hope you’ll understand.” The trooper said he understood perfectly. He told me how lucky he thought the consul’s wife was to have an assistant like me. He was about to ask me how old I was—I could practically see the question forming on his lips—so I saluted him abruptly, spun around, and strutted back over to Silvia. Through my teeth, I told her to wave goodbye to the trooper and smile, which she did. You would have thought she was Queen Elizabeth.

The last we saw of the trooper was him proudly removing his dustless hat as he climbed into his cruiser. I never did learn why he had pulled us over, but since then I’ve heard that the police sometimes pull over Mexican drivers—just because they’re Mexican.

Silvia and I got a private room, which made me feel a little guilty, but I figured we needed one as much as anybody. A black nurse with a nasty expression and a glittery white streak in her hair helped install Silvia in the bed. The bed was remote controlled. It whirred when the nurse pressed the button. For some reason, the nurse’s hair, together with the sound of the bed machinery, reminded me of
Bride of Frankenstein,
like she was raising Silvia through the laboratory roof during a big lightning storm to try to bring her back to life. I imagined Silvia’s baby starring in the sequel, where a little monster with baby neck bolts and owlish black rings around his eyes pops out of his undead Mom. I guess you could say I was feeling a little loopy.

Before the nurse left, she turned to me and said, “You ought to get that wrist looked at,” which surprised me, because I hadn’t noticed her looking at it. I’m usually sensitive to things like that.

There wasn’t much to do until the doctor arrived. Silvia and I started bickering about what to do next. I said “stay.” Silvia said “go.” She was determined to get to California. I told her she’d be insane to leave. Now that we were here, she should stay and have her baby. Just then, the doctor came in. His tousled red hair and heavily freckled nose made him look more like a chemistry student than a doctor, but he already had the self-absorbed look that even very young doctors have, which probably comes from people caring so much about their opinion. He unclipped a pen from his plastic pocket protector and made a few notes on Silvia’s chart. It struck me as extremely arrogant to write something down on a patient’s chart before you even said “hello” to her.

The doctor nodded to me and then went right up to Silvia and offered his hand, which was very soft and white, greeting her with a phrase in a language which I didn’t know. If I had to guess, I’d say it was Portuguese. He looked very proud of himself. He was a little taken aback when Silvia smiled at him awkwardly and I answered him in English, as if his Portuguese had been atrocious and we were hoping to spare him some embarrassment. He apologized and introduced himself—in English—as Dr. Locke. He didn’t ask us to call him “Everett,” which was the name printed on his ID badge.

I asked Dr. Locke to please forgive the consul’s wife because she’d been through a lot that morning and was very shy with strangers. He gave me an odd look, but he nodded respectfully and showed Silvia his bare hands, like a magician, so there’d be no surprises when he started his exam. I was sort of curious about the examination itself, but Dr. Locke asked me to step outside for a few minutes. I apologized and said that that wouldn’t be possible. “Suit yourself,” he said. He pulled the curtain around the bed, leaving me all alone in the middle of the room. I suppose I should have given Silvia her privacy, but I stayed very quiet and tried to overhear what was going on anyway. At one point, Dr. Locke pronounced the word “ultrasound” very distinctly. Then I heard a high pitched “whoosh whoosh whoosh,” like tiny windshield wipers. It was the baby’s heartbeat!

When the examination was finished, Dr. Locke pulled back the curtain but didn’t step away from Silvia’s bed. He had a reluctant expression, like a person who’s just finished a long hot shower and doesn’t want to step out into a chilly bathroom. Then he came up very close to me and asked if we could speak privately. I told him he could say what he had to say in English, because the consul’s wife wouldn’t understand, but he said he preferred to talk with me alone and asked if I wouldn’t mind stepping out into the hallway with him.

As soon as we were in the hallway and the door to the room was closed, Dr. Locke asked me who I was, exactly.

“In what sense?” I said, ignoring the sudden gush of acid in my stomach. When someone is fishing for information, particularly about an elaborate lie, I’ve learned that the thing to do is to stay cool, and always answer a question with a question.

“Are you a member of her family?”

“Why? Is there something wrong?”

“Not really,” he said. “Let me ask you. Were you with her when the water broke?”

“Is it the baby? I knew I should have brought her here sooner.”

Dr. Locke had been clicking and unclicking his ballpoint pen. Now he put it to the cleft of his upper lip and started to tap. “You didn’t see her water break,” he said.
“Did
you.”

I raised what was left of my eyebrows, as if to ask,
“Should
I have seen it?”

“That’s what I was afraid of. You see, the consul’s wife. . . her water hasn’t actually broken, which is worrisome in itself, because she’s overdue, to the point where it might be prudent to operate.” He paused for a moment and looked at his clipboard. “Frankly,” he said, “I’m more concerned with the story she made up. About her water breaking.”

“The story?”

“I think she faked it. My guess would be with something lime, judging from the smell.”

“How bizarre!”

“Is there a history of—I know this may be delicate, but it’s very important for guiding our next steps. Is there a history of depression or mental illness in the family? I’m not saying that there absolutely has to be something like that. I just need to know.”

I pretended to think back. “Now that you mention it, I did hear something once.”

“Yes?”

“Something mental health related. But I can’t put my finger on it. You know, I think it would be best if we asked the consul’s wife directly, don’t you?”

“Yes,” he said. “That might be best.” He put his pen away slowly, like someone putting down a racket after losing a tennis match. He stood for a moment with his hand on the door, tapping the metal plate with the side of his thumb. “Know what?” he said. “I could use a consult on this one. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Then he bowed to me, which was very formal and out of place, and walked away. He was almost through the double doors to the waiting room when he called back over his shoulder, “And I’m going to take a look at that wrist of yours when I get back. A fracture like that could cost you your hand.” I smiled and waved toodleloo, but I didn’t like what he said about my wrist. Not one bit.

Back in the room, Silvia had the TV on. She was watching the local news.

“Oh my God, Chica, you have to see this,” she said. “It’s about you and me.”