And yet what did I do but nothing unusual, save elicit a sighing murmur from the tires as I wheeled us wickedly around that bend, the same one that I would grimly consider on countless future occasions, and that one rainy night years later my friend Anne Hickey would not survive. If only once I could cease imagining the various motions, and instead of conjurings and dummy musings that leave one subtly affected, take hold of some moment and fully acquit myself to it, whether decently or ignobly. This is not to say I wish I had smashed us into the wall, but that I might have at least stopped the car along the road and turned squarely and given her every last angry bit and piece of my mind. But what happened of course was that I drove home and let her inside the house where we separated until the appointed exam, Sunny upstairs in her old room stripped of everything but the bed, and I down in the family room, listening to the records of Chopin and Mozart I had bought for her to use as models and inspiration. And while I listened to those stirring, ambling notes I might have realized how frightening all this was to her, how overwhelming and awful, but I sensed instead only the imminent disgrace and embarrassment that would hang about the house like banners of our mutual failure.
At six o’clock I went up and had to rouse her. Her eyes were puffed and red; perhaps she had fallen asleep crying. I told her to come down to the car, and she said weakly she didn’t want to go to the doctor that night, asking if I could take her the next day. I reminded her that it was the waiting that had placed her in such trouble, that it was only an examination and she could talk to Dr. Anastasia about whatever she wished. Then she said she wasn’t sure anymore about going ahead. I didn’t protest; I only repeated that it was an examination and that nothing was yet determined. She finally nodded, still groggy, and excused herself to go to the bathroom. I fully noticed then the change in her as she walked down the upstairs hall, the outwardness of her feet, the slightest waddle to her gait. To remember that now makes me feel the way I should have felt, to brim at such a sight with sober pride and happiness, a grandparental glow, though then it was, I must recall, a most sickening vision to me, being the clearest picture of my defeats, familial and otherwise.
We arrived at the clinic well after dark, a few minutes before Dr. Anastasia. We waited in silence. When he drove up he got out of his car quickly and went straight to the doors, his keys out. He nodded at us and let us in and locked the doors behind us. I’d known him only casually; he was one of many obstetricians with privileges at the county hospital, but the only one I knew of who also worked at such a clinic. He was older than I, and not originally from this country, and he always seemed utterly purposeful and competent if not always warm, the sort of professional one could admire for his straightforward nature and his efficiency. I believe he sensed my appreciation and so obliged my request for an after-hours appointment. But when we were gathered in the brightly lighted waiting room, he looked somewhat put out, disturbed. I didn’t offer anything and then he asked Sunny if she was ready to be examined. They went into the next room. After a mere five minutes Sunny came out, and Dr. Anastasia called me in. Sunny walked past me and sat on the waiting room sofa.
When he closed the door the doctor said, “What are we doing here, Mr. Hata?”
“Excuse me, Doctor?”
“You told me she was around twenty-eight weeks. Are you mad? But then you, especially, should know better, being in your profession.”
“She was unsure of her dates.”
“Notwithstanding,” he said, thoroughly annoyed. “It’s not possible now. She’s no doubt past an acceptable point.”
“But you hardly examined her.”
“I didn’t have to,” he said. “Anyone with eyes can tell what’s the case. She has no option left but to carry to term.”
“I tell you she does not want it.”
“It doesn’t matter, Mr. Hata….”
“Let me speak, please, Doctor. I tell you she cannot have it. There are many unhappy reasons. She barely finished high school last spring and doesn’t have a job. The father is somewhere in Washington Heights, and he has practically abandoned her. He is a longtime drug addict besides. I’m afraid she has also begun taking the drugs with him. You well know there’s a chance the fetus may have grave injuries as a result, if not certain mental deficiencies. I’m here now to help her but I’ve run out of patience and willingness. I am sorry and ashamed to say that this is the last effort I have for her. But I will do this. So I’m asking you to help because of who you are and your experience and skills, so that she won’t go to someone else, which she will, and no doubt suffer terrible injuries. You will be preventing further trauma. I apologize for not being more forthright on the telephone, but you see I had to speak to you in person. I feel I must convince you.”
“I do not involve myself in the lives of my patients, Mr. Hata. I attend to them after they have made decisions. But this decision comes far too late.”
“It’s not too late,” I told him. “There can be medical necessities, as I have mentioned. I understand these operations can be very complicated, particularly at this stage, and much more costly than usual. I am willing to do everything I can to have you help my daughter. This is not to insult your professionalism but only to make clear how resolved I am. And I am resolved. We are desperate, sir, and I will do all I can to get her out of this trouble.”
He was quiet for a moment, and then said, “I have done them this late but not in this country. There are different standards.”
“Yes.”
“She appears unsure as well.”
“Perhaps she is,” I answered. “She’s naturally fearful, as I am. But she has confided in me, and I tell you she is ready. We are ready even tonight, if it’s possible.”
“My nurse won’t come here now,” Anastasia said. “I can anesthetize her, but I need my nurse to attend me. I believe, however, that she would likely not agree to assist such a procedure.”
I told him, “I’ll stand in for her.”
“You?”
“I was trained, once, in surgical methods and nursing. A long time ago, during the world war. I’m sure all you in fact need is another set of hands, to give you instruments and such.”
“This is mostly true….”
“I can do that for you. I’m willing to do that.”
“Yes, but Mr. Hata,” he said, considering me grimly. He spoke slowly and resonantly. “You understand what you will have to see. What you will look at. This will be an indelicate action, which I would not wish upon anyone.”
“I understand, Doctor,” I said. “I’ve witnessed such things. Similar things.”
“Perhaps you have. But she is your daughter, Mr. Hata. It will be different.”
I said to him, “I understand.”
“Do you really?”
“Yes, I do,” I said to him, as unwaveringly as I could utter the words, enough so that I was quite convinced myself. He took me at my word, and within an hour she was in her gown and he had given something to relax her. All I had asked of him was that she be heavily sedated, even before being administered the numbing spinal, so that she wouldn’t realize I was there, or much remember anything of what was done, which he did for me, and with success.