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Carella nodded, but even the nod lacked conviction. He could feel the presence of Teddy beside him, his Teddy, his Theodora, the girl he loved, the woman he’d married. He turned for an instant to look at her face, framed with hair as black as midnight, the brown eyes gleaming with pride now, the silent red lips slightly parted.

I mustn’t spoil it for her, he thought.

And yet he could not shake the doubt.

“May I reassure you on several points, Mr. Carella?” Randolph said.

“Well, I really…”

“Perhaps you’re worried about the infant. Perhaps, because your wife is a deaf mute, born that way…perhaps you feel the infant may also be born handicapped. This is a reasonable fear, Mr. Carella.”

“I…”

“But a completely unfounded one,” Randolph smiled. “Medicine is in many respects a cistern of ignorance — but we do know that deafness, though sometimes congenital, is not hereditary. For example, perfectly normal offspring have been produced by two deaf parents. Lon Chancy is the most famous of these offspring, I suppose. With the proper care and treatment, your wife will go through a normal pregnancy and deliver a normal baby. She’s a healthy animal, Mr. Carella. And if I may be so bold, a very beautiful one.”

Teddy Carella, reading the doctor’s lips, came close to blushing. Her beauty, like a rare rose garden which a horticulturist has come to take for granted, was a thing she’d accepted for a long time now. It always came as a surprise, therefore, when someone referred to it in glowing terms. These were the face and the body with which she had been living for a good many years. She could not have been less concerned over whether or not they pleased the strangers of the world. She wanted them to please one person alone: Steve Carella. Now, with Steve’s acceptance of the idea coupling with her own thrilled anticipation, she felt a soaring sense of joy.

“Thank you, Doctor,” Carella said.

“Not at all,” Randolph answered. “Good luck to you both. I’ll want to see you in a few weeks, Mrs. Carella. Now take care of her.”

“I will,” Carella answered, and they left the obstetrician’s office. In the corridor outside, Teddy threw herself into his arms and kissed him violently.

“Hey!” he said. “Is that any way for a pregnant woman to behave?”

Teddy nodded, her eyes glowing mischievously. With one sharp twist of her dark head, she gestured toward the elevators.

“You want to go home, huh?”

She nodded.

“And then what?”

Teddy Carella was eloquently silent.

“It’ll have to wait,” he said. “There’s a little suicide I’m supposed to be covering.”

He pressed the button for the elevator.

“I behaved like a jerk, didn’t I?”

Teddy shook her head.

“I did. I was worried. About you, and about the baby” He paused. “But I’ve got an idea. First of all, to show my appreciation for the most wonderfully fertile and productive wife in the city…”

Teddy grinned.

“…I would like us both to have a drink. We’ll drink to you and the baby, darling.” He took her into his arms. “You because I love you so much. And the baby because he’s going to share our love.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And then off to my suicide. But is that all? Not by a longshot. This is a day to remember. This is the day the most beautiful woman in the United States, nope, the world, hell, the universe, discovered she was going to have a baby! So…” He looked at his watch. “I should be back at the squad room by about seven latest. Will you meet me there? I’ll have to do a report, and then we’ll go out to dinner, some quiet place where I can hold your hand and lean over to kiss you whenever I want to. Okay? At seven?”

Teddy nodded happily.

“And then home. And then… is it decent to make love to a pregnant woman?”

Teddy nodded emphatically, indicating that it was not only decent but perfectly acceptable and moral and absolutely necessary.

“I love you,” Carella said gruffly. “Do you know that?”

She knew it. She did not say a word. She would not have said a word even if she could have. She looked at him, and her eyes were moist, and he said, “I love you more than life.”

Killer’s Wedge, 1959

* * * *

Carella blinked at the early Sunday morning sunshine, cursed himself for not having closed the blinds the night before, and then rolled over onto his left side. Relentlessly, the sunlight followed him, throwing alternating bars of black and gold across the white sheet. Like the detention cells at the 87th, he thought. God, my bed has become a prison.

No, that isn’t fair, he thought. And besides, it’ll all be over soon — but Teddy, I wish to hell you’d hurry.

He propped himself on one elbow and looked at his sleeping wife. Teddy, he thought. Theodora. Whom I used to call my little Theodora. How you have changed, my love. He studied her face, framed with short black hair recklessly cushioned against the stark-white pillow. Her eyes were closed, thick-fringed with long black lashes. There was a faint smile on the full pout of her lips. Her throat swept in an immaculate arc to breasts covered by the sheet — and then the mountain began.

Really, darling, he thought, you do look like a mountain.

It is amazing how much you resemble a mountain. A very beautiful mountain, to be sure, but a mountain nonetheless. I wish I were a mountain climber. I wish, honey, oh how I wish I could get near you! How long has it been now? Cut it out, Steve-o, he told himself. Just cut it out because this sort of erotic rambling doesn’t do anyone a damn bit of good, least of all me.

Steve Carella, the celebrated celibate.

Well, he thought, the baby is due at the end of the month, by God, that’s next week! Is it the end of June already? Sure it is, my how the time flies when you’ve got nothing to do in bed but sleep. I wonder if it’ll be a boy. Well, a girl would be nice, too, but oh would Papa raise a stink, he’d probably consider it a blot on Italy’s honor if his only son Steve had a girl child first time out.

What were those names we discussed?

Mark if it’s a boy and April if it’s a girl. And Papa will raise a stink about the names, too, because he’s probably got something like Rodolfo or Serafina in mind. Stefano Luigi Carella, that’s me, and thank you, Pop.

Today is the wedding, he thought suddenly, and that makes me the most inconsiderate big brother in the world because all I can think of is my own libido when my kid sister is about to take the plunge. Well, if I know Angela, the prime concern on her mind today is probably her libido, so we’re even.

The telephone rang.

It startled him for a moment, and he turned sharply toward Teddy, forgetting, thinking the sudden ringing would awaken her, and then remembering that his wife was immune to little civilized annoyances like the telephone.

“I’m coming,” he said to the persistent clamor. He swung his long legs over the side of the bed. He was a tall man with wide shoulders and narrow hips, his pajama trousers taut over a flat hard abdomen. Bare-chested and barefoot, he walked to the phone in nonchalant athletic ease, lifted the receiver, and hoped the call was not from the precinct. His mother would have a fit if he missed the wedding.

“Hello?” he said.

“Steve?”

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“Tommy. Did I wake you?”

“No, no, I was awake.” He paused. “How’s the imminent bridegroom this morning?”

“I… Steve, I’m worried about something.”

“Uh-oh,” Carella said. “You’re not planning on leaving my sister waiting at the altar, are you?”