No, he said. No trouble. I’m on my way back now.
Well, she said, I would appreciate you showin me where he’s at.
Sure, he said. Come along.
She fell in behind him and they crossed the road, her shuffling along rapidly to keep up, watching the backs of his heels, the curved wheeltracks and moonshaped mule-prints, until they reached the walkway and on a little further to the building where he stepped to one side and motioned with his hand. After you, he said.
She started up the long dark stairwell, feeling under her naked feet the cold print of nailheads reared from the worn boards. At the top was a small parlor and on either side a door. She turned and looked down at him.
Here, he said. He went past her and set a key in the lock and held the door open for her to enter. Sit down, he said. She looked about, then backed up to and sat in a sort of morris chair with gouts of horsehair erupting from the splayed seams in the leather. She sat with her toes together and her hands in her lap and looked at the floor.
Well, he said. Where do you hail from?
She raised her eyes. He was sitting at his desk, his feet propped into an open drawer, his head bent forward while he held a match to a cigar.
I just come over from acrost the river, she said.
He had been puffing at the cigar and he stopped and gave her a quick look and then went on and got it lit and flipped the match toward an ashtray on the desk. You feel all right? he said.
Tolerable thank ye.
Well the doctor will be along directly.
All right, she said. Listen.
Yes.
I wanted to ast ye somethin afore I seen him.
All right. What is it?
Well, she said. I ain’t got but a dollar and I know doctors is costy and what I was wonderin was if he could do me much good for just a dollar.
The lawyer plucked the cigar slowly from his mouth and folded his hands in a coil of blue smoke. I reckon he’ll do you at least a dollar’s worth, he said. What was your trouble? If you don’t mind me asking.
Well, I’d rather just tell him if you don’t care.
Yes. Well I’m sure he’ll do something for you. He’s a good doctor. Anyway we’ll know directly.
I don’t want to ast no favors from nobody, she said.
Favors?
Yessir. I mean if it’s more’n a dollar I’d just as leave not bother him.
He lifted his feet from the drawer and leaned his elbows on the desk. If you need a doctor, he said, it’s not too easy to do without. It’s not like needing a pair of shoes or … she was looking nervously at her feet, one crossed over the top of the other … or say a new skillet or something. You just tell him what your trouble is and let him worry about how much to charge. If you don’t have but a dollar he might let you pay the rest later on. Or bring him some eggs. Or garden stuff when …
I ain’t got nary garden, she said.
Well anyway you let him worry about it.
Yessir, she said.
He leaned back again. It was very quiet in the room. The light waxed and waned and the squatting shape of the windowsash came and went on the wood floor like something breathing. Are you married? he said.
No, she said. Then she looked up and said: I mean I ain’t now. I was but I ain’t now.
You a widow then?
Yessir.
Well that’s a pity. Young woman like you. You got any babies?
One.
Yes.
The room was growing darker. A gust of damp air moved upon them and the frayed lace curtains at the window lifted.
Looks like we’re fixing to have some rain, he said.
But it had already started, the glass staining with random slashes, the hot stone ledge steaming.
We get a lot of rain here in the fall, the lawyer said. After it’s too late to do anything any good.
They sat in the gathering dark and watched the rain. After a while the lawyer put his feet down again and rose from the chair. That’s him now, he said.
She nodded. He went to the door and peered out. She could hear someone stamping and swearing their way up the stairwell.
Looks like you got a little damp there, John, the lawyer said.
The other one said something she couldn’t hear.
Well you got one waiting on you.
He looked through the door. A short heavy man with moustaches from which water dripped, peering above the rim of his fogged spectacles. How do, he said.
Hidy, she said.
Just come on in over here. He disappeared and she rose and crossed the floor before the lawyer and gave him a little curtsying nod, ragged, shoeless, deferential and half deranged, and yet moving in an almost palpable amnion of propriety. I sure thank ye, she said.
The lawyer nodded and smiled. That’s all right, he said.
When she entered the doctor’s office he had his back to the door, shaking out and hanging up his wet coat on a rack. He turned, brushing the dampness from his shoulders, his shirt plastered transparently to his skin there.
Whew, he said. Well now. What was your trouble young lady?
She looked behind her. The lawyer had closed his door. She could hear the rain outside and it was dark enough to want a lamp.
Over here, he said. Take a seat.
Thank ye, she said. She took the chair near his desk and sat, primly, tucking her feet beneath the rungs. When she looked up he was sitting at the desk mopping furiously at the lenses of his spectacles with a handkerchief.
Now, he said. What was it?
Well, it’s about my milk.
Your milk?
Yessir. Kindly.
You ain’t fevered are you?
No. It ain’t that. I mean I don’t know. It’s my own milk I meant.
Yes. He leaned back and ran one finger alongside his nose, the glasses poised in midair. You’re nursing a baby. Is that what it is?
She didn’t answer for a minute. Then she said: Well, no. She stopped again and looked up at him for help. He was looking out the window. He turned back and put the glasses on his nose.
All right, he said. First: Are we talking about cow milk or people milk?
People, she said.
Right. Yours?
Yessir.
All right. You have been nursing a baby then.
No, she said. I ain’t never nursed him. That’s what’s ailin me.
You had a baby?
Yessir.
When?
Early of the spring. March I believe it was.
That’s six months ago, the doctor said.
Yes, she said.
The doctor leaned forward and laid one arm out upon the desk and studied his hand. Well, he said, I reckon then you must of had a wetnurse. And now you want to know why you never had any milk. After six months.
No sir, she said. That ain’t it.
It’s not getting any easier, is it?
No sir. They smart a good bit.
You never had any milk.
I never needed none but I had too much all the time.
He looked at the hand as if perhaps it would tell him something and then perhaps it did because he looked up at her and he said: What happened to the baby?
It died.
Of late?
No. The day it was borned.
And you still have milk.
It ain’t that so much. I don’t mind it. It’s that they startin to bleed. My paps.
Then they were both quiet for a long time. The room was almost dark and they could hear the steady small slicing of the rain on the glass and the spat of it on the stone sill. He spoke next. Very quietly. He said: You’re lying to me.
She looked up. She didn’t seem surprised. She said: About what part?
You tell me. Either about your breasts or about the baby. No woman carries milk six months for a dead baby.
She didn’t say anything.
Do you want to show me?
What?
I said do you want to show me? Your breasts?