Chapter VIII: Apron Strings

DURING that protracted Sunday conference Dr. Zerneke had suggested to Norman that he come to her home some evening that week, to clear up the situation in a talk of a less formal and legalistic sort. The engagement had been made for Monday evening.

But on Monday morning, when Monica brought his coffee, he was up, and they conversed for a moment at the door; and she reminded him that this was the baby’s birthday. At that age, it appeared, birthdays came every month, and this was his first. It was to be a sort of special occasion; and it would be the first time (not counting that time at the hospital) that he had seen his son awake.

He called up the doctor that afternoon and, explaining his reasons, postponed the engagement. It was arranged that he should call Wednesday evening instead.

Junior’s birthday party--for now the girls called the baby by that name--was the pleasantest sort of contrast to Isabel’s impersonal indifference that day in the hospital. It was infinitely agreeable to Norman, the sight of these girls bending over his child--cooing to him, and triumphantly eliciting his smile. They knew every dimple by heart. And unquestionably the baby was rosier, plumper, happier, than he had been with that unnatural mother of his. It ministered to some deep need in Norman’s heart, the picture of maternal solicitude which these girls presented--Rose with her grave motherly preoccupation, and Monica with her joyous young excitement over every detail of this budding life. It made him very happy. He sat in the room on those evenings with his child and its young nurses, enchanted. Their mother, Mrs. Case, was there, too, sometimes--and occasionally he felt a little embarrassed by her Rabelaisian comments on babies and some of their natural functions; but the girls paid no attention, and he soon learned not to mind her way of talking.... Mr. Victor would drop in, too, to enjoy the spectacle.

“You can see him bathed Sunday morning,” said Monica enthusiastically.

And on Tuesday evening, after the ceremony of the bottle was over, and Mr. Victor was chatting with him in his room, Monica came in. “My sister doesn’t like to ask,” she said, “but you see--she and Ma have to be out to-morrow evening. It’s about Rose’s divorce. There’s some witnesses we have to see. Of course, I could stay and look after the baby, but I’m the one who has been talking to the lawyers, and I really know more about it than they do. I ought to go along. And we wondered--I wondered--if you were going to be in that evening. Because if you were, I thought you wouldn’t mind staying up in our room, next to the nursery. Of course, if you’re going to be out, I can stay at home just as well. It’s only for a couple of hours. We’ll be home in time to give him his ten o’clock bottle. I thought maybe you’d like to!”

This was an occasion much too important to be sacrificed to a mere conference with Dr. Zerneke.

“I’d be very glad to,” he said.

He called up Dr. Zerneke the next day, and the engagement was postponed until Friday.

On Friday evening, then, a little before ten, not without regrets at having to miss the important occasion of the day, he walked over to Dr. Zerneke’s home.

It was an apartment some blocks away from her office, in a less imposing building. He had been told to ring the janitor’s bell, and “if I’m not there, the key’s on the lintel above the door.” Having passed the inspection of the janitress, he climbed the stairs, to the top floor. There was no answer to his knock, so he let himself in according to instructions.

The ceilings at the front were low, with a garret-like slant. There were easy chairs, a large couch heaped with cushions, a little table with a coffee-bulb and cups set out, large bookcases filled with books. The rest of the wall space was occupied with etchings, lithographs, and oils. Here was one of Nordfeldt’s New Mexico etchings--he had several of that series himself. A lithograph by Picasso. And here was a Springer.... He hadn’t gone to Springer’s exhibit. Well, he was a workingman now. Not an art patron any more....

Dr. Zerneke entered, carrying her medicine case.

“You let yourself in--good. I’ll make some coffee in a moment.”

Norman asked: “Can I do anything?”

“No. Sit down.”

Dr. Zerneke went into another room, put away her things, and came back. She carried the coffee-bulb into the kitchen, returned with it filled with water, and lighted the alcohol lamp.

“Why,” she asked, “didn’t you consult me before going to live at Mrs. Czermak’s?”

“It didn’t occur to me that it was a matter to consult anybody about,” Norman answered, a little defiantly. After all, he had not left home to take orders on every little thing from Dr. Zerneke.

“Is there,” he asked, “any reason why I should not live there?”

“It’s merely,” said Dr. Zerneke, “that it will make it more difficult for her to give up the baby.”

“That won’t be necessary for some time, I presume,” said Norman.

“I had not planned to leave the baby there more than a few weeks,” said Dr. Zerneke.

“But why?” asked Norman in surprise. “I thought it was a fine place.”

“It has its merits. But I should prefer to put your baby in another boarding-home, where there are other children, so that he won’t be spoiled by too much devotion. And you can see that your being there makes it unnecessarily embarrassing.”

“Yes, I can see that. But what I can’t see is why the baby should be taken away.” It really seemed to him as though Dr. Zerneke were saying that to annoy him.

“I think,” he added, “I might be allowed to be the judge of that. I was going to ask you if the Adoption Society hadn’t passed on the matter of the adoption, by the way.”

“And I was going to tell you that the Society has decided that the proper procedure in this case would be for the mother to turn over the child to you herself.”

“But she’s already given it up to the Society!” said Norman.

“That would be cancelled. It may be a legal quibble, but for some reason this procedure is preferable. I’ve written to your father about it.”

“Where is Isabel--in Paris?”

“No--she doesn’t sail till the eleventh of May, according to her plans. She’s still in Michigan, resting. There won’t be much of a delay. As soon as she signs the papers we’ve sent her, the child will be your own. And for that reason, I think I ought to explain to you why you should not leave him at Mrs. Czermak’s indefinitely. The atmosphere of the place is all wrong. That kind of neurotic devotion is all right for a few weeks, but you don’t want the child to get too accustomed to it.”

“Would you call them neurotic?” Norman asked defensively. “I should have said they were a very healthy lot.”

“It’s the situation that is unhealthy. I’m thinking particularly of Mrs. Czermak herself. The obvious thing to say is that she needs babies of her own--and it’s quite true. She let her maternal instincts be exploited for a long time in a nurse-maid’s job. Then, when she did get married, it was to a no-account young genius who wanted to be the baby of the family himself. And since her baby died, I’ve been exploiting her for the benefit of other women’s babies. No, I don’t call it healthy to break her heart over children that don’t belong to her. Just because it’s your child that she’s in love with doesn’t mean that everything’s all right. And when she does have to give him up, you can thank yourself for making it worse for her.”

“But how have I made it any the worse?”

“A man around the house--her baby’s father--why, it’s almost like being married! I’m not suggesting that she’s necessarily in love with you, Mr. Overbeck--and if she were, it would not be so much a tribute to your own charms as to the fact that you are the baby’s father. Her baby’s, as she wishes to feel.”

“Am I to take this as a warning?” Norman asked coldly.

“Stranger things have happened. Of course, if you wish to settle down there permanently”--Dr. Zerneke smiled--“you’d find her an excellent wife in many respects.”

“Good heavens!” said Norman, horrified. “I never realized that these things were so frightfully complicated. I only wanted to get acquainted with my son. I’ve only seen him five times--awake, that is.”

“And to-night it was my fault that you were dragged away from the happy scene, wasn’t it?” said Dr. Zerneke. “Thoughtless of me!”

The boiling water plunged upward through the glass tube furiously, and Dr. Zerneke put out the flame beneath.

“Things came off very well Sunday, didn’t they?” she said.

“My father,” he replied uncomfortably, “was more than kind.”

“Yes--he was sensible, which is more to the point. When is your mother coming?”

He hesitated. “No definite date has been set,” he told her.

“Have you asked her?”

“She knows where I am. She can come if she wants to.”

“Have you written to her at all?”

“No,” he said reluctantly.

“Nor to any of your family?”

“No. Why should I?”

“You must remember that you repudiated them, when you left home without telling them about the baby. Don’t you suppose families have feelings? They won’t come to see the baby till you invite them.”

“Oh, I suppose I should.”

“Yes, I think you’d better. And I also think it might be just as well if you were living somewhere else when your mother and sisters come to see you, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

He realized what she meant--they wouldn’t like his being so much at home there. And his sister Lucinda would be suspicious of Mrs. Czermak. It was perfectly absurd, but she would. She thought every woman had designs on him.... He sighed....

“It’s been a very comfortable place,” he said. “I should be sorry to have to leave.”

“Yes,” said Dr. Zerneke tartly, as she poured the coffee, “a man with a fond mother and sisters does get in the habit of letting women-folk wait on him. Sugar?”

“Black, please,” he said, flushing. Had she heard of Monica’s bringing him his morning coffee? But that wasn’t his fault! They had all insisted on it. He couldn’t have refused without being rude....

“I’ll stop scolding you,” she said, handing him the cup. “How is your work going?”

“Not brilliantly, I’m afraid.”

“Well, the adoption matter ought to be settled soon, and then you can settle down to a normal life.”

Something in her tone made him ask: “What, exactly, is your idea of a normal life for me, Dr. Zerneke?”

“Well, I don’t mind saying that it isn’t hanging over a cradle in your spare evenings. You ought to be having some kind of ordinary social life. You ought to be making friends. Men friends and girl friends. If I heard that you were caught drinking and dancing, I wouldn’t be shocked. Even if you were seen kissing a pretty girl. I know, this may seem precipitate to you. You’ve only been mooning over your baby for a week. Just the same, it’s time you began to form other habits.--Your habits would be admirable enough, if you were a husband, and one of those girls your wife. That’s how a home is built up. But you are a bachelor. And you ought to behave as such. It would be bad enough, the way you’re acting, if they were your own mother and sisters. I want you to snap out of it.... The truth is that something fell on you three weeks ago, and hit you like a ton of brick. Nevertheless, you’ve got to get over it. You can’t let time stop still for you at the moment when you found you had a baby. After all, staying in the cave and cooing to babies is a maternal occupation. Going out and killing bears is the paternal job. How long, if I may ask, are you going to work for thirty dollars a week? Or is your son going to be supported by his grandfather?”

Norman set down his coffee cup and rose haughtily.

“I’m sorry my conduct doesn’t please you,” he said. “Thank you for your advice. I will call on you when I want more of it.”

And so saying, thoroughly outraged, he left Dr. Zerneke’s home abruptly.