with two nurses and they lifted Catherine onto a wheeled stretcher and we started down the hall. The stretcher went rapidly dOwn the hall and into the elevator where every one had to crowd against the wall to make room; then up, thenan open door and out of the elevatorand down the hall on rubber wheels to the operating room. I did not recognize the doctorwith his cap and mask on. There was another doctor and more nurses.

«They’ve got to give me something,» Catherine said. «They’ve got to give me something. Oh please, doctor, give me enough to do some good!»
One of the doctors puta mask over her face and I looked through the door and saw the bright small amphitheatre of theoperatingroom.

«You can go in the otherdoorand sit up there,» a nurse said to me. There were benches behind arail that lookeddown on the white table and the lights. I looked at Catherine. The mask was over her face and she was quiet now. They wheeled the stretcher forward. I turned away and walkeddown the hall. Two nurses were hurrying toward the entrance to the gallery.
«It’s a Caesarean,» one said. «They’re goingto do a Caesarean.»

The other onelaughed, «We’re just in time. Aren’t we lucky?» They went in the door that led to the gallery.
Another nurse came along. She was hurrying too. «You go rightin there. Go right in,» shesaid.

«I’m staying outside.»
She hurried in. I walked up and down the hall. I was afraid to go in. I looked out the window. It was dark but in the light from the window I could seeit was raining. I went into a room at the far end of the hall and lookedat the labels on bottles in a glass case. Then I came out and stoodin the empty hall and watched the doorof theoperating room.
A doctor came out followed by a nurse. He held somethingin his two hands that looked like a freshly skinned rabbit and hurried across the corridor with it andin through another door. I went down to the door he hadgoneintoand found them in the room doing things to anew­born child. The doctor held him up for me to see. He held him by the heels and slapped him.

«Is he all right?»
«He’s magnificent. He’ll weighfive kilos.»

I had no feeling for him. He did not seem to have anything to do with me. I felt no feeling of fatherhood.
«Aren’t you proud of your son?» the nurse asked. They were washing him and wrapping him in something. I saw the little dark face anddark hand, but I did not see him move or hear him cry. The doctor was doing something to him again. He lookedupset.
«No,» I said. «He nearly killed his mother.»
«It isn’t thelittle darling’s fault. Didn’t you want a boy?»
«No,» I said. The doctor was busy with him. He held him up by the feet and slapped him. I did not wait to see it. I went outin thehail. I could go in now and see. I went in the

door and a little way down the gallery. The nurses who were sitting atthe rail motioned for me to come down where they were. I shook my head. I could see enough where I was.
I thought Catherine was dead. Shelooked dead. Her face was gray, the part ofit that I could see. Down below, under thelight, the doctor was sewing up the great long, forcep­spread, thickedged, wound. Another doctorin a mask gave the anaesthetic. Two nurses in masks handed things. It looked like a drawingof the Inquisition. I knew as I watched I could have watchedit all, but I was glad I hadn’t. I do not think I could have watched them cut, but I watched the wound closed into a high welted ridge with quick skilful­looking stitches like a cobbler’s, and was glad. When the wound was closed I went out into the hall and walked up anddown again. After a while the doctor came out.

«How is she?»
«She is all right. Did you watch?» He looked tired.
«I saw you sew up. Theincisionlooked very long.» «You thought so?»
«Yes. Will that scar flatten out?» «Oh, yes.»
After a while they brought out the wheeled stretcher and took it very rapidly down the hallway to the elevator. I went along beside it. Catherine was moaning. Downstairs they put herin the bed in her room. I sat in a chair at the foot of the bed. There was a nurse in the room. I got up and stood by the bed. It was dark in the room. Catherine put out herhand. «Hello, darling,» she said. Her voice was very weak and tired.
«Hello, you sweet.»
«What sort of baby was it?» «Sh­­don’t talk,» the nurse said.
«A boy. He’s long and wide and dark.» «Is he all right?»
«Yes,» I said.»He’s fine.»
I saw the nurse look at me strangely.
«I’m awfully tired,» Catherine said. «And I hurt like hell. Are youall right, darling?» «I’m fine. Don’t talk.»
«You were lovely to me. Oh, darling, I hurt dreadfully. What does he look like?» «He looks like a skinned rabbit with a puckered­up old­man’s face.»
«You must go out,» the nurse said. «Madame Henry must not talk.» «I’ll be outside.»
«Go andget somethingto eat.»
«No. I’ll be outside.» I kissed Catherine. She was very gray and weak and tired. «May I speak to you?» I said to the nurse. She came out in thehall with me. I
walked alittle way down the hall.
«What’s the matter with the baby?» I asked. «Didn’t you know?»
«No.»
«He wasn’t alive.» «He was dead?»
«They couldn’t start him breathing. The cord was caught around his neck or something.»

«So he’s dead.»
«Yes. It’s such a shame. He was such a fine big boy. I thought you knew.» «No,» I said. «You better go back in with Madame.»
I sat down on the chairin front of a table where there were nurses’ reports hung on clips at the side andlooked out of the window. I could see nothing but the dark and the rain falling across the light from the window. So that was it. Thebaby was dead. That was why the doctorlooked so tired. But why had they acted the way they did in the roomwith him? They supposed he would come aroundand start breathing probably. I had no religion but I knew he ought to have been baptized. But what if he never breathed at all. He hadn’t. He had never been alive. Except in Catherine. I’d felt him kick there often enough. But I hadn’t for a week.

Maybe he was choked all the time. Poor little kid. I wished the hell I’d been choked like that. No I didn’t. Still there would not beallthis dying to go through. Now Catherine would die. That was what you did. You died. You did not know what it was about. You never had time to learn. They threw youin and told you therules and the first time they caught you off base they killed you. Orthey killed you gratuitously like Aymo. Or gave you the syphilis like Rinaldi. But they killed you in theend. You could count on that. Stay around and they would killyou.

Oncein camp I put alog on topof the fire and it was full of ants. As it commenced to burn, the ants swarmed out and went first toward the centre where the fire was; then turned back and rantoward the end. When there were enough onthe end they fell offinto the fire. Some got out, their bodies burnt and flattened, and went off not knowing where they were going. But most of themwent toward the fire and then back toward the end and swarmed on the cool end and finally fell off into the fire.

I remember thinking atthe time that it was the end of the world and a splendid chance tobe a messiah andlift the log off the fire and throw it out where the ants could get off onto the ground. But I did not do anything but throw a tin cup of water onthelog, so that I would have the cup empty to put whiskey in before I added water toit. I think the cup of water on the burning log only steamed the ants.

So now I sat outin the hall and waited to hear how Catherine was. The nurse did not come out, so after a while I went to the door and opened it very softly and lookedin. I could not see at first because there was a bright light in the hall and it was dark in the room. Then I saw the nurse sitting by the bed and Catherine’s headon a pillow, and she was all flat under the sheet. Thenurse put her finger to herlips, then stood up and came to the door.

«How is she?» I asked.
«She’s all right,» the nurse said. «You should go and have your supper and then come back if you wish.»
I went down the hall and then down the stairs and out the door ofthe hospital and down the dark street in the rain to the café.It was brightly lightedinsideand there were many people at the tables. I did not see a place to sit, and a waiter came up to me and took my wet coat and hat and showed me a place at a table across from an elderly man whowas drinking beer and reading theevening paper. I satdown and asked the waiter what the plat du jour was.

«Veal stew­­but it is finished.» «What can I have to eat?»
«Ham and eggs, eggs with cheese, or choucroute.»

«I had choucroute this noon,» I said.
«That’s true,» he said. «That’s true. You ate choucroute this noon.» He was a middle­ aged