The Crystal City Page 0,131

if the baby's very heart slowed down- indeed, for a moment Alvin thought that the heart had stopped. But no, it was beating very, very slowly, and he worked with feverish intensity, wishing he could slather on the mature tissue the way a painter slaps whitewash on a wall instead of doing it the way he had to do it, like a tatter making knot, knot, knot, and only gradually turning it into lace.

"I've got to tie this cord," said the midwife. "You know your business, I'm sure, but I know mine, and you don't wait for the afterbirth to come out of itself!"

"Look how he breathes in the air," said Margaret. "Look, almost as if he had a hope of life."

And then, as she watched his quick breathing, as she felt his rapid heartbeat, she began to see paths emerging out of darkness. He would not die. He would live. Mentally damaged from the lack of air at the time of his birth, but alive. She was not afraid of such damage-maybe Alvin could fix the problem, yes, if Alvin was watching he could...

More paths opened, and more and more, and now there were a few where the baby was not damaged, where it would learn to walk like any other child, and talk, and...

And now all paths were open, like a normal life, except that there was something that she needed to do.

"Cut the cord," she said. "He can breathe on his own now."

"About time," said the midwife. She strung a thread around the cord and tied it tight, then another about two inches away, and then passed a sharp knife under the cord between the knots and pulled upward.

The afterbirth slid out onto the clean rags covering the bed.

The baby cried, a whimpering sound, not the lusty cry of a full-term baby, and the poor lad was still as scrawny as could be, but he could breathe, and now almost every path in the child's life showed him in his father's arms, as the three of them, father, mother, and son, stood on the bluff overlooking the river.

The sound of an axe chopping against wood rang out and Alvin came out of his deep concentration. It had been hours and hours, working on the baby's lungs, but somehow the child had stayed alive through all of it, and now it was done. The child was breathing on his own. The cord was cut. And Alvin was surprised that it was still light. Surely it had taken him all day.

He got up from the stone, his body stiff from resting in one position for so long. He walked to the edge of the bluff, expecting to see many trees fallen.

Instead, there was Verily making his way down the hill. What had he been doing, coming up and checking on Alvin all day? Couldn't he do this by himself? And instead of teams of axemen toppling trees, only the one axe was being wielded, and by a man who seemed to be no part of an organized plan.

What had Verily been doing all day, while Alvin wrestled to keep his baby alive?

Only as he was about to cry out to Verily impatiently did Alvin take note of the fact that Verily's shadow still fell long beyond him, down the hill, toward the west.

It was still morning. Early morning. Only minutes after Verily had left Alvin. Somehow, all those hours of work- and as sore as his body was, it had to have been hours-had been compressed into only a few minutes.

"Verily!" he called. "Wait!"

Verily turned and watched as Alvin leapt and slipped and slid down the hill to join him.

"What is it?" said Verily.

"How long ago did we talk?"

Verily looked at him as if he were crazy. "Three minutes."

"I did it," said Alvin. "Somehow in just those minutes, I did it."

"Did what?"

"The baby's born. He can breathe, He's alive."

Only then did Verily understand. "Thank God, Alvin."

"I do," said Alvin. "I do thank God."

Then he burst into tears and wept in the arms of his friend.

Chapter 17

Foundation

Alvin leaned on the fireplace, watching Margaret nurse little Vigor. "Got a mighty good suction in him," said Alvin.

"Like a tick," said Margaret. "Can't pry him loose till he's full."

"He's getting strong, don't you think?

"Getting some muscle on him," said Margaret. "But I don't think he'll ever be one of those fat little babies."

"That's fine," said Alvin. "Don't want to raise a spoiled child."

"You'll raise him whatever he is," said Margaret. "And if