father tried to read the evening paper, looking over the words but not taking in their meaning. He was nervous, even worried. It would never do for them (he looked upon almost everyone as 'them') to realise that it had to be a boy, a boy who would one day take his place as president of the bank. He turned the pages of the Evening Transcript. The Boston Red Sox had beaten the New York Highlanders - others would be celebrating. Then he recalled the headline on the front page and returned to it. The worst - ever earthquake in the history of America. Devastation in San Francisco, at least four hundred people dead - others would be mourning. He hated that. That would take away from the birth of his son. People would remember something else had happened on that day. It never occurred to him, not even for a moment, that it might be a girl. He turned to the financial pages and checked the stock market, down sharply; that damned earthquake had taken one hundred thousand dollars off the value of Es own holdings in the bank, but as his personal fortune remained comfortably over sixteen million dollars, it was going to take more than a Californian earthquake to move him. He could now live off the interest from his interest, so the sixteen million capital would always remain intact, ready for his son, still unborn. He continued to pace and pretend to read the Transcript, The obstetrician in evening dress pushed through the swing doors of the delivery room to report the news. He felt he must do something for his large unearned fee and he was the most suitably dressed for the announcemenL The two men stared at each other for a moment. The doctor also felt a little nervous, but he wasn't going to show it in front of the father.
'Congratulations, sir, you have a son, a fine - looking little boy. 0 What silly remarks people make when a child is born ' the father thought; how could he be anything but little? The news hadn't yet dawned on him - a son. He almost thanked God. The obstetrician ventured a question to break the silence.
'Have you decided what you will call him?'
The father answered without hesitation. 'William Lowell Kane.'
Chapter 3
Long after the excitement of the baby's arrival had passed and the rest of the farnily had gone to bed, the mother remained awake with the little child in her arms. Helena Koskiewicz believed in life, and she had borne nine children to prove it. Although she had lost three in infancy, she had not let any of them go easily.
Now at thirty - five she knew that her once lusty jasio would give her no more sons or daughters. God had given her this one; surely he was destined to live. Helena's was a simple faith, which was good, for her destiny was never to afford her more than a simple life. She was grey and thin, not through choice but through little food, hard work, and no spare money. It never occurred to her to complain but the lines on her face would have been more in keeping with a grandmother than a mother in today's world. She had never worn new clothes evep once in her life.
Helena squeezed her tired breasts so hard that dull red marks appeared around the nipples. Little drops of milk squirted out. At thirty - five, halfway through life's contract, we all have sorne useful piece of expertise to pass on and Helena Koskiewicz's was now at a premium.
'Matka's littlest one,' she whispered tenderly to the child, and drew the milky teat across its pursed mouth. The blue eyes opened and tiny drops of sweat broke out on the baby's nose as he tried to suck. Finally the mother slumped unwillingly into a deep sleep.
Jasio Ko - kiewicz, a heavy, dull man with a full moustache, his only gesture of self - assertion in an otherwise servile existence, discovered his wife and the baby asleep in the rocking chair when he rose at five.
He hadn't noticed her absence from their bed that night. He stared down at the bastard who had, thank God, at least stopped wailing. Was it dead? Jasio considered the easiest way out of the dilemma was to get himself to work and not interfere with the intruder; let the woman worry about life and death: his preoccupation was to be on