What We Talk About When We Talk About Love: Stories

telephone was ringing. It kept ringing while the man unlocked the door and felt the wall for the light switch.
    He picked up the receiver. He said, "I just got in the door!"
    "There's a cake that wasn't picked up."
    This is what the voice on the other end said.
    "What are you saying?" the father said.
    "The cake," the voice said. "Sixteen dollars."
    The husband held the receiver against his ear, trying to understand. He said, "I don't know anything about it."
    "Don't hand me that," the voice said.
    The husband hung up the telephone. He went into the
    What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
    kitchen and poured himself some whiskey. He called the hospital.
    The child's condition remained the same.
    While the water ran into the tub, the man lathered his face and shaved. He was in the tub when he heard the telephone again. He got himself out and hurried through the house, saying, "Stupid, stupid," because he wouldn't be doing this if he'd stayed where he was in the hospital. He picked up the receiver and shouted, "Hello!"
    The voice said, "It's ready."
    THE father got back to the hospital after midnight. The wife was sitting in the chair by the bed. She looked up at the husband and then she looked back at the child. From an apparatus over the bed hung a bottle with a tube running from the bottle to the child.
    "What's this?" the father said.
    "Glucose," the mother said.
    The husband put his hand to the back of the woman's head.
    "He's going to wake up," the man said.
    "I know," the woman said.
    In a little while the man said, "Go home and let me take over."
    She shook her head. "No," she said.
    "Really," he said. "Go home for a while. You don't have to worry. He's sleeping, is all."
    A nurse pushed open the door. She nodded to them as she went to the bed. She took the left arm out from under the covers and put her fingers on the wrist. She put the arm
    The Bath
    back under the covers and wrote on the clipboard attached to the bed.
    "How is he?" the mother said.
    "Stable," the nurse said. Then she said, "Doctor will be in again shortly."
    "I was saying maybe she'd want to go home and get a little rest," the man said. "After the doctor comes."
    "She could do that," the nurse said.
    The woman said, "We'll see what the doctor says." She brought her hand up to her eyes and leaned her head forward.
    The nurse said, "Of course."
    THE father gazed at his son, the small chest inflating and deflating under the covers. He felt more fear now. He began shaking his head. He talked to himself like this. The child is fine. Instead of sleeping at home, he's doing it here. Sleep is the same wherever you do it.
    THE doctor came in. He shook hands with the man. The woman got up from the chair.
    "Ann," the doctor said and nodded. The doctor said, "Let's just see how he's doing." He moved to the bed and touched the boy's wrist. He peeled back an eyelid and then the other. He turned back the covers and listened to the heart. He pressed his fingers here and there on the body. He went to the end of the bed and studied the chart. He noted the time, scribbled on the chart, and then he considered the mother and the father.
    This doctor was a handsome man. His skin was moist and
    What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
    tan. He wore a three-piece suit, a vivid tie, and on his shirt were cufflinks.
    The mother was talking to herself like this. He has just come from somewhere with an audience. They gave him a special medal.
    The doctor said, "Nothing to shout about, but nothing to worry about. He should wake up pretty soon." The doctor looked at the boy again. "Well know more after the tests are in."
    "Oh, no," the mother said.
    The doctor said, "Sometimes you see this."
    The father said, "You wouldn't call this a coma, then?"
    The father waited and looked at the doctor.
    "No, I don't want to call it that," the doctor said. "He's sleeping. It's restorative. The body is doing what it has to do."
    "It's a coma," the mother said. "A kind of coma."
    The doctor said, "I wouldn't call it that."
    He took the woman's hands and patted them. He shook hands with the husband.
    THE woman put her fingers on the child's forehead and kept them there for a while. "At least he doesn't have a fever," she said. Then she said, "I don't know. Feel his head."
    The man put his fingers on the boy's forehead. The man said, "I think he's supposed to feel this way."
    The woman stood there awhile longer, working her lip with her teeth. Then she moved to her chair and sat