The midwife cried, “Oh, perhaps he’s a little small, but he’s healthy as you please. Just look at these fine hands and feet. Why, he has lovely bones, Mrs. Marburg!” But my mother had no wish to feel her son’s well-shaped feet. Her hands curled as though protecting themselves from contact with the baby and only when he was taken from the room did her long, scarred fingers lie straight upon the coverlet.

Thinking she would fall asleep, I started to follow the women into the kitchen, but she called me back, piteously begging me not to leave her, and when I had gone to the bedside, she grasped my hand and would not let it go. From under the lids of her still closed eyes, a few tears seeped out. I was shocked at the sight of them and felt my throat grow thick.

“Come closer,” she said softly. “I want to tell you something and I don’t want the ladies to hear.” I knelt at the side of the bed and she put her lips to my ear. “You’re only a little girl,” she whispered, “but you’re not too little to learn something. Your papa won’t come back now because somebody has taken his place. Listen to me: he prayed for a boy!”

“Oh, Mamma!” I cried. “It’s just a little baby!”

The poor red parcel wailed in the kitchen and Mrs. Henderson cooed, “There, there. Isn’t it a squirmer though!”

“Everybody’s a baby once, darling,” continued my mother. “That don’t mean they don’t get cruel by and by. I’m afraid of it, Sonia!”

But there was fear neither in her face nor in her voice as she lay back upon her pillows. I stood up. “Can’t I open a window, Mamma?” I asked. “It’s hot in here.” It was not hot but it was close with a strange odor.

“Yes,” she said with a sigh. “Open the window and let me get some air. Even though the sea air is bad for a person. I should live in the mountains.”

I drew up the green blind, opened the window, and stood there breathing in the moist cold. The sun was bright as gold on the sand. My mother talked on. “There is nothing here but sand! In the mountains I would have a garden with melons and radishes and cucumbers. My God, I would have flowers! I love flowers, Sonia girl. Maybe you might buy me some? Fifty cents out of the golden egg wouldn’t hurt, would it, to get your mother some tsvetiki?”

“I’ll get you some,” I said. “Maybe when Mr. Henderson goes to Marblehead he can bring them back. Is it violets you want, Mamma?”