“Hurry up, will you? She’s waiting on us.” I produced the insurance card and the receptionist finished filling out the forms and directed us to a room on the third floor. We followed a yellow line to the elevators and got on and rode up to the third floor and went down a long hall and into a large rectangular room with a single bed and a crib. All this time Jimmy had not awakened. When I laid him down into the crib, I began to cry. “It’s going to ruin his brain,” I wept. “For God’s sake, Malcolm, call my uncle, will you. Why don’t the goddamn bastards hurry up.”

A nurse came in and dressed the baby in a hospital gown. She was joined by two male nurses carrying a portable scale. They drew blood and weighed and measured him and took his blood pressure and his temperature.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It’s ninety-nine,” one answered, but the other frowned and I knew they weren’t supposed to tell me. I walked over to where Malcolm was standing by the window with his face drawn up into a knot. He was blaming me for this, that much was clear. He was hating me and blaming me.

“This isn’t my fault,” I said, walking toward him. The nurses were still in the room. Jimmy was allowing them to do whatever they liked with him. Jimmy always trusted people. He always let people hold or touch him. He was the opposite of Little Malcolm who wouldn’t even let me cuddle him. Little Malcolm was like his father, made of ice and stone. A beautiful golden stony child.

“Nobody said you did it. I will say this, if that goddamn Jew sends me another bill after this, I’ll stuff it in his mouth. Where is he? I thought he was going to meet you here at five.”

“I don’t know. He said he’d come.”

“Well he better get his ass on over here or I’m calling another doctor. That kid’s been sick for weeks. Why did it take so long for this guy to figure out what’s wrong? I told you not to take him to a goddamn Jew to begin with.” He turned back to the window, his face going into one of its silent tirades.