“Why don’t you leave me alone? I want to stay with my wife,” he shouted.

“You made a bargain with us, remember?” Murphy chided him pointedly.

Anger surged in him and for one glad moment he felt that he was coming fully awake, that he was shaking off this terror, wiping away the cobwebs that clogged his brain.

“Go ’way!” he screamed.

“What’s wrong, Freddie?” Rachel cried out from the bed. “Talk to me . . .”

“It’s all right,” he mumbled in bewilderment.

“Well, boy,” Murphy announced, rising. “Let’s get going.”

“Naw, naw, naw, na-a-aw!” Rachel screamed as her body gave a wild lunge.

“He’s got to come with me,” Murphy said in a quiet, fateful tone.

For a magical moment he was in complete possession of himself. He stepped confidently toward Murphy to denounce him, to tell him that he had no authority to compel him to do anything. Then Rachel screamed and he turned quickly back to the bed. Her scream was so distressing that even Murphy started involuntarily.

“Freddie,” Rachel panted after she had regained her breath, “it’s happening . . .”

“What?” he asked.

“The . . . b-b-baby . . . Get me to the hospital . . .”

“That’s all right,” Murphy said. “Just wrap her up, boy, and get her down to the car. We’ll take her.”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled with a crestfallen air.

Childlike, he bent and wrapped the quilt around Rachel; she groaned and doubled her fists. He lifted her and she huddled tightly against him.

“Come on, boy,” Murphy said, holding the door open.

He stumbled into the hallway with Rachel in his arms. Weakness made him teeter toward the wall.

“Be careful, boy,” Murphy cautioned him.

“Ain’t you coming with me, Freddie?” Rachel whimpered. “Lord, what’s the matter? You won’t talk to me!”

He walked the length of the hall and his body grew wet with sweat. He kept on down the stairs and when he reached the vestibule his knees felt like water. Murphy held the outer door for him. With half-closed eyes, he swayed in the middle of the sidewalk with Rachel in his arms.

“Where you-all taking me?” Rachel asked distrustfully.

“To the hospital,” Murphy told her.

Lawson and Johnson had got out of the car and stared.

“What in the world is this?” Lawson asked incredulously.

“She’s having a baby,” Murphy said in disgust. “Good Lord, could I help it?” There was a moment of astonished silence. “We got to take her to a hospital.”

“Put her in the car,” Lawson said resignedly.

He lifted Rachel into the back seat and held her on his lap. Rachel groaned. The car doors slammed. Johnson and Murphy crowded into the back seat with him. The car plowed through traffic to Main Street and dashed southward, the siren sounding sharp and thin in the sunlit air. It did not seem that he was holding Rachel in his arms; it did not seem that she was going to have a baby. Invisible hands seemed to be pressing some alien destiny upon him. The car reached Ocean Parkway with the siren screaming a prolonged blast. Traffic stopped. Lawson pivoted the car onto Oak Street and stopped it at the curb, in front of a hospital.