failed attempts by other high-placed doctors and officials, the young intern was put in charge. He immediately asked the fetus whether it was comfortable, and received the answer yes. The fetus then declared it needed time for thought and would answer no more questions at the present time.
Despite constant attempts by the young intern to regain rapport, the fetus was entirely uncommunicative for the next several months. There was constant monitoring, and any potentially communicative sounds that were recorded outside the occasional sounds the fetus produced when it stretched or shifted to make itself more comfortable, were scrupulously studied for a Morse code pattern, or even for the emergence of a new code. A four day period of frantic activity, during which the monitoring team was sure they had recorded a message in new code, turned out to be nothing more than the sounds made by the fetus suffering through a particularly noisy intestinal disorder.
During these months of silence the doctoral and professorial committees, which had naturally formed, grappled furiously with new theories and ways to handle the various dilemmas that had arisen. There were uncountable social and religious implications in the event, as well as scientific and medical questions to be answered. There was continued debate on how to handle the problem medically. Papers and theses abounded.
Meanwhile, the fetus continued to develop. Remarkably, Mrs. J sustained no discomfort during this period of fetus growth; though her midsection swelled to elephantine size she retained good humor and exhibited no signs of stress. She now inhabited a spacious suite in a little-used wing of the hospital, complete with a fluid-mattressed bed that was acoustically attuned to counteract the least ache and pain. Having been accustomed to little more than housework before her sudden notoriety, she found her present quarters comfortable and even preferable to home life. Constant entertainment was provided by a large-screen television over her head. Any food or beverage she required was instantly prepared. Mr. J, now fully cognizant of the situation, offered no resistance or complaint; he found his time taken up with various endorsements, which had resulted from his family’s celebrity. He also found himself burdened with the management of an income of considerable amount.
Finally, two days before the deadline that had been imposed on the young intern by the chief surgeon, contact was re-established with the fetus. In a short message the fetus stated that it wished to be called Roger, and that there would be a statement the following Monday at 1:00 P.M... It—or rather, Roger—refused to elaborate, and repeated questioning was met with silence.
At 1:00 P.M. there was an expectant hush; the fetus’ statement began, and the young intern translated the tappings through Mrs. J’s abdominal wall. The statement ran:
“I want to thank all of you for your constant diligence and continued goodwill, and most especially for providing me with the necessary accoutrements for my continued development. My hat is tipped to you all.
“No doubt you wonder what I am doing in here, and most especially why I have refused to come out. These are valid points to raise and I intend to answer them.
“Though you may have trouble believing me, and may scoff at my reasoning, or call me coward, the simple reason why I have not left the womb—and one that should have been immediately obvious to you—is that I do not want to leave. Life is safer and more secure here.
“Now these are well-known facts about life in the womb. All of you went through the experience I continue to go through, and all of you were thrust from that security after nine months and made to stand on your own against the cruel environment—physical and psychical—of the outside world. You thought there was no choice. You didn’t know better.
“Soon after gestation I discovered that outside impressions experienced by my mother, Mrs. J, were filtering down to me in an understandable form. It may be that I was specially suited to receive these impressions but I think not; rather, I suspect that all embryos and fetuses take in, to some degree, the sights, sounds, and even smells experienced by their carriers. I suspect that due to some quirk of development or abnormally high intellectual sophistication for my age, I was able to better interpret the deluge of sensory data flooding into my form. Thus I learned of the world.
“During the first few weeks of pregnancy my mother, Mrs. J, began to read romantic novels and watch violent television programs. Little of value was learned. For a period of time—from the fourteenth week through the twentieth—she embarked on a reading program covering all areas of birth and child care, a few popular medical and scientific works, and one psychology text of questionable merit. In the course of reading one of the popular medical texts she (and I) came upon the case of one Roger deCovernaire, who resisted birth so successfully that he was not born until ten weeks after labor began. When birth finally ensued, his mother—the Countess deCovernaire— succumbed, but Roger entered the world in perfect health and lived to the ripe age of ninety. As a sidelight, it is interesting to note that his life’s work was in the architectural design and building of railway tunnels.
“It is from Roger deCovernaire that I take my name, at best a symbolic gesture since I have resisted birth far more successfully than he was able to. The fact is that the bleak medical views espoused in the literature read by Mrs. J coupled with the world view presented by the romantic novels, television programs, and newscasts she assimilated, strengthened my resolve to prevent, if at all possible, my expulsion into the outer world. By yoking the knowledge gleaned from those few books with a few reasonable chemical and biological deductions, I was able to successfully prevent my release.
“I will continue to do so.
“I think you will agree with me that I have chosen the safer course. Since I may be considered a scientific and medical curiosity, it would be to your greater interest to continue to treat Mrs. J with the utmost deference and to provide her with every comfort. I intend to devote myself to the study of my environment—the womb—and to the processes that surround the conception and gestation of the human fetus.
“I do have one request. At the completion of my nine-month term, my access to Mrs. J’s information and sensory systems was severed—a natural occurrence, no doubt, since at that time the fetus would normally be thrust into the outside world and begin to use its own sensory systems. Though this may be a natural and predictable event, it leaves me, as it were, in the dark. I would ask that at the time in my physical development when I am able to accommodate certain aids from my continued study, these items be provided; I will make ample provision for their passage to me. I thank you in advance.
“There will be periodic communications from me; I will work out some sort of schedule with the young intern who has formed such an accommodating relationship with me—I’d like his superiors, if they are here, to take note of his achievements and to grant him the courtesy and advancement he deserves.
“According to the neurologist Freud, whom I’m afraid I consider to be something of a buffoon, most if not all of you suffer from a repressed wish to return to the womb; if there are any truths in this belief, I find it significant to note that I should therefore be able to avoid most, if not all, traumas of human existence since I have not left the womb in the first place.
“That’s all for the moment, if you’ll excuse me. I’m tired.”
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then a sudden collective cheer went up from all those present. They were so delighted by the fantastic, carnival-like spectacle that they had witnessed that it took all of the security people aided by a good number of hospital staff to keep the crowd from lifting Mrs. J up over their head, fetal burden and all, and parading her around the room and out into the street. The media representatives were especially happy about the episode, given the bountiful reportage possibilities it presented.
The young intern was, of course, immediately promoted and given a staff of his own. Things proceeded smoothly for Roger in the womb, and every four weeks thereafter, he gave a short report and new observations. Mrs. J, who was now completely content with watching the television that was over her head, was providing more than enough materials than Roger needed to maintain his health and foster his growth; she was maintaining a huge protein and fat-rich diet that Roger had developed, and had assumed balloon-like proportions.
Despite constant and growing pressures from religious, cultural, political, medical, scientific, and media groups, Roger’s privacy was strictly maintained by the young intern. Every two months a statement based on Roger’s periodic reports was released to the press. The first few of Roger’s statements were relatively pedestrian dealing with such matters as the format for future pronouncements and the correct procedures involved. Then there followed a number of statements dealing with the womb itself, its structure and characteristics. An occasional message dealt with a physical characteristic of Roger: at the age of one he discussed the impossibility of crawling in the womb; at the age of two-and-one-half the frustrations caused by the urge to walk counteracted the inhibiting characteristics of the placenta.
At the age of three Roger made his first request for materials, asking that a small reading lamp along with a copy of Spinoza’s
