The Best American Noir of the Century

When he followed he found himself in a space that was half kitchen and half nursery Opposite the electric stove and Frigidaire, along the wall between the wood stove and the rear door, was a row of wooden boxes, seven of them, old orange crates, dividers removed, painted different colors and labeled A to G. Faint names of orchards and renderings of fruits rose through the paint on the stub ends of the crates. Inside boxes C through G were babies, buried deep in nests of rags and scraps of blanket. One of them was crying. The others slept soundly, warm and toasty, healthy and happy from all the evidence he had.

“My God,” he said.

“Aren’t they beautiful? They’re just the best little things in the whole world. Yes they are. Just the best little babies in the whole wide world. And Iris loves them all a bunch. Yes, she does. Doesn’t she?”

Beaming, Iris cooed to the babies for another moment, then her face darkened. “The one I gave you, she wasn’t happy here. That’s because she was a B Box baby. My B babies are always sad, I don’t know why. I treat them all the same, but the B babies are just contrary. That’s why the one I gave you should go back. Where is it, anyway?”

“In the car.”

“By itself?”

He nodded.

“You shouldn’t leave her there like that,” Iris chided. “She’s pouty enough already.”

“What about these others?” he asked, looking at the boxes. “Do they stay here forever?”

Her whole aspect solidified. “They stay till Marvin needs them. Till he does, I give them everything they want. Everything they need. No one could be nicer to my babies than me. No one.”

The fire in the stove lit her eyes like ice in sunlight. She gazed raptly at the boxes, one by one, and received something he sensed was sexual in return. Her breaths were rapid and shallow, her fists clenched at her sides. “Where’d you get these babies?” he asked softly.

“Marvin gets them.” She was only half-listening.

“Where?”

“All over. We had one from Nevada one time, and two from Idaho I think. Most are from California, though. And Oregon. I think that C Box baby’s from Spokane. That’s Oregon, isn’t it?”

He didn’t correct her. “Have there been more besides these?”

“Some.”

“How many?”

“Oh, maybe ten. No, more than that. I’ve had three of all the babies except G babies.”

“And Marvin got them all for you?”

She nodded and went to the stove and turned on a burner. “You want some tea? It’s herbal. Peppermint.”

He shook his head. “What happened to the other babies? The ones that aren’t here anymore?”

“Marvin took them.” Iris sipped her tea.

“Where?”

“To someone that wanted to love them.” The declaration was as close as she would come to gospel.

The air in the cabin seemed suddenly befouled, not breathable. “Is that what this is all about, Iris? Giving babies to people that want them?”

“That want them and will love them. See, Marvin gets these babies from people that don’t want them, and gives them to people that do. It’s his business.”

“Does he get paid for it?”

She shrugged absently. “A little, I think.”

“Do you go with Marvin when he picks them up?”

“Sometimes. When it’s far.”

“And where does he take them? To Idaho and Nevada, or just around here?”

She shrugged again. “He doesn’t tell me where they go. He says he doesn’t want me to try and get them back.” She smiled peacefully. “He knows how I am about my babies.”

“How long have you and Marvin been doing this?”

“I been with Marvin about three years.”

“And you’ve been trading in babies all that time?”

“Just about.”

She poured some more tea into a ceramic cup and sipped it. She gave no sign of guile or guilt, no sign that what he suspected could possibly be true.

“Do you have any children of your own, Iris?”

Her hand shook enough to spill her tea. “I almost had one once.”

“What do you mean?”

She made a face. “I got pregnant, but nobody wanted me to keep it so I didn’t.”

“Did you put it up for adoption?”

She shook her head.

“Abortion?”

Iris nodded, apparently in pain, and mumbled something. He asked her what she’d said. “I did it myself,” she repeated. “That’s what I can’t live with. I scraped it out of there myself. I passed out. I…”

She fell silent. He looked back at the row of boxes that held her penance. When she saw him look she began to sing a song. “Aren’t they just perfect?” she said when she was through. “Aren’t they all just perfect?”

“How do you know where the baby you gave me belongs?” he asked quietly.

“Marvin’s got a book that keeps track. I sneaked a look at it one time when he was stoned.”

“Where’s he keep it?”

“In the van. At least that’s where I found it.” Iris put her hands on his chest and pushed. “You better go before Marvin gets back. You’ll take the baby, won’t you? It just don’t belong here with the others. It fusses all the time and I can’t love it like I should.”

He looked at Iris’s face, at the firelight washing across it, making it alive. “Where are you from, Iris?”

“Me? Minnesota.”

“Did you come to California with Marvin?”

She shook her head. “I come with another guy. I was tricking for him when I got knocked up. After the abortion I told him I wouldn’t trick no more so he ditched me. Then I did a lot of drugs for a while, till I met Marvin at a commune down by Mendocino.”

“What’s Marvin’s last name?”

“Hessel. Now you got to go. Really. Marvin’s liable to do something crazy if he finds you here.” She walked toward him and he retreated.

“OK, Iris. Just one thing. Could you give me something for the baby to eat? She’s real hungry.”

Iris frowned. “She only likes goat’s milk, is the problem, and I haven’t milked today.” She walked to the Frigidaire and returned with a bottle. “This is all I got. Now, git.”

He nodded, took the bottle from her, then retreated to his car.

He opened the door on the stinging smell of ammonia. The baby greeted him with screams. He picked it up, rocked it, talked to it, hummed a tune, finally gave it the second bottle, which was the only thing it wanted.

As it sucked its sustenance he started the car and let the engine warm, and a minute later flipped the heater switch. When it seemed prudent, he unwrapped the child and unpinned her soggy diaper and patted her dumplinged bottom dry with a tissue from the glove compartment. After covering her with her blanket he got out of the car, pulled his suitcase from the trunk, and took out his last clean T-shirt, then returned to the car and fashioned a bulky diaper out of the cotton shirt and affixed it to the child, pricking his finger in the process, spotting both the garment and the baby with his blood. Then he sat for a time, considering his obligations to the children that had suddenly littered his life.

He should go to the police, but Marvin might return before they responded and might learn of Iris’s deed and harm the children or flee with them. He could call the police and wait in place for them to come, but he doubted his ability to convey his precise suspicions over the phone. As he searched for other options, headlights ricocheted off his mirror and into his eyes, then veered off. When his vision was reestablished he reached into the glove compartment for his revolver. Shoving it into his pocket, he got out of the car and walked back to the driveway and