—
At some point a nurse came in, took my temperature and blood pressure, looked at me but said nothing, and departed.
—
It was only when the wall of sedation ruptured and my recollections flooded over me, all at once—the abandoned basement, the hissing lantern, the mother’s pinprick pupils, the baby’s orderly cries, the lake of blood—when I jerked upright, or tried to, only then did I discover I had been restrained, padded cuffs Velcroed around wrists and ankles, straps anchored to the bars of the bed.
—
The nurse returned and a doctor followed. “He’s awake now,” she said. The doctor, young, put on a pair of fuchsia-rimmed spectacles and a bland smile. “Dr. Abend,” he said, “I trust you are feeling somewhat better now?” Without waiting for a response, he offered an apology for the restraints, his English betraying the slightest accent, almost British, barely French at all. “You understand they are only a precaution.” He spoke as though we had already met: surely I could understand, a doctor myself and a psychiatrist—in cases of agitation—
“The girl,” I said.
“Yes,” said the smile, blank as a surgical mask.
“The girl,” I said again. “How is the girl?” Even as I asked this question, I knew I had asked it before, more than once, many times.
“Beautiful. She continues beautifully. Excellent progress, excellent vitals. She has gained another fifty grams.”
“No—” I said.
“I assure you, she tolerates the methadone well,” continued the smile, “though of course it is still early in the protocol. I believe I already mentioned she has begun to take the bottle.”
“Not the girl,” I said. “The mother. How is the mother?”
The doctor said nothing. He was taking my pulse. His lips moved as he counted the beats. The smile had disappeared. “I will be back, Dr. Abend,” he said, and left the room.
—
As for what had happened between the birth in the abandoned garage and the moment I woke in the hospital, my memories are, you could say, secondhand recollections, furnished to me only later in the denatured French of the police reports.
At approximately 4h15 an adult subject had approached a road crew for assistance, holding a newborn infant wrapped in a shirt. Police were notified and an ambulance dispatched 4h36. Subject informed responding officers of the location of the infant’s mother. Officers determined location to be a construction site at 19, rue Saint-Saturnin, and a second ambulance was dispatched. (See attached report, CZ090102.) Ambulance with subject and newborn arrived 5h11 at Hôpital Colbert, and both were taken in charge by hospital staff.
Interviewed by police at the hospital at approximately 7h00, the adult subject identified himself as Daniel Abend, a physician practicing in New York (United States). Temporary resident of Paris since last May, subject stated he had been vacationing in Nevers, staying in the campground (27, rue de la Blanchisserie). Subject stated that while in the campground, he had been approached by a younger male. Subject did not know the name of the man but had met him several days earlier. The man at that time was in the company of a young woman, whom subject described as “heavily pregnant and probably approaching term.” The young man, believing that the young woman had fallen ill in the course of premature labor, had gone to the campground to request assistance from subject, whom he knew to be an American doctor. Subject stated his belief that he was approached because the mother was of foreign nationality and consequently reluctant to involve French authorities. Subject and the young man then proceeded to the construction site on the young man’s motorbike. There they found the child delivered and alive but the woman unresponsive. At this point or shortly thereafter, subject believes the young man fled the scene. Unable to revive the woman, the doctor left the construction site in order to alert the authorities and seek medical help for the infant and mother.
Report CZ090102 corroborates Abend’s account. At an abandoned construction site (19, rue Saint-Saturnin) responding officers and paramedics found a female subject approximately twenty years of age, in cardiac arrest, with nonreactive pupils. Efforts at resuscitation, including administration of naloxone and atropine, were unsuccessful. Patient was transported to Hôpital Colbert, where after further interventions patient was declared dead at 6h02.
At 19, rue Saint-Saturnin, officers collected drug paraphernalia and a small quantity of what appeared to be a controlled substance. Pending the coroner’s report, it is suspected that the female subject’s death was brought about or accelerated by opiate overdose. There were no indications of foul play. As of this writing, the identity of the deceased has yet to be established, and the young man mentioned in Abend’s statement (see report CZ090097) has not been located.
When I read these accounts the first time, in the office of my lawyer, I adopted them and claimed them as my own. The memories they supplied have sustained me, a stolen cache of fact. While it is true that the events they record elicit in me no sense of active recollection, these secondhand memories are as vivid as any others. Who should be surprised by this? What parent does not remember the moment his child came into the world?
My correspondent, on the other hand, has taken no chances. With what care he attends to the slightest detail. In his latest communication, today’s letter, he is, once again, thorough beyond reproach. Photocopies of these same police reports arrived in the post office box, collated and stapled in sequence. Appended to these are additional statements made by one ABEND (Daniel) along with the hospital records from Nevers, including admission papers for a newborn girl. On each of these documents, in the space marked “Guardian,” I see the twitchy ghost of my own signature. This same signature, sturdier now, appears with several others at the bottom of another police document, a release stating that the death of the as-yet-unidentified mother has been ruled an
