Forbidden Fruit (37 page)

“Harry —”

“Will you hear me out?”

“Okay, okay, but —”

“There you go again.”

I bowed repentantly. “Sorry.”

“At last! Children without fathers are better adopted. That is the Irish view and, in general, mine. Shut up, Annie. But you
are twenty-six years old and I have to warn you —”

“Yes?”

He said more solemnly than usual, “You should never have another child. That’s why you’ve got to think this through.”

I was astounded. “My last chance to have a child?”

He took my hand. “I couldn’t tell you before, but the leg was far gone. We couldn’t suck the stuff out or do surgery. It took
longer than usual to stabilize your blood.”

“Eamonn?”

“He’s been a bully. That’s why I’m forewarning you.”

“You told him?”

“Everything. I’ll leave you now. Good luck.”

Minutes later, I was still feeling my abdomen and thinking that if I gave up Peter my body would forever be a silent beehive,
an emptied nest, when Eamonn entered. It was because of his negligence that I would never have another child.

He sat by my bed. He looked repentant again, shaking his head and initially watching his eloquent fingers speak for him. “I
can’t believe this has happened to you, Annie.”

“You want to see?”

“No, no. I came to tell you Peter has a special nurse caring for just him.”

“Thank you. Thank you.”

“They’ve cured the rash on his belly button.” I choked back my tears of relief.

He hunched his shoulders. “I never wanted you to go to that dreadful place, Annie.” He gestured to my leg. “Look what you’ve
done to yourself.”

“What I’ve done to
myself
?”

“Shush, shush, shush.”

“Did I hear right? It was either Saint Pat’s or Inch without my baby.”

“You just got off the critical list. Isn’t it obvious you should give up the baby?”

“My last?”

“Doctors always use scare tactics like that. I know Burke. An ignoramus. In three, four years, the scar tissue will heal.
You’re young, you’ll be able to have another baby.”

Truth for Eamonn was always what was most convenient for him. He was still mixing his own truth like a cocktail.

I said, “I’m so glad you went through all those years of medical school.”

“Believe in God, He can heal anything.”

I laughed aloud at his great sense of humor. “Do me one favor, Eamonn. Stop talking about adoption.”

“Isn’t God telling you what to do by punishing you like this?”

“
Punishing
me?”

“He gave you a blood clot.”

“God didn’t give me a blood clot! Are you crazy? That was due to an infection of the groin, which because of you no one bothered
to help me with.”

He took time out to tell me about a relative of his. “I would have come earlier, but Jenny almost died. Two blood clots in
her lung. I went to give her the last rites and stayed almost three days. I told her, ‘Jenny, this is what comes of disobeying
God and using birth control pills.’ “

“Jesus,” I screeched, “what kind of a Job’s comforter are you?” His maniac God was spreading blood clots all over the place
to prove he was right about adoption and birth control. How did his God find the time?

He said, “I told her that God was punishing her for her sins. She promised me she would never take those pills again.”

“Eamonn, I used to think you were really smart. Now I see you’re nothing but a thick Mick.”

He clutched both sides of his head, and groaned. Getting up, he drew the curtains around us as if this were a confessional.
“I did not come here to be abused.”

“Can’t you see,
you
are abusing
me
? Go away.”

My headache was worsening, I could feel my fever rising. “If you stay, tell me something nice. Let’s part on a happy note.”

He told me that Bridget had called to say she was getting married.

“Is that supposed to make me happy?” I said.

He smiled wryly as if to say, /
suppose not
. “The thing is, Annie, Wentworth is free to marry her.”

And you
, I thought,
are free to marry me, if only you had the guts for it. But you don’t know you are free and no one can prove you are except
yourself
.

Sister Steele came in and said, “My Lord, this patient is not allowed to have visitors for more than ten minutes.”

“I understand,” he said, without making a move.

Sister continued, “She seems to be raising her voice a lot, so if you would care to…”

Looking very irritated, he left.

I was on a drip for a week, during which Peter absorbed all my thoughts. There were times when I felt there was a river running
through my body and I was getting pains all over. Finally, I started hemorrhaging.

I called the nurse, who said, “You’re getting your period, that’s all.”

“It’s
not
all.”

Three hours later, when I got up from my bed, blood poured out of me. I needed about fifteen Kotexes. When my nose started
bleeding, the nurse got really scared. Every bit of my skin I touched or scratched started to bleed. I was scared, too, in
case my son was left without a mother.

A doctor came running and nurses were all around me. They had so thinned out my blood that it had practically turned to water.

I must have slept for five or six hours. When I woke up, whispering, “Where’s Peter?,” there was a whole convention of medics
around me. I saw I was on a monitor.

To make matters worse, in came Father Coughlin. He was picking up the sheet over the cradle to look at my leg.

“Get away from my feet, you.”

He jumped so high in the air I hoped he’d bang his head on the ceiling. “I’m not doing anything.”

“Tell him to get out,” I told the doctors.

They turned on him and cried in chorus, “Get out, get
out
,” and he went. Being near to death has some consolations.

The doctors had to get a balance between giving me too much and too little of the blood thinner. It meant I was in the Rotunda
for three weeks, during which Sister Steele became my minder. I told her that relieved as I was to be out of St. Patrick’s,
I was worried about Peter. I was grateful to Dr. Burke and the Bishop for seeing to it that the sisters gave Peter the best
of the best.

Eamonn came again to see me, of course, wearing his see-through smile. Instantly, Sister Steele was plumping my pillows, saying
how vital it was for me not to get excited.

“Her family’s been calling, Bishop. That’s marvelous, isn’t it?”

Eamonn looked daggers at her. He didn’t like being preached at. As soon as she left, he flicked the adoption papers under
my nose.

“Draw the curtains,” I said. “Good. Listen, give me those papers and I’ll rip them up.”

The fight had really started. “You know I can never have another child. Anyway, apart from my parents, my whole family knows
about my son. My brother Peter has promised to help me financially and you will have to chip in, too.”

“Well,” Eamonn said, “I’m not giving anything until —”

“Shut… up,” I said.

He moved closer to the bed and whispered, “Hear me out.”

I picked up the heavy metal jug beside my bed. “No, because I’m gonna knock you stone fucking cold.” I adopted my mother’s
drink-sodden voice.

He put his head in his hands. “Bang it, then, I don’t care. Go right ahead, but I’ll have my say.”

I screamed, “You will not!”

I lifted the jug when Sister Steele appeared. “Annie, put that down. Fine. Now, Bishop, come with me,” and she grabbed him
by the shoulder.

“I am not coming, woman.”

“
Bishop
, come… with…
me
.”

She signaled to another nurse to attend to me because I was shaking so. As Eamonn left with Sister Steele, the nurse said,
“Take it easy, Annie,” but I screamed after Eamonn, “I don’t want him anywhere near me.”

The nurse said, quietly, “He’s a bishop, Annie.”

“Haven’t
I
got any rights?” I raised my voice again: “Bishop, stay away.”

After I had calmed down, who should burst in but Bridget. “You’re not going to believe this, Murphy, but the Bishop just got
kicked out on his backside.” She paused to look at me. “My God, what happened to you?”

She ran out and returned with a couple of damp towels. While she cooled me down she explained that she had arrived just as
Sister Steele led Eamonn into her office. She had overheard everything. Sister invited him to sit down. He said, “I will not,”
and Sister said, “Then I will, Bishop, because I’m tired and, to be frank, I’m tired of you.” She told him he was not to visit
her ward again until I was ready to be discharged.

“Guess what else, Murphy? She told the bastard that if he came in once more he would be escorted out by security guards.”

“Never!”

Bridget roared with laughter. “True, Murphy. She said His Lordship would be literally thrown out of the building on his sacred
arse and the press would find out.”

“What else?”

“She told him your brother’s an advertising executive with a six-figure salary and your parents have a huge two-bedroom flat.
So, she told him, it’s silly to insist that the one and only baby she can have has to be adopted if she’s against it.”

“Marvelous.”

“Then she said, ‘Bishop, leave because I have no more time for you.’ She started to read her reports as if he’d vanished off
the face of the earth. And Eamonn said, ‘I’ll be damned. Never in my —’ and, without looking up, she said, ‘Well, Bishop,
there’s always a first time for everything.’ “

Later, Sister Steele came in to say, “You don’t have to worry about him anymore, Annie. He’s lost the game.”

It was true. Too many people knew about my baby now. I was even more cheered when the night nurse who was looking after Peter
at St. Pat’s called me to say the nuns loved him and Shelagh and Morag and everyone who cared about me were taking turns hugging
him.

“Those girls are terrific,” I said.

“They certainly are, Annie. And remember, by their own choice they’re not keeping their babies.”

I could not speak for some while, I was so overwhelmed at the goodness of people who were despised.

“When you get back, Annie,” the night nurse said, “I’ll tell you just how unusual your kid is. One thing, milk doesn’t seem
to agree with him. I wanted to change it, but the doctor says no. Apart from that, he’s a perfect gem.”

I put down the telephone with tears running down my cheeks, but I sensed victory.

I
KEPT CALLING the U.S. embassy to get Peter on my passport. It was early September, after the tourist season.

A woman in the passport section said, “I’ll call you back,” but she didn’t. I spoke to man named Geraghty. He said, “Back
with you soon,” followed by silence. Every time I phoned and said I was Annie Murphy, they hung up on me.

“It’s obviously the Bishop,” Sister Steele said. “Standing at that phone box is not doing your leg any good.” She provided
me with a chair. Sometimes, she let me use the phone in her office. I telephoned Harry Burke and he tried. He called me back
to say, “No use. It’s Eamonn. Who else? Maybe he wants you to stand at that coin box till you have another blood clot and
die.”

Bridget went to the embassy and came back dejected. “I waited around for two bloody hours, Murphy. As soon as I mentioned
your name, they shunted me into a little parlor and forgot all about me. Eamonn’s done another bad thing.”

After four fruitless days, I called him. “I don’t need you,” I said, “but I’m giving you a choice. Either you help me or I
call my father.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Remove the red tape so I can get Peter on my passport.”

“You really think I have anything to do with that?”

“I’m in Sister’s office.” I gave him the number. “If I don’t hear from you in two hours, I’m calling Daddy.”

He called me back within the hour. “I’ve arranged to have the baby’s picture taken at the home. I’ll bring it to the Rotunda
when I pick you up to take you to the embassy.”

“When?”

“Today’s Wednesday. I’ll call for you on Friday.”

“Don’t forget to make an appointment.”

“I already have.”

“Thank you,” and I hung up.

On Friday, Eamonn drove me the couple of miles to the embassy, where a snooty Irish lady handed me my passport with Peter’s
name on it. It made him so much more mine. When I went back to the car, I practically fell into Eamonn’s arms out of gratitude.

“Keep your distance,” he said, in a cold, heart-russetting tone. “Haven’t I risked enough driving you here?”

“Right,” I said, climbing out.

“What on earth are you doing?”

“I’m taking a cab.”

“Annie, please appreciate my position. I called the embassy for you, I braved that dragon of a sister in the Rotunda. I reckon
she knows and Bridget knows. This whole damn thing could blow up in my face.”

“Sorry,” I said, getting back in the car. “Why should you risk guilt by association?”

He was still going on about Sister Steele. “Never in my life have I been treated like that.”

I reacted angrily again. “With you, it’s always me, me, me. Think how you treated
me
.”

“You are innocent, are you?”

“No, but I’ve been paying for what I did.”

“Look at the cost to me.”

“You mean,” I said gratefully, “you are going to provide money for your son?”

“Money?” He had never heard the word before.

“Eamonn,” I said, “you are the boy’s father. You want me to take him home penniless?”

“I’ll think about it.”

He dropped me off at the Rotunda and arranged to pick me up the next day.

On Saturday, he arrived with Pat. She kissed me and whispered, “I’m so glad you decided to keep your baby. He’s a beauty.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“When we went out to the home to take his picture.”

She explained that Eamonn’s idea was for me to spend a couple of days with Helena to get used to my baby again. How I loved
the sound of that. I had missed him so.