Camera
By James Duncan MFAX'04
Robert wanted to get out of there: he was sick of the room, the hospital, the camera, the woman. But nothing was happening, and all he could think was, She reminds me of you.
He was supposed to be filming this woman giving birth. That was the job. It was for an educational video. The woman's name was Elisabeth, and she'd been in labor for eighteen hours, and all they had so far was setup: dilation reports, contraction timing, nurses bustling in to press here and there under the woman's checkered gown, the husband bent over the bed.
The room was small, so Robert couldn't really get much else by way of variety. He was sick of the room. It was one-thirty in the morning, and everyone kept wiping their eyes like they'd all just come up from a cave into bright sunlight, although here it was just rows of hospital fluorescents running along the ceiling. He was sick of being cramped in a corner with all the equipment — the camera and the tripod, the lighting, the half-size audio board. He was sick of the white walls and the beeping gray heart monitor trailing away from the woman's left hand to the computer beside the bed. He was sick of the antiseptic smell. Above the door was a round green clock with birds for hands, and in the corner next to it, a television looked down on them from a set of steel arms, and he was sick of those, too. He had to keep making sure the television wasn't getting in his shots, because otherwise you could see him reflected in its screen, peering into the camera.
Okay, the doctor said, we'll wait it out. He was a bearded, competent-looking man with wire-rimmed glasses, and he came in occasionally to reassure the woman and the husband that things were proceeding normally and to say that if they needed anything, they should ask the nurse. He ignored the camera — he seemed offended by it. Robert had several shots of him going out and coming back in and saying these things.
Robert wanted to get out of there: he was sick of the room, the hospital, the camera, the woman. But nothing was happening, and all he could think was, She reminds me of you.
He was supposed to be filming this woman giving birth. That was the job. It was for an educational video. The woman's name was Elisabeth, and she'd been in labor for eighteen hours, and all they had so far was setup: dilation reports, contraction timing, nurses bustling in to press here and there under the woman's checkered gown, the husband bent over the bed.
The room was small, so Robert couldn't really get much else by way of variety. He was sick of the room. It was one-thirty in the morning, and everyone kept wiping their eyes like they'd all just come up from a cave into bright sunlight, although here it was just rows of hospital fluorescents running along the ceiling. He was sick of being cramped in a corner with all the equipment — the camera and the tripod, the lighting, the half-size audio board. He was sick of the white walls and the beeping gray heart monitor trailing away from the woman's left hand to the computer beside the bed. He was sick of the antiseptic smell. Above the door was a round green clock with birds for hands, and in the corner next to it, a television looked down on them from a set of steel arms, and he was sick of those, too. He had to keep making sure the television wasn't getting in his shots, because otherwise you could see him reflected in its screen, peering into the camera.
Okay, the doctor said, we'll wait it out. He was a bearded, competent-looking man with wire-rimmed glasses, and he came in occasionally to reassure the woman and the husband that things were proceeding normally and to say that if they needed anything, they should ask the nurse. He ignored the camera — he seemed offended by it. Robert had several shots of him going out and coming back in and saying these things.
The husband's name was Chet, or Chester — something like that. Robert couldn't remember. The man was a hulking giant. He had fit himself uncomfortably into the pair of black vinyl seats next to the bed and wouldn't stop tapping his feet. Robert thought he probably weighed three, three-fifty. He had on a blue baseball cap and a shabby gold sweatshirt. When he moved, it was like this colossal shifting in the room, and everyone was thrown off balance. It was like gravity. If he got in the frame, Robert had to pull back the zoom, because otherwise there was this wall taking up half the shot, this big gold wall. He loomed over the bed when the contractions came, his hands enveloping hers, like he could contain what was happening, like he could hold it there for her.
There hadn't been a contraction in a while. It was one-thirty in the morning. Robert sat behind the camera on a plastic stool he'd brought with him and occasionally adjusted the tripod level. Carmichael, the producer, sat behind him and watched. Earlier he'd been reading a newspaper, but now he just watched. It was just them and the wife and the husband in the room right now, and nobody was saying anything. They all stared off in different directions and occasionally dozed off. The wife lay on the bed, damp blond hair spread out all over the pillow, eyes closed. She had pale, freckled skin that turned ghostly when Robert set the lighting too high, so now he was just using a couple of bulbs and a reflector, and that helped.
Robert was sick of the woman. She was in the center of the room, and most of the time he had to keep his camera on her in case something started to happen, and he was trying to be compassionate, sure, to put himself in her shoes and all that, but he was exhausted. Carmichael had said a couple hours, tops, and he couldn't stop thinking, feverishly: She reminds me of you. She reminds me of you. And he was trying like crazy not to think that.
There hadn't been a contraction in a while. It was one-thirty in the morning. Robert sat behind the camera on a plastic stool he'd brought with him and occasionally adjusted the tripod level. Carmichael, the producer, sat behind him and watched. Earlier he'd been reading a newspaper, but now he just watched. It was just them and the wife and the husband in the room right now, and nobody was saying anything. They all stared off in different directions and occasionally dozed off. The wife lay on the bed, damp blond hair spread out all over the pillow, eyes closed. She had pale, freckled skin that turned ghostly when Robert set the lighting too high, so now he was just using a couple of bulbs and a reflector, and that helped.
Robert was sick of the woman. She was in the center of the room, and most of the time he had to keep his camera on her in case something started to happen, and he was trying to be compassionate, sure, to put himself in her shoes and all that, but he was exhausted. Carmichael had said a couple hours, tops, and he couldn't stop thinking, feverishly: She reminds me of you. She reminds me of you. And he was trying like crazy not to think that.
It was the desperation, mostly. In that last hour the woman — Elisabeth — gripped the side of the bed, the husband, the sheets, anything she could get her hands on. When her eyes weren't squeezed shut, they were wide and unfocused, like she could maybe grab hold of everything else if she just looked hard enough. This was how Wanda, his wife, had been all the time. She was going to be a famous actor. She had eaten her food in great gulping bites and exercised furiously four times a week, and she threw herself into everything she did.
This was something he thought he loved about her, that she could want things so much, that she could want him so much. When they made love, she shrieked and thrashed around — she lost herself in it. He used to stare at her afterward while her eyes flickered with sleep. He thought she probably never knew that.
She had died almost a year ago. Robert had been at home, watching television in the dark and drinking a beer and thinking that this was nice, the quiet. He was thinking he was glad that Wanda had gone out to some audition and that he was alone. Lately things had been tense. They'd begun saying cruel things to each other. He accused her of always condescending to him because he was just the cameraman and she was the soon-to-be-famous actor. He accused her of only loving him because he was there to watch her and admire her. She accused him of being cold and removed from the world.
This was something he thought he loved about her, that she could want things so much, that she could want him so much. When they made love, she shrieked and thrashed around — she lost herself in it. He used to stare at her afterward while her eyes flickered with sleep. He thought she probably never knew that.
She had died almost a year ago. Robert had been at home, watching television in the dark and drinking a beer and thinking that this was nice, the quiet. He was thinking he was glad that Wanda had gone out to some audition and that he was alone. Lately things had been tense. They'd begun saying cruel things to each other. He accused her of always condescending to him because he was just the cameraman and she was the soon-to-be-famous actor. He accused her of only loving him because he was there to watch her and admire her. She accused him of being cold and removed from the world.
He didn't know exactly what had happened to them, or if he meant the things he'd said. They'd been married for two years, and already there had been fights. She had thrown things. He had yelled. These cruel things had been said.
Then the phone had rung, and suddenly he was rushing to the hospital, where she lay gashed and broken under the glaring emergency room lights, and nothing was making sense to him. There were cops. They said she'd been hit by a car in a supermarket parking lot. They said they had nine witnesses, but nobody agreed on anything — people said the car was blue, that it was green, that it was a sports car, that it was definitely a Ford, that it was definitely something German, that it was a sedan. They said there was a guy with dark hair, the driver. They said there was a woman in the back seat, and one at least said the car was packed with teenagers. None of this made sense. One cop said, Look, eyewitness testimony can be unreliable in high-speed, high-stress situations. People think they know what they saw, but they aren't cameras, and Robert said, bitterly, Gee, you think?
The cops were young and seemed embarrassed by his reaction. He didn't care. He kept trying to picture how this had happened, how you get run over in a parking lot — a parking lot. The whole thing didn't add up. But there she lay: tubes running all over the place, feet splayed out past the edge of the table. The paramedics had cut most of her blue cashmere sweater off and replaced it with gauze wrappings and IV needles, and for some reason she had only one shoe on, a scuffed brown loafer.
Then the phone had rung, and suddenly he was rushing to the hospital, where she lay gashed and broken under the glaring emergency room lights, and nothing was making sense to him. There were cops. They said she'd been hit by a car in a supermarket parking lot. They said they had nine witnesses, but nobody agreed on anything — people said the car was blue, that it was green, that it was a sports car, that it was definitely a Ford, that it was definitely something German, that it was a sedan. They said there was a guy with dark hair, the driver. They said there was a woman in the back seat, and one at least said the car was packed with teenagers. None of this made sense. One cop said, Look, eyewitness testimony can be unreliable in high-speed, high-stress situations. People think they know what they saw, but they aren't cameras, and Robert said, bitterly, Gee, you think?
The cops were young and seemed embarrassed by his reaction. He didn't care. He kept trying to picture how this had happened, how you get run over in a parking lot — a parking lot. The whole thing didn't add up. But there she lay: tubes running all over the place, feet splayed out past the edge of the table. The paramedics had cut most of her blue cashmere sweater off and replaced it with gauze wrappings and IV needles, and for some reason she had only one shoe on, a scuffed brown loafer.
He kept fixating on that. He wanted to know where that other shoe was. He felt that if he could find the shoe, she would be okay. Later this seemed to be the only thing he could remember: the shoe, and the blackened cotton sock on her other foot.
He rushed around, demanding things. He tried wildly to think of why he'd ever said anything mean to her, ever, why he'd ever thought he might not love her. A middle-aged nurse with squinty eyes came out and said things were still touch and go. Robert sat down and thought that was a ridiculous expression, touch and go. What did it even mean? He thought about that and made outrageous promises to himself about how he was going to change, everything was going to change, if she lived. Then there was a sudden commotion, shouting. She had flat-lined. The doctors and nurses crowded around, and Robert tried to see but couldn't. They kept him out. Then a doctor emerged: too much internal hemorrhaging. They were very sorry. They truly were.
He rushed around, demanding things. He tried wildly to think of why he'd ever said anything mean to her, ever, why he'd ever thought he might not love her. A middle-aged nurse with squinty eyes came out and said things were still touch and go. Robert sat down and thought that was a ridiculous expression, touch and go. What did it even mean? He thought about that and made outrageous promises to himself about how he was going to change, everything was going to change, if she lived. Then there was a sudden commotion, shouting. She had flat-lined. The doctors and nurses crowded around, and Robert tried to see but couldn't. They kept him out. Then a doctor emerged: too much internal hemorrhaging. They were very sorry. They truly were.
Robert had spoken with the husband when he was first setting up the equipment. Chet-or-Chester had introduced himself and shook Robert's hand and said it was a pleasure to make his acquaintance.
So, Robert said. Having a baby.
Yep, the husband said. He smiled massively.
Robert hated him, briefly. He didn't want to see these people have their Big Moment for the camera. He didn't want to see them be happy. He hated them for having each other, for being here. He hated Carmichael for making him come and watch this and get it on film forever. It was just a freelance job, but Robert needed the money. He hadn't worked much in the last year. He was such a mess after Wanda died, and nobody hired mourners. They got too uncomfortable.
It was like when this guy Joey's mother had died. Joey was a cameraman, too, and he and Robert were shooting this cleaning product commercial together, which was actually the job where he'd met Wanda. She was the star. Joey had come in and seemed fine until he just started weeping halfway through the second take. They had to stop everything. They had to tell everyone to take five. Wanda put down her sponge. They said, Joey, what's going on over there? Your camera's pointing the wrong way. Joey spilled the whole story. They said, Hey, Joey, go home, why don't you, you big lug? Who comes to work the day after his mother dies? Then later they told him, Why don't you just take the whole week off? You don't just recover from that in a day, and we're just about wrapping it up anyway. We'll call you if we need you. But they never did. Robert shot the whole thing himself, Wanda and the sponge in the bright open kitchen.
So, Robert said. Having a baby.
Yep, the husband said. He smiled massively.
Robert hated him, briefly. He didn't want to see these people have their Big Moment for the camera. He didn't want to see them be happy. He hated them for having each other, for being here. He hated Carmichael for making him come and watch this and get it on film forever. It was just a freelance job, but Robert needed the money. He hadn't worked much in the last year. He was such a mess after Wanda died, and nobody hired mourners. They got too uncomfortable.
It was like when this guy Joey's mother had died. Joey was a cameraman, too, and he and Robert were shooting this cleaning product commercial together, which was actually the job where he'd met Wanda. She was the star. Joey had come in and seemed fine until he just started weeping halfway through the second take. They had to stop everything. They had to tell everyone to take five. Wanda put down her sponge. They said, Joey, what's going on over there? Your camera's pointing the wrong way. Joey spilled the whole story. They said, Hey, Joey, go home, why don't you, you big lug? Who comes to work the day after his mother dies? Then later they told him, Why don't you just take the whole week off? You don't just recover from that in a day, and we're just about wrapping it up anyway. We'll call you if we need you. But they never did. Robert shot the whole thing himself, Wanda and the sponge in the bright open kitchen.
Between takes, Wanda came over, and they flirted a little bit. He thought she was beautiful in the monitor, the way her brown hair framed her face, the way her eyes seemed to come through the screen and look right at him. A few months later, they were on a date at a street fair, and they saw Joey taking novelty pictures at this stand where kids could ride a camel.
For God's sake, Robert said to Wanda later, a camel. A big mangy camel. They giggled a little, and she clung fiercely to his arm. This was before they had begun saying cruel things to each other, and before he'd lost the chance to make anything better.
The husband was still talking. We're very excited about this, he said. He was pacing a little and was already breathing loudly, a thin sheen of sweat rising on his forehead. He couldn't pace very far and could barely squeeze himself past Robert's equipment, but it was like he couldn't stop hauling himself around. Robert wished the guy would just sit down and be quiet. He was thinking it was just a couple hours, and then he could go home and sit in the dark and try to understand what had happened to his life.
Then they wheeled the wife in, Elisabeth, and he saw the look in her eyes and the way she reached out for the husband, and he thought for the first time: She reminds me of you.
For God's sake, Robert said to Wanda later, a camel. A big mangy camel. They giggled a little, and she clung fiercely to his arm. This was before they had begun saying cruel things to each other, and before he'd lost the chance to make anything better.
The husband was still talking. We're very excited about this, he said. He was pacing a little and was already breathing loudly, a thin sheen of sweat rising on his forehead. He couldn't pace very far and could barely squeeze himself past Robert's equipment, but it was like he couldn't stop hauling himself around. Robert wished the guy would just sit down and be quiet. He was thinking it was just a couple hours, and then he could go home and sit in the dark and try to understand what had happened to his life.
Then they wheeled the wife in, Elisabeth, and he saw the look in her eyes and the way she reached out for the husband, and he thought for the first time: She reminds me of you.
They still showed the commercial for the cleaning product. It ran on three networks during prime time, and Robert couldn't get away from it. In it, Wanda has these kids. They just run wild through the blue-and-white tiled kitchen, juice and mud and spaghetti sauce and finger paint. What's she going to do? She doesn't get mad. Kids are kids, is what her expression says. She just pulls out the product, and like magic, everything's clean and new. Then there's this closing shot, a close-up of Wanda with the product, smiling. This is the shot that always got him. He still remembered it. Joey was long gone, and he'd got her square in the monitor and almost forgot to make sure the product was there, too. She seemed so beautiful. She looked straight into his camera and gave this sly little smile, and even though Robert was across the room, it was like this was all he could see. He was almost glad Joey was gone so that his was the only camera she'd look at. He told her that on their third date, and she touched his cheek and said he was sweet, wasn't he sweet?
When he saw it now, he couldn't stop watching. It was like she had this whole other life on the screen, this life with kids and messes. Somewhere behind all that was Robert, watching, seeing what her life was really like. He was beginning to think he had no idea. Because after she died, he went to pick up her car, still parked at the supermarket, and in the passenger seat he'd found a small paper bag containing a white receipt and a box of condoms. They didn't use condoms.
When he saw it now, he couldn't stop watching. It was like she had this whole other life on the screen, this life with kids and messes. Somewhere behind all that was Robert, watching, seeing what her life was really like. He was beginning to think he had no idea. Because after she died, he went to pick up her car, still parked at the supermarket, and in the passenger seat he'd found a small paper bag containing a white receipt and a box of condoms. They didn't use condoms.
It hadn't occurred to him before to wonder what she was doing at the supermarket. She'd said she was going to an audition, and all he'd said was, Okay, see you later. He used to wish her good luck and kiss her and see, in her eyes, how she wanted him, and then he couldn't wait for her to get back. This was before he'd begun to see, too, in her eyes, how hungry she was to be loved by everyone, how she would flirt with waiters at restaurants and other actors and even other cameramen when he was right there on the set. He'd become bitter and filled with the sense that he was being used in some way. He was angry that he loved her and that she seemed to see him as another member of her audience. But he hadn't thought that things had come to this: that somewhere on the night she died, some man was waiting, wondering what had happened and why she hadn't shown up, while Robert sat at home and thought he was glad to be alone.
Earlier they had pulled in a cot for the husband, and now he was lying on it, but Robert couldn't figure out how. The frame looked spindly, thin metal rods draped with canvas. It creaked whenever he shifted his weight around, as though it might collapse at any moment. The wife seemed a little more awake now, staring up at the ceiling, bag-eyed and pale. They'd dripped some Pitocin into her a few hours ago to try to speed things along, and the contractions started up again. But soon she was shrieking with pain, so they gave her an epidural, straight into the spine. Carmichael had Robert get a medium-wide shot so you could see the needle slip in under the skin and get everyone's reaction. The husband sucked in his breath sharply and turned away, but the wife grabbed him hard, and he came back. Now she seemed okay, but nothing was happening. The doctor was talking more Pitocin. When he said it, the husband got this look on his face, like he wanted this to be over but at the same time remembered the shrieking. Then he shifted and they all shifted with him, all on the same listing ship.
God, Robert thought, he's big.
In the monitor he had the wife's face centered. She was still watching the ceiling, hands on her distended stomach, fingers moving over the sheets. The desperate look was still there, and Robert was still trying not to think about Wanda. He was still trying not to think that this man, the man who sent her to that supermarket parking lot, might have been at that funeral.
God, Robert thought, he's big.
In the monitor he had the wife's face centered. She was still watching the ceiling, hands on her distended stomach, fingers moving over the sheets. The desperate look was still there, and Robert was still trying not to think about Wanda. He was still trying not to think that this man, the man who sent her to that supermarket parking lot, might have been at that funeral.
Carmichael had gone out for a while, but now he came back and asked how everything was going. Robert said, Same deal.
It was two-fifteen in the morning. Robert asked how many establishing shots they needed. He'd gone out earlier and done the hospital from the outside and the hallways and the room so that they'd have some intro material. That was just part of the job. He didn't say how he'd stood in the parking lot with the camera off and tried to figure out how anyone could even get up to forty.
He'd spent a lot of time in the other parking lot, thinking that. Afterward. He'd stood there and thought about how he was really alone now, as he'd thought he wanted. He'd looked across the concrete at the black skids where the car had peeled around the corner and wondered if she'd been thinking about him or this other guy, wondered if she, too, was just trying to figure out how to be happy. But of course he couldn't know, any more than the police knew who was in that car.
Carmichael sat down and said maybe Robert should take five, go walk around. Robert said sure.
It was two-fifteen in the morning. Robert asked how many establishing shots they needed. He'd gone out earlier and done the hospital from the outside and the hallways and the room so that they'd have some intro material. That was just part of the job. He didn't say how he'd stood in the parking lot with the camera off and tried to figure out how anyone could even get up to forty.
He'd spent a lot of time in the other parking lot, thinking that. Afterward. He'd stood there and thought about how he was really alone now, as he'd thought he wanted. He'd looked across the concrete at the black skids where the car had peeled around the corner and wondered if she'd been thinking about him or this other guy, wondered if she, too, was just trying to figure out how to be happy. But of course he couldn't know, any more than the police knew who was in that car.
Carmichael sat down and said maybe Robert should take five, go walk around. Robert said sure.
Out in the hall, it was quiet. There was a little waiting area off to the right, and he wandered around in there, picked up a few magazines and put them back down again, stared at the colored candy wrappers by the vending machine. A man and two young kids were curled up in one of the chairs under a white blanket, sleeping. The reception desk was empty. After a few minutes, the husband came out, too, lumbering through the rows of upholstered chairs, and stood next to Robert at the vending machine. He exhaled heavily.
So, he said after a moment. Educational video, huh?
Guess so, Robert said. For schools.
Chet-or-Chester was quiet again, looking at the vending machine. This was my wife's idea, he said. She's the one who saw the ad and said we could get two grand for this.
Robert didn't say anything. He didn't really want to talk to this guy. He just wanted them to have their kid. He'd film the whole thing, and years later, they'd still be showing it to bored middle-schoolers in health ed.
You married? Chet-or-Chester asked.
Robert said yes. He still wore his wedding ring, and it was the easiest explanation.
Got any kids?
So, he said after a moment. Educational video, huh?
Guess so, Robert said. For schools.
Chet-or-Chester was quiet again, looking at the vending machine. This was my wife's idea, he said. She's the one who saw the ad and said we could get two grand for this.
Robert didn't say anything. He didn't really want to talk to this guy. He just wanted them to have their kid. He'd film the whole thing, and years later, they'd still be showing it to bored middle-schoolers in health ed.
You married? Chet-or-Chester asked.
Robert said yes. He still wore his wedding ring, and it was the easiest explanation.
Got any kids?
No, Robert said. No kids.
The husband shook his head. It was like a boulder moving. Taking a long time, he said. Don't know if that's good or bad or what.
I'm sure it's fine, Robert said, like he knew what he was talking about.
The husband leaned into the vending machine, head down. I hope so, he said. Look, I'm gonna tell you something here.
Robert waited. He didn't want the husband to tell him anything. There were so many things he wished he didn't know already.
The last one, the husband said. We lost the last one. He looked over at Robert. His eyes were red-rimmed and set deep in his flesh.
I'm sorry, Robert said.
It was a stillbirth. We were here twenty hours, and finally he comes out, and he wasn't breathing or nothing. They tried all sorts of stuff, but that was pretty much it, said it was just one of those things that happens. No reason. He put his hands in his pockets and looked back toward the room. Marriage is funny, you know? After that, I thought we were done. I thought we'd just fall apart. We kind of did for a while. But here we are, you know? Funny.
The husband shook his head. It was like a boulder moving. Taking a long time, he said. Don't know if that's good or bad or what.
I'm sure it's fine, Robert said, like he knew what he was talking about.
The husband leaned into the vending machine, head down. I hope so, he said. Look, I'm gonna tell you something here.
Robert waited. He didn't want the husband to tell him anything. There were so many things he wished he didn't know already.
The last one, the husband said. We lost the last one. He looked over at Robert. His eyes were red-rimmed and set deep in his flesh.
I'm sorry, Robert said.
It was a stillbirth. We were here twenty hours, and finally he comes out, and he wasn't breathing or nothing. They tried all sorts of stuff, but that was pretty much it, said it was just one of those things that happens. No reason. He put his hands in his pockets and looked back toward the room. Marriage is funny, you know? After that, I thought we were done. I thought we'd just fall apart. We kind of did for a while. But here we are, you know? Funny.
Sure, Robert said. Sure, I know.
We didn't say anything when we signed up for this. My wife's got it in her head now that this one has to be all right, that we're going to take this money and start a college fund and that God is looking out for us now, that this is what's going to happen. But look, he said, I've got a favor to ask.
Okay, Robert said.
I'm not stupid, the husband said. I know what could happen. If it starts looking bad, you've got to stop the camera. Because if this is just another stillbirth, I don't think she could stand having it all on tape somewhere. And I don't think I could do anything to help that. You know?
Robert thought about it, about how just the fact of the tape's existence would be too much. There shouldn't ever be a tape like that. He wondered what he would do if there was a tape of Wanda in that parking lot. Rip it out of the camera, take it outside, burn it. He thought about that cleaning product commercial and how he couldn't ever stop watching it, seeing her whole, knowing he was behind the shot.
Sure, Robert said.
So I'll see you back in there then, the husband said. And thanks. He started himself back toward the room. He still had his head down, his arms wrapped in front of him, as if he was just doing what he had to do. Somehow he looked smaller.
Chester, Robert thought suddenly. His name is Chester.
We didn't say anything when we signed up for this. My wife's got it in her head now that this one has to be all right, that we're going to take this money and start a college fund and that God is looking out for us now, that this is what's going to happen. But look, he said, I've got a favor to ask.
Okay, Robert said.
I'm not stupid, the husband said. I know what could happen. If it starts looking bad, you've got to stop the camera. Because if this is just another stillbirth, I don't think she could stand having it all on tape somewhere. And I don't think I could do anything to help that. You know?
Robert thought about it, about how just the fact of the tape's existence would be too much. There shouldn't ever be a tape like that. He wondered what he would do if there was a tape of Wanda in that parking lot. Rip it out of the camera, take it outside, burn it. He thought about that cleaning product commercial and how he couldn't ever stop watching it, seeing her whole, knowing he was behind the shot.
Sure, Robert said.
So I'll see you back in there then, the husband said. And thanks. He started himself back toward the room. He still had his head down, his arms wrapped in front of him, as if he was just doing what he had to do. Somehow he looked smaller.
Chester, Robert thought suddenly. His name is Chester.
When he got back, the wife was sitting up, and the nurses were bustling again, and the doctor was back, checking the wife's dilation under the sheet. One of the nurses was examining the monitors and the long strip of printouts. Robert took his seat behind the camera, and Carmichael said, Now, be sure you get all this, this is why we're here.
The wife looked glassy but conscious, and the husband was back in the chair next to her, enormous hands in his lap. A couple times he started to reach out for her, but then he didn't, and every time she moved a little, he did, too, except in him everything was magnified. Robert had both of them in the shot — just barely squeezed in, but you could see everything. He could see how the wife relaxed a little when the husband got closer, how her desperation was mixed with terror, how she thought that things would be fine if everyone was just there watching her.
Carmichael stood up and then sat down again. In Robert's monitor, the wife's eyes were shut, and the husband finally got her hands in his. He was leaning in, whispering something Robert couldn't quite hear above the nurses and the hum of the monitoring equipment, but his lips moved rapidly and soundlessly. The wife was staring up at the ceiling, her mouth in a thin, straight line. He couldn't tell if she was listening to what the husband was saying. Maybe the important thing was just that he was talking.
The wife looked glassy but conscious, and the husband was back in the chair next to her, enormous hands in his lap. A couple times he started to reach out for her, but then he didn't, and every time she moved a little, he did, too, except in him everything was magnified. Robert had both of them in the shot — just barely squeezed in, but you could see everything. He could see how the wife relaxed a little when the husband got closer, how her desperation was mixed with terror, how she thought that things would be fine if everyone was just there watching her.
Carmichael stood up and then sat down again. In Robert's monitor, the wife's eyes were shut, and the husband finally got her hands in his. He was leaning in, whispering something Robert couldn't quite hear above the nurses and the hum of the monitoring equipment, but his lips moved rapidly and soundlessly. The wife was staring up at the ceiling, her mouth in a thin, straight line. He couldn't tell if she was listening to what the husband was saying. Maybe the important thing was just that he was talking.
Robert wondered what was going to happen: if he was going to have to stop the camera, if this was going to save them or tear them apart.
Okay, one of the nurses said, here we go.
The wife had her legs up now on wide, gray stirrups and like before the nurses said push while the husband counted off to ten. Robert thought, Is this where we were headed? Is this what we were trying for? I don't even know anymore. I don't even know what we wanted, what I wanted. I thought I knew, but I had no idea.
The doctor waited at the edge of the bed. Through the monitor, it was like they were all actors and in a minute someone would say, Good take, everyone. Let's run it again from a different angle. But then he'd look up and see how the husband leaned in, talking, how the wife squeezed her eyes shut, and he thought no, there weren't any takes here. Whatever happened, they would all be picturing this in their heads for years. Maybe all over the country, eyes would study this, try to work out what was going on and how, not knowing that sometimes you don't even know what's happened much less what's going to happen. They'll watch it, but they'll still have no idea. How could they know a thing about it?
Okay, one of the nurses said, here we go.
The wife had her legs up now on wide, gray stirrups and like before the nurses said push while the husband counted off to ten. Robert thought, Is this where we were headed? Is this what we were trying for? I don't even know anymore. I don't even know what we wanted, what I wanted. I thought I knew, but I had no idea.
The doctor waited at the edge of the bed. Through the monitor, it was like they were all actors and in a minute someone would say, Good take, everyone. Let's run it again from a different angle. But then he'd look up and see how the husband leaned in, talking, how the wife squeezed her eyes shut, and he thought no, there weren't any takes here. Whatever happened, they would all be picturing this in their heads for years. Maybe all over the country, eyes would study this, try to work out what was going on and how, not knowing that sometimes you don't even know what's happened much less what's going to happen. They'll watch it, but they'll still have no idea. How could they know a thing about it?
Ten, the husband said, and the wife released, fell back a little.
One more time, the nurse said, and that ought to do it.
One, the husband said. The wife strained again, face and arms and body clenched up, and Robert leaned forward even more, because he was rooting for this kid. He was rooting for the parents. He was rooting, Let this work, please. For God's sake, let this one be fine. He wasn't even watching the monitor anymore, and as the husband said seven, the head emerged, hairless and gray, and then all at once the rest poured out into the nurse's arms, and here he was, out in the world, slick and naked, and howling.
Look at that, he said. Will you look at that.
One more time, the nurse said, and that ought to do it.
One, the husband said. The wife strained again, face and arms and body clenched up, and Robert leaned forward even more, because he was rooting for this kid. He was rooting for the parents. He was rooting, Let this work, please. For God's sake, let this one be fine. He wasn't even watching the monitor anymore, and as the husband said seven, the head emerged, hairless and gray, and then all at once the rest poured out into the nurse's arms, and here he was, out in the world, slick and naked, and howling.
Look at that, he said. Will you look at that.
