been calling you for days.”
He looked at her bulging stomach. “I thought you might have had it done somewhere
else.”
She shook her head. “No. You’re going to do it.”
Israel stared at her. “Haven’t you understood anything I told you? It’s too late! No
one’s going to do it.”
He saw the empty bottles of milk and the fresh fruit on the table, then looked back at
her. “You do want the baby,” he said. “Why won’t you admit it?”
“Tell me, Israel, what’s he like now?”
“Who?”
“The baby. Does he have eyes and ears? Does he have fingers and toes? Can he feel
pain?”
“For Christ’s sake, Noelle, stop it. You talk as if…as if…”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head in despair. “I don’t understand you.”
She smiled softly. “No. You don’t.”
He stood there a moment, making up his mind.
“All right, I’m putting my ass in a sling for you, but if you’re really determined to
have an abortion, let’s get it over with. I have a doctor friend who owes me a favor.
He’ll…”
“No.”
He stared at her.
“Larry’s not ready yet,” she said.
Three weeks later at four o’clock in the morning, Israel Katz was awakened by a
furious concierge pounding on his door. “Telephone, Monsieur Night Owl!” he yelled.
“And tell your caller that it is the middle of the night, when respectable people are
asleep!”
Israel stumbled out of bed and sleepily made his way down the hall to the telephone,
wondering what crisis had arisen. He picked up the receiver.
“Israel?”
He did not recognize the voice at the other end of the phone.
“Yes?”
“Now…” It was a whisper, disembodied and anonymous.
“Who is this?”