same night Wilbur Larch and Homer Wells weren't sleeping either. Larch sat at the typewriter in Nurse Angela's office; through the window, he saw Homer Wells walking around outside, with an oil lamp in the darkness. What is the matter now? Larch wondered, and went to see what Homer was doing.
“I couldn't sleep,” Homer told Larch.
“What is it this time?” Dr Larch asked Homer.
“Maybe it's just an owl,” said Homer Wells. The wind was strong, which was unusual for St. Cloud's. When the wind blew out the lamp, the doctor and his assistant saw the light shining from the window of Nurse Angela's office. It was the only light for miles around, and it made their shadows gigantic. Larch's shadow reached the black woods. Homer Wells's shadow touched the dark sky. Only then both men noticed: Homer had grown taller than Dr Larch.
Larch spread his arms so that his shadow looked like a magician. Larch flapped his arms like a big bat. “Look!” he said to Homer. I'm a wizard!”
Homer Wells, the wizard's apprentice, flapped his arms, too.
The wind was very strong and fresh. The stars shone bright and cold.
“Feel that wind,” said Homer Wells; maybe the wind didn't let them sleep.
“It's a wind coming from the coast,” Wilbur Larch said. It was a rare sea breeze, Larch was sure.
“Wherever it's from, it's nice,” Homer Wells decided.
Both men stood sniffing the wind. Each man thought: “What is going to happen to me?”
5. Homer Breaks a Promise
Before this morning, Homer Wells had not had an occasion to think about the soul. A study of the soul had not been a part of his training.
Dr Larch had asked Homer to prepare a fetus for an autopsy.
A woman had been stabbed, or she had stabbed herself; the pregnancy of the woman was nearly full-term. Dr Larch had attempted to rescue the child but the child – or, rather, the embryo, nearly nine months – had also been stabbed. Like its mother, the baby (the boy) had died. Dr Larch had asked Homer to help him determine the cause of death.
Homer cut the little body. He had never looked inside a fetus before. What was the life of the embryo but a history of development? Homer turned to the section in Gray's devoted to the embryo. It was a shock for him to remember that the book did not begin with the embryo; it ended with it. The embryo was the last thing which was considered.
In Gray's Homer saw the profile view of the head of a human embryo at twenty-seven days old. It didn't look like human: it had a face of a fish. But in eight weeks the fetus has a nose and a mouth. “It has an expression,” thought Homer Wells. And with this discovery – that a fetus has an expression — Homer Wells felt the presence of a soul.
He put the little dead body in a white enamel examining tray. The tiny fingers of its hands were slightly open.
The color of the dead baby was gray. Homer turned to the sink and vomited in it. When he turned on water to clean the sink, the old pipes vibrated and howled; he thought that the room was trembling because of the pipes. He wasn't thinking about the wind from the coast – how strong it was!
Homer wasn't blaming Dr Larch. If Wilbur Larch was a saint to Nurse Angela and to Nurse Edna, he was both a saint and a father to Homer Wells. Larch knew what he was doing – and for whom. However Homer had his own opinion. “You can call it a fetus, or an embryo,” thought Homer Wells, “but it's alive. And if you perform an abortion, you kill it.” He looked at the little dead body. “If it's a fetus to Dr Larch, that's fine. But it's a baby to me,” thought Homer Wells. “If Larch has a choice, I have a choice, too.”
He picked up the tray and carried it into the hall, like a proud waiter carrying a special dish to a favorite guest.
Soon Homer was at the door of Nurse Angela's office, which was open. He could see Dr Larch at the typewriter; the doctor wasn't writing; there wasn't even any paper in the machine. Dr Larch was just looking out the window. The state of a dream was so clear on Wilbur Larch's face that Homer Wells paused in the doorway; he almost turned around and took the baby away with him. Homer hesitated; then he stepped forward and put the metal tray on top of the typewriter.
“Doctor Larch?” Homer Wells said. Larch looked away from his dream; he stared over the baby at Homer. “The source of the bleeding was the pulmonary artery, which was slashed, as you see,” Homer said, as Larch looked down at the baby.
“Goddamn!” said Wilbur Larch, staring at the artery.
“I have to tell you that I won't perform an abortion, not ever,” Homer Wells said. This followed, logically, from the severed artery; in Homer's mind, it followed, but Dr Larch looked confused.
“You won't?” Larch said. “You what?”
Homer Wells and Dr Larch just stared at each other; the baby was between them.
“Not ever,” Homer Wells said.
“Do you disapprove?” Dr Larch asked Homer.
“I don't disapprove of you,” Homer Wells said. “I disapprove of it — it's not for me.”
“Well, I've never forced you,” Dr Larch said. “And I never will. It's all your choice.”
“Right,” said Homer Wells.
“And if it's all the same to you,” Homer Wells said to him, “I'd like permission to not be there, when you do what you have to do. I want to be of use in any other way, and I'm not disapproving of you,” Homer said. “If it's okay, I just don't want to watch it.”
“I'll have to think about that, Homer,” Dr Larch said.
For the last three hours Candy Kendall and Wally Worthington had maintained an awkward silence. It had still been dark when they'd left the coast at Heart's Haven and went inland – away from the wind, although the wind was still surprisingly strong. Candy's honey-blond hair was all around her face.
Wally glanced at the unread book in Candy's lap. The book was Little Dorrit[9] by Charles Dickens. It was required summer reading for all the girls in Candy's class; Candy had begun it four or five times, but she had no idea what the book was about.
Wally, who was no reader, didn't notice the name of the book; he just watched the same page and thought about Candy. He was also thinking about St. Cloud's. He was already (in his mind) through the abortion; Candy was recovering nicely; the doctor was telling jokes; all the nurses were laughing. There were enough nurses to win a war, in Wally's imagination. All of them were young and pretty. And the orphans were amusing children.
In the trunk of Senior Worthington's Cadillac, Wally had three apple boxes full of sweets for the orphans. In the spring there weren't any fresh apples, and there wasn't any cider, but Wally had loaded the Cadillac with jars of jelly and honey.
Candy closed her book and returned it to her lap again, and Wally felt he had to say something.
“How's the book?” he said.
“I don't know,” Candy said, and laughed.
Soon they were in St. Cloud's. Little Dorrit dropped from Candy's lap.
“Please,” Wally whispered to her, “you don't have to do this. You can have the baby. I want the baby – I want your baby. It would be fine. We can just turn around,” he begged her.
But she said, “No, Wally. It's not the time for us to have a baby.” She put her face down.
The car stood still. “Are you sure?” Wally whispered to her. “You don't have to.” But Candy Kendall was more practical than Wally Worthington, and she had her father's stubbornness.
Mrs Grogan, across the road in the girls' division entrance, observed the Cadillac. There was a small crowd around the Cadillac. The trunk was open and the handsome young man was giving presents to the orphans.
“Sorry