Sam looked at him, perplexed.
“Let me read it to you: ‘My name is Sam Orenbluth. I had a state-ordered lobotomy on April 22, 1952. Please call Midwestern Regional Hospital in case of any concerns.’ You understand?”
Sam looked blankly at Robert.
“There is an attendant at a desk just down there.” Robert pointed out the door and down the stairs. “You give them this paper if you need anything. Okay?” He placed the note in Sam’s hand as he nodded. “Okay, Sam. You take care.”
Robert turned toward the door, grabbed the handle of his portable machine, and was on his way. It had been a long day and he was ready to celebrate with a nice glass of Bordeaux and a steak.
PART 3
RUTH AND MARGARET: 1952–53
Chapter Twenty-Five
“He’s still crying, Frank. He’s still crying.” Margaret paced back and forth in their small living room, her whole body tense, as she waited for William to fall asleep.
“Mags, Dr. Spock says to say good night and leave them. You know that. Worked like a charm with John and Maisy. And they were a lot younger than six months. Come, sit. We can watch I Love Lucy, that’ll distract you.” Frank turned on the new television set.
“Turn it down!” she snapped sharply at Frank. “What if he hears it?”
“So what if he hears it? He needs to learn to fall asleep with noise. That’s part of life, honey.” Margaret knew Frank was right, but every time William cried, her skin crawled and her pulse raced. She just couldn’t tolerate feeling so on edge.
“Mommy, is William ever going to stop crying?” Maisy emerged in her nightgown, her golden curls framing her head like a halo. “John and I are trying to read.”
I agree, Maisy. It is torture. Why can’t William be more like the two of you?
“I know it might be hard to believe”—Frank grinned as he scooped up his daughter to take her back to the bedroom that she now shared with her older brother—“but you used to scream even louder than that. Let’s ask your brother if he remembers.”
“I did?” Maisy looked at her father with shock.
“Babies cry, Maisy. It’s simply what they do. We all just have to live with it.”
Margaret sighed. How I live with it, I’m not sure anymore.
By the time Ricky had forgiven Lucy for another one of her foibles, the house was silent. “See?” Frank stood, putting his hand out to lift his wife from the sofa. “Everything works out over time. You just need patience and faith. That’s what got me through in France.”
“Faith in God?” Margaret scoffed. She had prayed. It hadn’t helped.
He took her hands. “Faith that you would be waiting for me. Faith that I could expand Dad’s hardware store, that we would have our own house. This third child is a gift, and we will manage just fine.”
Margaret smiled and nodded at her husband. Can’t you see I’m not managing? That my life is unwinding more and more all the time? Do you not see the black rings around my eyes? Notice the clumps of my hair that litter the bathroom floor, even after I vacuum?
“Let’s go to bed. You know they say Mommy should sleep when Baby does.”
Margaret managed to smile as she followed her husband to bed. William was asleep; the house was calm. For the moment there was nothing for her to worry about. Maybe tonight she would finally get some much-needed rest.
Margaret awoke with a start and looked at the clock. It was 3:00 a.m. and the house was silent. Too silent. She shivered as she realized that her nightgown was soaked in sweat. Again. Had she had a nightmare? She sat up, suddenly feeling wide awake. Three-cups-of-black-coffee awake. Why hadn’t William woken up? He usually still had one feeding in the middle of the night. Another failure to train him properly. She leapt out of bed in a panic, racing out of her room and down the hall.