Luke was a dead weight as Nina carried him out of the cab and into the building lobby.
“Ah, sleeping,” the old ladies of the lobby said. At the sound of their voices, Luke nestled against Nina’s breasts. They were smaller now than before she got pregnant, a percentage evaporated forever into his mouth. Another kid, and someone might consider her small-breasted. Three or four, and she’d be almost flat. Maybe not. Maybe there was some irreducible size, an invulnerable core. Luke stayed asleep all the way into his crib.
She hurried to clean the apartment. Pearl was due to come at noon. She hoped Luke would still be asleep. Pearl was supposed to start today, spend the next two weeks while Nina could stay at home, and let the transition to full care proceed gradually. Pearl arrived ten minutes early.
“He asleep?” she said right away.
“Yes,” Nina said.
“Well, I’d better start cleaning up,” Pearl said with an eager look at the living room Nina had just straightened, as if it were going to be a formidable task.
When Luke woke, he was, as usual, reluctant to embrace consciousness; his eyes rolled unmoored in his head, his body felt hot and boneless. Nina carried him past Pearl without making anything of her presence. Luke startled immediately. His back stiffened, his eyes docked on Pearl, and his fingers took hold of Nina with an insistent, and somewhat desperate, grip.
The truth, the truth. “I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered.
“Mommy,” he answered.
Pearl was so smart. She waved a mute and gentle hello to Luke and then went on cleaning.
They sat together in a clinch for a long time and watched this big black woman work. Pearl disassembled the couch and vacuumed its naked bottom. Luke’s eyes got wide at the sight. Pearl found many lost pieces of his toys. She carried them to the sink, cleaned them, and then placed each one on the table in front of Luke, laid out in a line, evenly spaced, like jewels on Tiffany’s counter. Luke was delighted.
“That’s He-Man’s sword!” Luke said, his voice soaring up, octave above octave.
“That’s a sword!” Pearl said, shaking her head in wonder. “It’s not dangerous, is it?”
“Noooo!” Luke laughed, although his eyes teared. “It’s made of plastic,” he said.
“Plaster?” Pearl said, not used to Luke’s babyish pronunciations, sometimes chewing hard consonants into softness, sometimes stretching already long vowels into marathon journeys.
“Plastic!” Luke shouted, but the volume didn’t make his enunciation clearer.
“Plastic,” Nina said to help.
“Plastic!” Pearl understood. “You know what that is?”
Luke was still unaware that his vocabulary was precocious. He learned the words to understand and express himself, not to gain adult praise. Nina had done her best about that, shushing Eric, and Eric’s parents for that matter, when they began to exclaim at one of Luke’s sentences. Luke stared at Pearl with a puzzled frown. “Actually,” Luke said, although to anyone but Nina’s or Eric’s ears the word would sound Achtyewally, “it’s colored plastic.”
“Of course he does,” Nina said to begin Pearl’s training— namely, that the acquisition of knowledge was to be taken for granted. “Luke knows about wood and metal and plastic and tile and cotton and wool and silk. Everybody knows about those things.”
“And Formica,” Luke said.
Pearl queried Nina with her brows. “Formica,” Nina translated.
“My, my,” Pearl said, and looked into Nina’s eyes with a startled and impressed expression.
“We saw fake Formica today,” Luke said. This sentence took awhile to produce and obviously baffled Pearl.
“We went to a coffee shop where they had tables made of Formica, but the Formica was made to look like wood,” Nina said.
“That was good,” Luke judged.
“Uh-huh,” Pearl said. “Could you help me with something, Luke? I don’t know where you keep your toys, you know, where I should be putting all these things so you can find them. Would you show me?”
“Mommy,” Luke said, and grabbed her.
“Let’s go to your room and show Pearl where everything belongs.”
“Okay.” Luke relaxed at the assurance that Nina would also come.
Pearl smiled at Nina over Luke’s head as they flanked him in his slow waddle to his room. Once they were there, Luke’s energy surged, happy in his role of guide. Pearl knelt beside him and listened earnestly. She missed every third word, but each time asked Luke to repeat it. Then Luke began to misunderstand Pearl’s southern accent, her abbreviated vowels and softened consonants. Pearl sounded like a soothing mellow saxophone; Luke trilled above her restful melody, his song faster and gayer as he gained confidence in Pearl. They had to repeat a lot to each other, but Pearl began to make fun of her own pronunciations and somehow convinced Luke that the reason she had trouble understanding him was that she spoke so poorly.
Nina retired to the back of the room. At first, from time to time, Luke glanced in her direction or addressed his comment to her. Each time, Pearl answered before Nina could.
Nina felt herself start to disappear. She could imagine a day when time would pass faster than the second-by-second creep of Luke’s infancy; she could imagine a time when Luke might not need her. He talked and talked to Pearl. Now Pearl let him go on without asking for clearer repronunciations; she let his talk streak, his comfort increasing as they built a huge wood-block castle for He-Man. Nina knew Pearl had his confidence entirely when Luke said that Pearl could pretend she was She-Ra.
“Luke,” Nina said.
He almost gasped. Luke swiveled on the cushion of his diaper and looked scared. “What!”
“I’m going to take a nap. Do you want to take a nap with me?”
“No,” he said, his face darkening.
“Would you rather just keep playing with Pearl?”
“I’d like that,” Pearl said.
“Okay,” Luke said, reluctantly.
Nina walked out. She held her breath as she went into her bedroom — my God, to be alone in her own bedroom in the middle of the afternoon — and lay down.
There was a silence, ominous she feared, from Luke’s room. He might follow her any second.
Please, Luke, enjoy yourself.
“I have the power!” She heard his little voice soar. “I am He-Man!”
BIG BOY Byron grabs hold of the steel bar, cold to his touch, and swings at Mommy. He lets go and flies. The branches of the trees catch him.
Below Mommy calls, “Byron!” She is angry.
Byron drops at her, Big Cat Byron, claws out, ready to tear her; she collapses like an empty dress. And he can’t see, he can’t see!
Byron woke up into the dark. “Mommy,” he said.
Voices rumbled in the hallway. His penis was pressed on. He let go. The warmth spread everywhere; a hot bath like a hug kept him company. Daddy was home; that was his voice talking to Mommy.
You have to be changed, Byron.
Byron pushed at the blankets. They didn’t move.
Big boy Byron push. He used his special powers and kicked the bricks off him. He could break walls; he could smash buildings.
The warmth was going away. The floor was cold.
Mommy doesn’t like diapers. Dirty diapers. Byron pulled at his soft blue fur. It was wet at the rubber band. Get off me, slime.
His hands could be strong, made of metal—
He heard a baby cry. What baby? Mommy and Daddy have a baby?
He pulled them off, the pj’s, and his claws ripped the diaper Band-Aids out. The fluffy white was now damp. His penis and bottom felt cool and happy.