right off him. We saw what both of us had dreamed we might see. Beneath his jacket were wings that grew out through rips in his shirt. When they were released, the wings began to unfurl from his shoulder blades. They were twisted and uneven, they were covered in cracked and crooked feathers. They clicked and trembled as they opened. They were wider than his shoulders, higher than his head. Skellig hung his head toward the floor. His tears continued to fall. He whimpered with pain. Mina reached out to him, stroked his brow. She reached further and touched the feathers with her fingertips.
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.
“Let me sleep,” squeaked Skellig. “Let me go home.”
He lay facedown and his wings continued to quiver into shape above him. We drew the blanketsup beneath them, felt his feathers against the skin on the backs of our hands. Soon Skellig’s breathing settled and he slept. Whisper rested against him, purring.
We stared at each other. My hand trembled as I reached out toward Skellig’s wings. I touched them with my fingertips. I rested my palms on them. I felt the feathers, and beneath them the bones and sinews and muscles that supported them. I felt the crackle of Skellig’s breathing.
I tiptoed to the shutters and stared out through the narrow chinks.
“What you doing?” she whispered.
“Making sure the world’s still really there,” I said.
THE WIRES AND THE TUBES WERE in her again. The glass case was shut. She didn’t move. She was wrapped in white. Her hair was fluffy, dead straight and dark. I wanted to touch it, and to touch her skin, feel it soft against my fingertips. Her little hands were clenched tight on either side of her head. We said nothing. I listened to the drone of the city outside, to the clatter of the hospital. I heard my own breathing, the scared quick breathing of my parents at my side. I heard them sniffing back their tears. I went on listening. I listened through all these noises, until I heard the baby, the gentle squeaking of her breath, tiny and distant like it came from a different world. I closed my eyes and went on listening and listening. I listened deeper, until I believed I heard her beating heart. I told myself that if I listened hard enough her breathing and the beating of her heart would never be able to stop.
Dad held my hand as we walked through the corridorstoward the parking lot. We passed an elevator shaft and the woman with the walker from upstairs tottered out. She gasped and rested on her walker and grinned at me.
“Three times round every landing and three times up and down in the elevator,” she said. “Exhausted. Absolutely exhausted.”
Dad blinked, and nodded kindly at her.
“Blinking getting there!” she said. She bobbed about inside the frame. “Be dancing soon, you see!”
She patted my arm with her crooked hand.
“You’re so sad today. Been to see that friend of yours?”
I nodded, and she smiled.
“I’m going home soon. He will too. Keep moving, that’s the thing. Stay cheerful.”
She hobbled away, singing “Lord of the Dance” to herself.
“Who did she mean, your friend?” said Dad.
“Nobody.”
He was too distracted to ask again.
In the car I saw the tears running down his face.
I closed my eyes. I remembered the sound of the baby’s breathing, her beating heart. I held them in my mind, went on listening to them. I touched my heart and I felt the baby’s heart beating beside my own. Traffic roared past, Dad sniffed back his tears. I stayed dead silent, and concentrated on keeping the baby safe.
“THERE IT IS,” SAID MINA. “ARCHAEOPTERYX . The dinosaur that flew.”
She laid the heavy encyclopedia on the grass beneath the tree. We looked down at the clumsy creature. It was perched on a thorny branch. Beyond it, volcanoes belched flames and smoke. The great landbound creatures—diplodocus, stegosaurus—lurched across a stony plain.
“We believe that dinosaurs became extinct,” said
“You’re beautiful,” she whispered.
“Let me sleep,” squeaked Skellig. “Let me go home.”
He lay facedown and his wings continued to quiver into shape above him. We drew the blanketsup beneath them, felt his feathers against the skin on the backs of our hands. Soon Skellig’s breathing settled and he slept. Whisper rested against him, purring.
We stared at each other. My hand trembled as I reached out toward Skellig’s wings. I touched them with my fingertips. I rested my palms on them. I felt the feathers, and beneath them the bones and sinews and muscles that supported them. I felt the crackle of Skellig’s breathing.
I tiptoed to the shutters and stared out through the narrow chinks.
“What you doing?” she whispered.
“Making sure the world’s still really there,” I said.
THE WIRES AND THE TUBES WERE in her again. The glass case was shut. She didn’t move. She was wrapped in white. Her hair was fluffy, dead straight and dark. I wanted to touch it, and to touch her skin, feel it soft against my fingertips. Her little hands were clenched tight on either side of her head. We said nothing. I listened to the drone of the city outside, to the clatter of the hospital. I heard my own breathing, the scared quick breathing of my parents at my side. I heard them sniffing back their tears. I went on listening. I listened through all these noises, until I heard the baby, the gentle squeaking of her breath, tiny and distant like it came from a different world. I closed my eyes and went on listening and listening. I listened deeper, until I believed I heard her beating heart. I told myself that if I listened hard enough her breathing and the beating of her heart would never be able to stop.
Dad held my hand as we walked through the corridorstoward the parking lot. We passed an elevator shaft and the woman with the walker from upstairs tottered out. She gasped and rested on her walker and grinned at me.
“Three times round every landing and three times up and down in the elevator,” she said. “Exhausted. Absolutely exhausted.”
Dad blinked, and nodded kindly at her.
“Blinking getting there!” she said. She bobbed about inside the frame. “Be dancing soon, you see!”
She patted my arm with her crooked hand.
“You’re so sad today. Been to see that friend of yours?”
I nodded, and she smiled.
“I’m going home soon. He will too. Keep moving, that’s the thing. Stay cheerful.”
She hobbled away, singing “Lord of the Dance” to herself.
“Who did she mean, your friend?” said Dad.
“Nobody.”
He was too distracted to ask again.
In the car I saw the tears running down his face.
I closed my eyes. I remembered the sound of the baby’s breathing, her beating heart. I held them in my mind, went on listening to them. I touched my heart and I felt the baby’s heart beating beside my own. Traffic roared past, Dad sniffed back his tears. I stayed dead silent, and concentrated on keeping the baby safe.
“THERE IT IS,” SAID MINA. “ARCHAEOPTERYX . The dinosaur that flew.”
She laid the heavy encyclopedia on the grass beneath the tree. We looked down at the clumsy creature. It was perched on a thorny branch. Beyond it, volcanoes belched flames and smoke. The great landbound creatures—diplodocus, stegosaurus—lurched across a stony plain.
“We believe that dinosaurs became extinct,” said
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