Chapter 40 Four

My new writing project has been put on the shelf for the past few months, and I've done just one thing: reread what I've already written, about thirty pages in total.It's a good start, I tell myself.But if you no longer know how the story is going to go on, especially if you no longer know what you want to achieve with the story, even a good start won't go very far.It felt like the train was leaving the station, carrying the theme and the motivation of my story. However after Alice made the final donation, I made one last attempt.I thought, maybe I can find some solace in this writing project, maybe I can use this to rediscover my motivation.So I sit in that fancy computer chair that supports my spine, neck, and arms, turn on the computer, open the file, sit in front of the computer for a while, maybe three or four hours or more, write a few lines and delete them. , write a few more lines and delete.I took out my notebook and changed to handwriting.I delete what I wrote, turn a page, try to write again, then delete, turn another page, try and try, but it doesn't work, I just make myself angry and tired.Finally, I decisively moved the novel file to the recycle bin on the computer screen, pressed Empty, and shut down the computer.I leaned against the back of the chair, pillowed my head, and my eyes just fell on Megan's painting of a deformed fetus. I saw that the expression of the fetus was either distorted in pain, or contemptuous and sneering.That's when I felt a movement in my stomach for the first time.Something like a bubble moved in my stomach and I was sure it wasn't gas or a digestive wriggle in my gut.

I looked down at my stomach and it moved again, maybe a kick or a push, or even a head movement.I have absolutely no idea what that motion was, but it was the first time I got a concrete symbol that something wasn't just growing in my belly, it was happily living in it, Hello, I said softly, gently placing my hand on my belly through my shirt, Hello, little one. I didn't do anything else that day, I just called and went to the No. 4 research room.I'm currently participating in a safe but annoying psychological experiment there, about living spaces and domains and such.I said on the phone that I needed to rest today.One of the reasons why the experiment team leaders are very understanding about this kind of thing is that they know that I am pregnant and I often feel tired and a little nauseous.The second reason is that they are psychologists, and I guess their job is to be empathetic.After the phone call, I went to lie down on the bed, took the fossil-embedded stone out of my left pocket, and lay on the bed holding it with one hand, turning it around, and putting the other hand on my belly under my shirt.

An hour and a half later, there was another bubble-like movement in my stomach, and at the same time, I felt extremely subtle, almost imperceptible pressure on my palm, as if something was pressing on my hand.I carefully press it back.Another movement, almost like an answer.I gasped and laughed and cried and then I got up and went to the toilet to pee and wash my face.I came back and lay on the bed, closed my eyes and fell asleep. If someone had asked me whether these early kicks or pushes in my stomach made me happy or unhappy, I wouldn't know how to respond.I don't know if what I feel is longing or loss, oneness or loneliness.

A few days later, I went for an ultrasound.Amanda did it for me herself, and she extruded a dollop of clear gel that was cold and itchy, making me giggle.She smiled at me, picked up a wide detector, and began to slide it over my belly, sometimes in small movements, sometimes in large movements.She was staring intently at the computer screen, which I couldn't see from my direction. Are you all right?I asked. Yes, it looks good, says Yamada: even better than expected, to be honest. Can I watch it?I said. What?Her hand, which was sweeping the slippery gel on my belly, stopped suddenly.That's when I realized I couldn't look at my baby on a screen, show off a fuzzy ultrasound scan to everyone I met, and if they didn't think fast enough to come up with an excuse to avoid it, they would. I got caught.

Amanda's cheeks turned red, her expression was a bit like that of Pedro, and she stammered: I'm so sorry, Dolly.I thought I thought you understood.I thought you understood that we cannot encourage you to connect with the fetus. I passed the clinic reception area, walked to the elevator, reached into my pocket, and touched the key card, like I used to keep the little ball of paper in my trousers for Potter.I've changed my pants countless times since the birthmark nurse gave me the key card in February. At this point, I'm very used to taking the key card out of the dirty pants I'm taking to the laundry room and putting it in. I take it out of the closet. clean pants.I would hold the key card between the palm and thumb, with the back of the hand facing up, and put the key card in the right front pocket of clean pants.Meanwhile, I would use my other hand to do other things, trying to distract myself, like scratching my head, coughing into my fist, opening the lid of the laundry basket to put in dirty pants, smoothing out wrinkles, picking up threads.My actions were quiet, quick, and low-key, just as the birthmark nurse had ordered.

That key card has been on my mind for the past few months, and I've often reached into my pocket to feel it, as I do now.Every time I do this, I repeat the code in my mind: 9844, 9844, just like now.But other than that, I haven't done anything yet.I haven't decided whether to use this card yet.But now everything about the key card, like possibility, risk, uncertainty, seems to run into the thinking area of ​​​​my head.I understand that the moment has come when a decision must be made. I don't know if it was because I had this idea, or because what I saw affected me.When I walked out of the hospital lobby, put my hands in my pockets, and walked towards the H elevator, I saw a staff member facing the wall in a recess next to a row of elevator doors, touching something with his hands.The wall was the same color as the linden flowers, and the same color as the uniform she was wearing.The recess was fairly dark, but not so dark that I couldn't see her.After a while, I saw her standing in front of a door, a very small, handleless door, the same color as the wall, with the same green frame around it.She fumbled with something beside the door frame. It didn't take too long. It only took two or three seconds to complete the steps to open the door, and it took another two or three seconds to push open a small crack and dodge in. The door quickly and silently behind her. close.